Welcome

[Hestia Jones]

Presenting . . .

HESTIA MARGARET JONES


Wish there was something real, wish there was something true;;
wish there was something real, in this world full of you.


>>THE PUPPETTEER

Alias: Alice
Contact: burn@vampirefreaks.com
How you found us: ..RPG Indx, maybe?

>>THE PUPPET

Full Name: Hestia Margaret Jones
Nickname: ..-__-
Age: Seventeen
Year: Seventh
House: Ravenclaw

Canon or Original: Canon

Wand: Ebony, with a Dragon heartstring core. 10 1/4in. Long; Supple
Blood: Muddy
Pet: None, at the moment, that come to school with her.
Birthday: October 3rd

Portrayed By: Zooey Deschanel

Appearance: During her few outings into the sun, freckles form across the bridge of her nose and the top of her cheeks, but this is rarely a problem for her seeing as the sun is the enemy. Her skin is rather pale as a result of this and various odd phobias which don't make her constantly tick, but do cause her to seek shade in fear of skin cancer, amongst other odd habits one can disguise as something else all together, or at least refuse to bring up in polite conversation—which is best avoided to begin with. Seeing as she believes that dirt is easier to spot upon pale flesh, it allows her to continue her seemingly random cycles of existing in a state of grunge, before reverting back to a near obsession over germs and cleanliness.

Her hair is, simply put, black. It does not look an alluring shade of blue under unnatural lights, or a fiery flash of red in the sun. It's not flecked in brown, nor does it catch the light revealing appealing natural streaks. It is just black. The style has always been similar, seeing as it was easiest to maintain without chopping it all off—something she simply couldn’t bring herself to do in the name of simplicity. Naturally devoid of just about any feminine curl or wave, it turns in only slightly at the bottom hitting at her breasts. Her bangs are kept trimmed.. some of the time, though they can usually be found about lash length, obscuring the top portion of her head, when they aren’t being fruitlessly swept behind her ears.

Generally eyes of blue are reserved for the most tempting of creatures, or else they are found to be an oasis amongst a face one would rather shield their eyes from. Neither is the case when it comes to this particular girl. Smokey in colour, when one comes across such eyes they aren’t discovered in repulsion, but nothing about them finds people often giving them a second thought. They do not draw the attention of swooning boys across the room, or pierce through to your very soul on a whim. Instead they seem to look right through you without really seeing you at all, and without really seeming terribly bothered about missing out.

Above are thin dark eyebrows, knit as if she is perpetually thinking of something that displeases her, or relaxed into a look of quiet defeat. Her nose is of little consequence, unless for some reason you find her wanting to smell something. It isn’t flawlessly sculpted, nor is it shockingly misshaped and rarely warrants any attention at all, excluding moments of self-scrutiny before cruel mirrors. Her lips are thin, noticeably so in her own opinion, and the bottom one can usually be found trapped between two rows of small teeth.

Make-up is rarely if ever worried with, and the dark lines under her eyes put there by the damnation of insomnia--a plague affecting a disturbing amount of students currently attending Hogwarts. The practice of avoiding cosmetics is not due to the arrogance that she believes that nothing could improve upon her but, rather, the inability to bother. She doesn't wear copious amounts of eyeliner or refuse to dress in anything that isn't black--though the school robes themselves are, outside of them she can usually be seen in a pair of dark jeans (though not bell bottoms, she detests them) and a shirt proclaiming an obsession with some muggle band--usually The Doors. High heels and such seem to be an uncomfortable waste of time, and almost obsessively her feet are protected from outside elements via most unfashionable combat boots. She finds herself in both appearance and personality insufferably mundane, and when attention is given to either it is not received with thanks, but instead uncomfortable suspicion.

Personality: Though you probably wouldn’t guess having only caught glances of her slipping through streams of young bodies in the hallways as the years trickled by, just like anyone who had gotten a bit taller her personality was warped and twisted with the changes of the times. The only thing that remained the same throughout her years at the school she holds so close was her tendency to avoid contact between herself and others as often as easily possible. In her preteens, and a few years besides, she was painfully shy and so terribly afraid of making a fool out of herself. Obsessive research could not replace the experience that others had having simply been raised in the world she had been thrust into at such a tender age. The fear of being wrong, or being mocked and called out—something that could even be considered an endearing act by a fellow child intent on becoming friends—caused her to simply sit back, observing others and attempting to emulate them.

Perhaps the problem was that she was just to sensitive to deal with the usual behavior of others, but as the years progressed she found herself full of more self doubt, rather then less as she had planned. It seemed the more she watched others the more different she found herself to be, and after a certain point decided that if there was a time when she could have been easily accepted and molded into the type of person that could fit in, it had long since past. She had already been branded as a loner of sorts, and had no problem fulfilling people’s expectations as such.

‘Avoidant’ became less of a tendency and more of a personality disorder, due now less to shyness and more to safety. Consistency beneath a surface under that which seems constantly ossified in indifference did not exist, however, and from time to time she finds herself aching for even the smallest bit of compatibility with someone other then dead writers and musicians far beyond her grasp. Other times she feels a soaring happiness that she cannot place or articulate at her current position in life, and it seemed these periods of intense highs and lows are unpredictable to herself, unnoticed to others, and all too easily disguised behind a stoic mask of pale flesh and half-lidded eyes.

Which is not to say that she is endlessly rude or sardonic to anyone who might come across her. Generally, she speaks with a forced sort of politeness, trying her best to deal with the benign small talk which is usually sent her way, making up some quick excuse as to why she needs to excuse herself. And though she might seem like the person to simply lay down and take the abuse during the occasion it might be focused upon her for whatever reason, once someone upsets her temper it is rarely a pretty site, and usually sets off the poor impulse control she attempts to suppress. She finds herself with the ability to spit verbal venom from time to time, and walk away as if it didn’t upset her in the least. During such happenings, however, she usually recedes into a more intense practice of isolation to endlessly analyze those things which are only likely to pull her down further.

She's guarded, and with good reason. People mistake kindness with weakness, as far as she sees it, and she's not going to become one of those helpless women that need saving, even if that means lying to herself, or going without while those around her enjoy excess. The problem with building high walls is there is usually a bleeding heart inside, and Hestia is far from one to encourage being viewed as that. In short, she is a girl trapped in her head, telling herself she just wants to be left to her own devices—and really, it’s better to do just that.

Ethnicity: English / Greek / Swedish
Father: Jonathan Jones
Mother: Tiffany Jones
Siblings: Ashley Jones
Other Family: Nothing of consequence.

Place of Residence: She believes her parents are visiting friends in Rye at the moment. Hogwarts, however, is considered more of a residence than where ever her parents might be stationed. It's not a particularity rare opinion, she supposes.

History: When you are young you think your parents are Gods or Goddesses, and hang on their every word and action as if it was the honesty and innocence itself. If Hestia denied this was the initial view she took on the genetic lottery that spit her out it would be nothing but a pointless lie. In the beginning she truly wanted to satisfy her parents, and attempted to please them any way she was capable of. This was a bigger chore then she ever could have foreseen, and it seemed to her that if she wasn’t forgetting to sit properly she’d gotten mud on her dress, or a run in her stalking and that no matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t make herself into whatever it was they were hoping for.

What it was they were hoping for, it turned out, they had already received, and it was in their older daughter that all their expectations in a proper lady were met. Eventually the will of the younger girl was squashed, and she receded into defeat and the easier role of black sheep. The endless admiration she had for her family was converted into a strong distaste, bordering on unabashed hatred, a possibility which was abandoned only because it seemed like to would take the dedication of too much energy to people who neither deserved it nor wanted it.

Half-hearted attempts to rebel were made here and there, but she was never in them. By the time that she received her letter for school she had completely lost the ability to identify with her family, and opposed even their most basic morals. Morals not unlike those of the boarding school her sister and herself had previously attended, which were now refusing to house the girl ever again. She assumed that for some reason that someone was pulling an elaborate prank on her (honestly, and OWL delivering a letter about a WIZARD school. Someone needed to lay off the pipe and Zepplin albums, as far as she saw it) but decided to give it a try just the same. If anything it would be putting off the search for another stuffy school with inept rules and guidelines, and buying her some time to plot an escape. Somehow she’d talked her parents into allowing her to attend (then again, her mother was about as clever as her father was sober, so it couldn’t have been overly difficult to convince them, especially when the task of finding an acceptable school wasn’t a savory one) and with the air of believing it to be a joke, set of for platform nine and three quarters.

Over night, it seemed, Hestia changed. So much so, that if she had any real friends they might call her a hypocrite. (Well, she'd had one friend, but he was so perfectly furious she would leave him there, he refused to talk to her, a harsh blow for the girl as she made an attempt to begin anew.) She thought herself lucky to have this chance to learn about a world she wasn't even sure existed. And so, still expecting any second that she would do something wrong and get kicked out, or the would tell her that she had been right and that it was some horrible joke, she set off for Hogwarts, so very glad to have escaped the clutches of her family.

This is not to say her childhood was forever unpleasant. Her family was quite a bit better off then most, and manipulation of her father got her just about anything her heart could desire. Though not necessarily held in such a high regard as her sister, she was known for having little, or more realistically, no care for the family's social standing--something they considered their highest asset, unblemished by everything except their youngest daughter. With threats of public acts of protest, her father's money was at her disposal for anything that would shelter her defiant streak from the always watching eyes of fellow aristocrats, who thrived of any little scandal. In return she simply had to sit still and look stupid at all the endless insipid parade of social events that couldn't be missed by anyone in their right mind, and according to her family Hestia certainly wasn't. Of course, knowing that she had Hogwarts to come back to, the prospect of spending a good portion of her time with upper-class stiffs was always much easier to digest, even if most of the food they served wasn't.

Hestia's Grandfather on her father's side died young and left her father as the main provider for his family. Hestia's young father had a skill for words, and had originally been a writer who enjoyed documenting politics and was firmly right wing, or at least enjoyed the appearance as such---something he would discover his dark haired daughter would be firmly against. Hestia's grandfather on her mother's side was also English, though her grandmother was from Sweden, and speaks with a thick accent. Her mother was raised in America, and met Hestia's father on a visit to England, where we was working for her father at the time.

Other Notes: o.o

Skill Testing Question: The eff-ing awesome type

Example Post: The auburn mane of hair that surrounded the girls face was streaked liberally with seemingly random splotches of gold, some of which hung down around her shoulders next to the razor blade that dangled from the necklace that rested comfortably around her neck. Her adoration of the band 'My chemical romance,' was proclaimed proudly from the shirt she'd purchased online with the money of the father she claimed to hate, and was barely visible beneath the thin hoodie clinging to her anemic frame. Her jeans hardly seemed to have a point, being forced so tightly onto her match stick legs that they left no room for imagination. She stumbled in her uncomfortable shoes, stuffing away what was left of her eyeliner into the hello kitty bag she wore, her dainty finger clasping her ipod instead as she sifted through her play list, settling on Panic at the Disco. She strutted towards the school grounds, a half smirk on her pierced face and an arrogant look resonating from what could be seen of her heavily outlined blue eyes beneath the swoop of her hair.

"That girl ought to be in pictures," commented a girl with a cherubic face and messy black hair, every now and then interrupted by a dark purple dreadlock. A long black coat obscured most of what one would expect to find under it: a button up white shirt reminiscent of an all girls school, tucked neatly into a black skirt. Her striped socks came up to her knees, mostly covered by the combat boots endowing her feet, one currently hooked over the other as she leaned against the fence, commenting on the passersby, whilst waiting for her friend to finish up so that they could start the day of good ol' fashion brainwashing. "Snuff films, to be exact," she added, glancing up at her friend innocently.

The girl beside her had, perhaps, a little bit of a less cliché appearance. Long black hair and bangs cut about lash length, pale skin, blue eyes.. sure, it had all been done before, but nothing of the girl screamed too loudly that she was attempting to rebel from the norms of society. Well. Other then the cigarette, didn't the schools say you smoked them because you were trying to project some type of image? She wasn't sure what that was exactly, because what most people got from her was that she was innocent and entirely unremarkable, which was fine by her. She agreed with the last bit.


Smoke escaped her lips in the form of a sigh. The cigarette was grinded out in the form of a sigh. She plunged her hands into her pocket, walking behind her friend with her head down, as she went on about nothing as seemed to be her habit.

"I just don't understand the point of putting on all that make up when you're just going to hide your face behind your hair like that—not that I have a problem with them hiding their face. Probably the smartest thing they've done in a long time. Still, it's funny how easily MTV sold this generation their conformist ideals, all while whispering comfortingly that is was some sort of underground culture that made them different from the—" Jessicka continued, but as Meg followed her she wasn't really listening. Not because she didn't agree, but mostly because they had this conversation quite a bit (if you could count Jessicka ranting while Meg silently nodded her head as a conversation) and her mind was the type to wander when presented with the mundane.

[Remus Lupin]

Approved and sorted into Ravenclaw!

Welcome to Easy Way Out and happy posting!