application for Octavian (HBO's Rome)

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

A young man appears in the Sorting Room, in the way people often appear here: without warning. He carries himself with what modern prose might style a patrician bearing. This is for good reason. He is a patrician, the genuine article.

While he does not seem entirely surprised to find himself here, neither does he seem entirely prepared. For one, he's not dressed for Hogwarts. He wears a tunic and a toga over that, both white with a border of murex red-purple, the true Tyrian purple. If asked, he will stress that he wears this because of status, not age: though this is what younger boys wear, also all pontifices are entitled to the toga praetexta. He put on the plain toga virilis a few years ago, years that seem to him quite long, and only put it away for this when his uncle named him pontiff: a surprising honor, for one so young, only seventeen; and Octavian may be a little touchy about his age, these days. Properly speaking he ought to be the head of his family.

Properly speaking, he is the head of his family. But there is not very much that is proper about Octavian's house, these days, it seems to him.

He is lettered, quite solidly so, more so perhaps than his mother would like. However, he has never seen a quill pen before, being accustomed to the use of a stylus, and it does not occur to him immediately that this feather upon the table is meant for writing. The Dictaquill does its work. Octavian watches it with a slight widening of his eyes that quickly regulates itself to his normal set expression.

This place is as strange as he had expected.


( I can take care of myself. )

By now, the quill has demonstrated its purpose quite adequately. In mid-stroke, its movement is interrupted by Octavian, who grasps it and writes his name, neatly, in a smooth and well-schooled hand:

Gaius Octavian.

He writes it by habit, then crosses it out. Lately he has been given a new name.

Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus.

There. Better.



((And the non-IC app disclaimer:
"I have read the [info]hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. GJCO.
I have read the [info]hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. GJCO.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. GJCO.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. GJCO." ))

( here there be OOC notes )

Hiatus notice (Open RP, if people want to use it)

[damien-thorn.livejournal.com]

The house elves may had been on to something, back when they re-arranged Damien's furniture in the Love Tent of Rawk. Damien cleaned his blood off of the thorns on his statue's head, then pulled a tie off of Tie Rack Jesus' outstretched arms. Combining his daily tirade into his morning routine had been a stroke of genius, and got Damien out the door five minutes faster each morning. He was straightening the knot on his tie when one of the house elves appeared out of nowhere with a clipboard in hand.

"Hello," it said, reading off a script on the board, "you have been randomly selected to participate in a customer satisfaction survey." It looked up at him expectantly.

Damien blinked in confusion, then tried to sidestep around the elf. "No, thank you," he said. He'd only gone two steps down the hall before the elf appeared in front of him again.

"You have been selected," it insisted. "It is time for you to complete the survey."

The cattle prod it was holding looked very familiar.

( All around the castle, things seemed amiss. )