[identity profile] nerdsexgoddess.livejournal.com
((Backdated to after the Christmas party.))

Thanks to a conversation with Lezard Valeth, Amaranth now knew about mistletoe and what it was used for.

Armed with this knowledge and the desire to spread as much holiday cheer (not to mention saliva) as possible, Amaranth found the opportunity to go throughout the castle, hanging mistletoe over convenient doors.

The sprigs would only stay levitated for a few days, and she sincerely hoped her fellow students would not waste the opportunity given to them for gratuitous makeouts.
[identity profile] lucien-caron.livejournal.com
A rather tired Frenchman fell out of the chair he had been sleeping in and onto the floor, blinking. This didn't look like Police Judiciaire headquarters. Hell, this didn't look like anything of this century.

Did I get knocked out and taken to some remote castle? Fanciful thought, maybe, but not impossible, if the OAS found out that their assassin failed. Though how would they know he worked on the case? And wouldn't they go after the chief anyway? (Or, former chief, Lebel did say he'd retire after this case.)

Something poked him in the arm. It was a quill. A quill?

Caron scanned over the application, uttering one worde, "Merde."

Good thing he knows English, too )
[identity profile] blond-bondshell.livejournal.com
James Bond entered the Sorting Room as if he had always meant to be there. It was possible that he had. MI6 had interest in a wide variety of subjects, and with the Ministry of Magic so heavily involved in Muggle politics, who was to say that the Muggles weren't keeping tabs of their own?

He was dressed as if he had just come from a decadent gala. The tuxedo was crisp and tailored, and his vodka martini was fresh. Bond set the drink down on the table and examined the application. He had been expecting some questioning when he arrived. However, he had been expecting questions that made sense.

Not shaken, and not stirred. He was as cold and sharp as a diamond. )

"I have read the [info]hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. __James Bond__________
I have read the [info]hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. _James Bond__________.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. _James Bond______.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. _James Bond____________"
[identity profile] swap-minds4fun.livejournal.com
Mentok's been doing some thinking since coming here.

Sure, he's on sabbatical from judging. And he's in a city (hell, a country) where he doesn't have a criminal record.

Maybe he could do some villainy here.

More fun villainy, though, he doesn't have the drive to try something like taking over the world.

Speaking of...

He hovered in the Great Hall. He grasped around for minds, and many of them.

"Eeeny. Meenie. Miney. MINDSWAP!"

[[OOC: Master List here.]]

[[OOC PT 2: The mind swapping is within a 20 feet radius of the Great Hall.]]
[identity profile] 400-years-young.livejournal.com
It was possible that when he finally turned mortal, John Amsterdam would drop dead from centuries of smoking.

Smoking had been a recreational activity well before the European settlers had arrived, and it had spread through the colonies like wildfire. John had picked up the habit at fourteen, right off the boat. He had tried to give it up like drinking, but had only succeeded in cutting back. Besides, a guy as great as him needed a few bad habits. So he indulged in his habit now, trying not to think of anything besides the smoke curling over his head.
[identity profile] sidney-reilly.livejournal.com
An owl seeks out Claire Tourneur, bearing a torn-down copy of this and an attached note: Care to dance, mademoiselle?
[identity profile] monde-finis.livejournal.com
After months at Hogwarts, Claire was still upset that she hadn't left her dreams behind in her supposed death. Even in this netherworld of magic and mystery, the old dreams came back to haunt her whenever she closed her eyes. High above the planet, she was soaring, drifting through the air until something changed, and she was no longer floating, but dropping like a stone towards her inevitable doom.

The distractions of the castle made it easy to keep from sleeping, but sooner or later she always fell into a restless doze. Nick's Gatsby hadn't provided any of his decadent parties that she'd heard so much about, and even the chattering portraits ran out of things to say. Without her self-prescribed course of sleeping pills and stimulants, she couldn't push herself to the brink of collapse, then chemically numb her brain and body long enough to get in a few hours' rest. With no mortal and familiar means left to her, she turned to a magical solution to her troubles.

The owls frightened her, so she was at Reilly's door to ask him in person. She was too tired and nervous to be still. After she knocked she wrung her hands and fidgeted, then pounded on the door again before he could have a chance to answer.
[identity profile] monde-finis.livejournal.com
((Backdated to the chocolates.))

Claire couldn't know it, but she was in the grips of a chocolate-induced paranoia. The link between her brain and her lips seemed to have been severed, and she was telling the world every thought that popped into her head. She owed Nick an apology, when she felt she could trust her mouth again. But he was just as new to Hogwarts as she was, and now she wanted some answers.

The chocolate's effect on her brain made her want to run, but in these hallways, all of the pictures were following her. She could hear the portraits call out to her, and was sure that they were talking behind her back. Down in the Slytherin dungeons, the portraits were gone, but she knew that something was around those dark corners.

Her nerves getting the better of her, Claire lost her cool and ran the last few turns and corridors to a room she'd been to before. When the door opened, she told Sidney Reilly, "Hello. I've come to smoke more of your cigarettes, and find out why I can't stop talking."
[identity profile] we-shall-see.livejournal.com
 
“—an American spy? Go fuck yourself, you fucking child,” Gust shouts, not at the top of his lungs, he isn't that upset (but oh, is it a close call) gesturing with the screw driver he’d just used to smash in his superior officer’s window for the second time since failing to be given the Helsinki job, and on turning, finds himself...
Elsewhere. This is obviously not the office where he is soon to no longer be employed. It’s probably the Russians. (It’s always the Russians.)
The first thing he sees is a questionnaire. And why not? Not like there’s anything better to do when you’re abducted by Russian technology. Logically he knows that they cannot possibly have teamed up with Star Trek to pull this kind of stunt... but that’s his story, and for now, for comfort’s sake, he’ll go with it.

[identity profile] 400-years-young.livejournal.com
The dog entered the Sorting Room first, followed by a leash, followed by a tall man in a black coat being dragged behind. "Six, knock it off!" the man said, with an accent somewhere between Noo Yawk and European. He let the leash slide from his hand and the dog took off to sniff out the corners off the room.

John Amsterdam was familiar with many different styles of architecture, but his specialty was in high-rises, not castles. He was also pretty sure that the neighborhood he'd just been end did not end with a dark stony room. Was this a hallucination? A trick?

The walls felt real enough. The door into the room felt real, and also felt very, very locked. It didn't move an inch when he rattled the handles. John eyed the crack between the doors, but he couldn't see a latch or a bolt where he might be able to slide a credit card through. It wasn't bolted into the floor, either. He checked.

There was a table and chair in the center of the room. He grabbed the chair to use as a makeshift ladder when he noticed the quill on the table. Swan feather, definitely. That must have been expensive. He'd always used goose feathers.

((If you've seen the commercials, this application is spoiler-free.))

Not everyone could afford swan feathers, you know. )

((The pilot episode is free on iTunes right now.))
[identity profile] monde-finis.livejournal.com
With a parting admonishment and a vote, Claire had been set loose on the halls of Hogwarts. Outside the small stone room there were stone hallways, stone stairs, and even more stone rooms. She felt lost in a maze of hard slabs and blocks. When she noticed a tiny maiden in a picture waving to her, she waved back, and asked for directions. That was how she found herself in Hufflepuff, in an empty room, sitting on a mattress that was now hers.

Laissez les bons temps rouler! )
[identity profile] monde-finis.livejournal.com
In the summer of 1999, very little surprised Claire Tourneur. She simply wouldn't let shock take away valuable time that could be spent partying away the fact that her life was going to end. Everyone's lives, actually. The nuclear satellite hung precariously over the earth, losing a battle with gravity that would end life on the planet when it finally succumbed. That was the theory, at least. Nobody was quite sure what would happen, but there was no point in taking chances. Faced with her own mortality, Claire had decided that if she couldn't beat the satellite to the punch, she was going to live the rest of her life in an unending fog.

The party she had just left was a one in a long string of interchangeable gatherings. She had woken up on a couch she couldn't remember falling asleep on. She'd picked up a champagne flute that certainly wasn't hers, grabbed shoes that possibly could be hers, and had stepped outside to leave in her stolen car. That was when the world had ended.

How else could she be in a cold castle, and not out in the drive? She was frozen, shocked into feeling her first strong emotion in months: fear. The fear didn't last long, though. The pills she had consumed the night before formed a protective chemical barrier against those bothersome feelings, and her pharmaceutical defenders were quick to come to her aide. So that was the end, she thought. I suppose that a warning would have been too much to ask for. French was her native tongue, but she was fluent in English and German, if the situation called for it.

If this was the end of the world, though, she had expected a bit more fanfare in the next life, or at least a bit more crowding. As it was, she was the only person in the room. There was one other object of note: a small wooden table with a sheath of papers and a pen. Or not a pen, really. Claire appreciated that. She would not enjoyed the afterlife very much if the celestial powers did not have a sense of flair. The paper had writing in English, so she answered in turn.

I took the money/I spiked your drink/You miss too much these days if you stop to think )
[identity profile] goldhatgatsby.livejournal.com
((Just as an aside, Gatsby's mun is British. Therefore, there might be bits I interpret differently. There's a reason I'm apping him on a cracky comm!))


It doesn't matter what this man's name is, his profession, or his life story. As James Gatz arrives at Hogwarts, he lets out a smile of such hope, a smile of such eternal reassurance, that it is best to savour it before it fades and dies completely. Those smiles only come four or five times a lifetime, after all. He puts down his bags (stamped with a gold J.G.) and brushes down his white suit, with a silver shirt and a gold tie, before looking up from under his eyelashes.

The castle will have to do until he can build another mansion--perhaps overlooking the lake? He claps his hands together delicately, trying not to make too loud of a noise. 'Well, old sport,' he declares to the Dictaquill, looking delighted as it notes down his words. 'I suppose this is what I have to do next?'

Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. )
[identity profile] mlle-merteuil.livejournal.com
(( with the permission of Sebastian-mun, of course))


"Oh, Sebastian?" Kathryn had thought of one last thing. Just a little amuse-bouche, something to whet their appetites for what was to come. She'd only just sent him away with a syrup-sweet Happy hunting, but there was something about the way he'd snap back like a boomerang at her call -- she just couldn't resist watching the way he couldn't resist.

Except that he'd closed the door of his writing room and he wasn't answering.

"Oh, Sebastian," she sang out, a little louder and sweeter this time. No answer.

Kathryn did not like that.

She stalked across the hall and gave the door a deceptively light rap. Still no answer. "Oh spare me," she muttered. His stupid precious journal. Was it really so top-secret that he wouldn't even open the door? For her? But he'd do anything for her.

With a little displeased growl she flung open the door and strode inside ...

Eat me, Sebastian. )

(( "I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. KM
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. KM
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. KM
One day, marmalade will rule the world. KM" ))
[identity profile] makeminemayday.livejournal.com
((Hey all - posting this NOW for the people across the pond. Secret Santa is still open, but due to shower lines, packing, traffic and a tyrannical 5-year-old, I have NO IDEA when I'll be home. Use it to mingle. May/Jaime/Tomo will be tagging sometime later tonight, I just can't say when.))

Decorations? Check.

Enough food and drink to feed an army? Check.

Slightly annoyed house elves because May hadn't let them risk their necks decorating the Great Hall (hey, sticking to walls could come in handy when you were hanging garlands)? Check.

Well, things looked good, May mused as she adjusted the hem of her red sweater dress and the Christmas light necklace she was wearing.

Nobody involved in the Secret Santa exchange had complained, not even Tomo (or Tomo's victim recipient). She literally jumped over a pair of house elves carrying trays as the first few people started trickling in, waving to them. "Hi, come on in! Merry Christmas!"

((Backdated to Christmas Day, of course! Secret Santa participants are expected to show up with one more gift for the recipient and to unmask themselves. Make sure that everyone who participated in the Secret Santa exchange has started a thread. Look for the thread of the person your character gave gifts to, and have them reveal/introduce themselves.

This is NOT just for Secret Santa stuff, of course, it's open to the whole school. Be warned, though, if anybody starts a physical fight in the Great Hall, Mayday will DEFINITELY try to break it up or get you to take it outside. Especially after what happened last year. Please make an OOC note if you don't want her to notice.))
[identity profile] papayagami.livejournal.com
[[OOC: permission from the resident L and Light have both been granted.



Is this heaven or hell?

Soichiro Yagami looked around bewilderedly at the rather drab looking room. If this was the afterlife, he wasn't impressed. Then again, this may be punishment for keeping a Death Note, even if he never used it.

He sat down in a nearby chair, having nothing better to do. He felt something tickle his arm. Thinking nothing of it, he brushed it away, until it became more persistent. He looked down at a rather impatient Dictaquill pointing at his application.

"The afterlife is a magic school?" Eh, he'll roll with it.



"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. Soichiro Yagami
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. Soichiro Yagami
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. Soichiro Yagami
One day, marmalade will rule the world.
...
Marmalade. Well, it's better than Kira, I suppose. Soichiro Yagami
[identity profile] signedwithahat.livejournal.com
The window stood invitingly open, so it was really no one's fault but the owner's when a shiny metal hook sailed over the edge and lodged there. The attached length of rope shuddered lightly, tensed as someone pulled against it from the other side. After a moment, a felt trilby eased over the windowsill followed quickly by a blank grey mask. Judging it to be safe, the would-be thief climbed nimbly through.

By the time he realized he wasn't in the empty drawing room of a rich old widow, his point of entrance had vanished. There was a moment of panic, but the lack of anything resembling the inside of the DeFoe Manor squashed it back down. He would figure out what was going on, and in the meantime, he would stay calm.

And fill out this application. Maybe it would draw out whoever was responsible.

Another perfect entrance ruined by uncooperative windows. )

"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. _M_
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. _M_
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. _M_
One day, marmalade will rule the world. _M_"

((OOC: My Trilby is taken from shortly after 5 Days a Stranger and completely disregards the rest of his canon. Awesome games, don't get me wrong, but that was not Trilby don't lie to me. *pouts* Also, his signature there is supposed to be a hat.))
[identity profile] undeadsparkle.livejournal.com
Kahsaandrah Sakura Sylverfyre appeared in the Sorting Room amidst a cloud of golden sparkles. She looked around with a demure and yet sassy look on her face. What was left of her face, anyway. The skin on her lower jaw was long since rotted away. She was wearing a low-cut red robe of the finest silk also rotted through in places, and strategically cut in others and had long, shining pale hair though it might have been mouse-brown back when she was still alive. She spied a table with her indigo orbs and wafted gracefully over to it. She picked up a parchment on it and assumed that it was the start of a quest that would give her XP and hopefully the reward of a skimpier robe that somehow gave her more armor skimmed the writing, and sighed theatrically. "What is this?" she asked, her voice like music if it was played on a violin with some strings cut. "Is this some kind of joke?" She folded her arms and lifted her chin in a haughty manner and waited for an answer. When none come, she frowned and looked back at the parchment.

"Fine, then, I'll play along." She picked up a nearby quill with her delicate, long-fingered hands which plainly showed bone in places and began to write her answers out. She spoke the answers she wrote as well, because who didn't want to hear the sound of her beautiful musical voice that was capable of charming animals of the forest over to her? The truth was, she had a tendency of enjoying the sound of her own voice while questing and even the peaceful animals of Tirisfal Glades were anxious to try and take her out for the good of all involved.

Of course you'd be interested in what she has to say! )

She sighed again and twirled a lock of shining pale hair around her finger. "Now what happens?" she asked no one in particular. The lock of hair came loose, and she shook it to the floor with a completely oblivious look on her face.

"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. KSS
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. KSS
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. KSS
One day, marmalade will rule the world. KSS"
[identity profile] wings-and-claws.livejournal.com
Application for Cyclona, Freeway II: Confessions of a Trickbaby

(Note: This application contains vague spoilers. Also lots of cursing.)

The lean teenage girl in sweatpants and a (blood?) stained white tank-top looked distinctly ill at ease in the sorting room. She ducked her head and hunched her shoulders, long hair hiding most of her face, but not her angry eyes.

"Hey, where is this?"

When the quill lifted at the sound of her voice, she jerked back in shock, pulling a knife from her waistband with a low growl. Spotting the application, she looked it over suspiciously.


Is this my new life? )


"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. _____C_______
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. _____C______.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. _____C______.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. ______C_______"
[identity profile] crossed-my-mind.livejournal.com
To his credit, Trent got a fair distance down the hallway before the house elves caught up with him and shocked the sense back into him. What sense there was, at least. They would be shocking him until the cattle came looking for their prods before they'd get real sense back into him.

After being allowed out of the Sorting Room, John ran in the first direction he could get a clear shot at, screaming at the top of his lungs to keep the gremlins away. The elves had tackled him quite effectively, although the ones at the bottom of the dog pile were now brushing themselves off and wondering if it would break any house-elf laws to scrub themselves with steel wool and boiling water, and if they could burn their rags and just go around naked. A few several volts could get anyone moving in the right direction, though, and soon they dropped Trent off in room A3.

Which is where he was some time later, huddled into the corner and too terrified to move, much less repaint the walls or even shower.

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