DELUCA, felicity ashe

[FELICITY ASHE DELUCA]

[atrb=border, 0, true][atrb=style, line-height:120%;][atrb=style, width:350px; padding:20px; background:#f8f8f8; border-left: 40px solid #996633;] felicity ashe deluca 17 -- SLYTHERIN --- PUREBLOOD XIII -- 15 -- GMT -- ERIN HEATHERTON   STATUS: Pureblood. Youngest sibling of the DeLuca's. FAMILY: Rich -- Old money. Respected, dark. APPEARANCE: Blonde, sea green eyed, 170 cm, slim, slightly tanned. RELATIONSHIPS: Family - hate. Friends - none. Lovers - none. Through choice. ___________________________________________ "Good evening, Felicity, could yo--" "Ok. I'm gunna stop you right there. Don't call me that, ok? Felicity." The girl, twirling a blonde curl around her finger, sneers, rolling her eyes. Leaning forward, she rests her elbow onto the desk before her, arching one perfectly sculpted brow. "I mean, come on. That just makes me sound like one of those Hufflepuffs, right? All pathetic and girly. Makes me feel sick." Giving the interviewer a pointed glare, she leans back against her chair, finger still twirling. "Well? What you waiting for? Carry on." "Well, then what would you wish to be called?" The girl pauses, a mixture of green and blue flickering to the man, before drawing up straight. "Ashe. You can call me that." "Your middle name, I do believe? Why do you prefer that, to your first?" "Isn't it obvious? Ashe. Felicity. Which one d'you think sounds like a girl, dressed in pink, crying out for daddy?" She snorts, finally releasing the now fully curled, strand of hair. "And which one sounds like, oh, i don't know, me? Please. Don't make me state the obvious. I already told you why I don't like being called Felicity. Don't make me waste my time, ok? I don't like it." "Understood. So, you're from a pureblood line, I see. How do you feel about muggleborns?" She shrugs, nonchalant. Her fingers plays with the hem of her oversized shirt; a sure sign that this interview was becoming a bore. "Oh, I don't know. I'd have to care to feel anything about them, wouldn't I? Most Slytherins hate them, but to be honest, I don't really see what the fuss is about. I mean, if you've got the skills, then you're a wizard. Blood doesn't have anything to do with it. It's probably just a faze or something. Silly kids, messing around. Immature, really. They'll all snap out of it sooner or later." "And if they don't?" She shrugs once more. "Not my problem." "Ah, I get it. You're more of the lone character, hm?" "Not necessarily." Eyes narrow, she shifts into a defensive posture. "I just have a hard outer shell. No point in letting others in easily, right? Because then you're just practically giving yourself up to get hurt." Something mysteriously similar to pain flashes in her eyes, but it disappears as quickly as it goes, and you can't be too sure. "Yeah, i don't like most people. But that doesn't mean i hate everyone. Just the majority, really. If you don't possess the ability to be annoying and immature, then i can deal with you. But if do, then quite frankly, i won't even treat you as if you exist. Harsh, i know, but since when did i have to care?" "Oh, ok, i think i understand now. You're like the snow queen; ice cold, but still able to melt, yes?" "What's up with that reference? You make me sound so simple. So dramatic. Really, can't you do any better?" Smirks, before continuing to play with her shirt, now speaking with a bored tone in her voice. "I guess at a first glance, someone like you would call me that. But really, shouldn't you delve a little deeper? Already making judgements after hardly 5 minutes of getting to know me? All i've done is answer a couple of stellar questions." Arches a brow, amused. "And here i thought interviewers were supposed to have some sort of high intelligence; or at least a knack of creativity." Laughs -- soft peals of noise. "Oh well. Although you've learned nothing about me, at least my view of your profession has downgraded somewhat. So, these past few minutes haven't been a complete waste of time." "I -- I..." "Hmm? Can't think of anything else to say?" Stands, brushing her already immaculate shirt free of any non-existing folds. "Then I think it's safe to say that this interview is over. Thank you so much for your time." ___________________________________________ August, 1958 -- 0 The shrill, scream of a newborn. The rugged, but relieved breath of a mother. The happy, excited aura's of the people scattered around. The dark, moody 4 year old, standing forgotten in the corner. The baby, wrapped up in protective cloths, was currently in the fathers arms; a bundle of (for now) peaceful pink. The father, crooning happily, gently carried the child to the 4 year old, before showing her her newest younger sister. "Look, Lizzie. Say hello to Felicity." He murmured, eyes trained on the sleeping face of his child. The older girl -- the oldest DeLuca -- stared at her younger sister, before crossing her arms defiantly, scowling. "Nothing special Daddy", she began, all that fuss for this?" she scoffed. "Take it back, Daddy. We don't need it." She turned, her perfect, brunette ringlets hitting her father in the face, just like a slap. January, 1959 -- 1 Felicity sat on the floor, unaware. She was currently painting with her older sister, and she was having a blast. Fluorescent pink splattered her face, covering her hair and clothes. Her sister, Elizabeth, stood, looking at her sister shrewdly, a look of disgust plain on her face. Glancing at the door, she moved quickly; shoving her sister over with her hands, tipping the paint over with her foot all over the newly installed black carpet that her mother oh so loved. She yelled for her mother. Footsteps. Shouts. Felicity took the blame. Elizabeth took the praise. April, 1961 -- 3 They were out in the park, having a family picnic. Elizabeth had offered to take Felicity around for a quick tour. The DeLuca's came here often, so the parents agreed; as long as the two stayed in their sight. Clutching her younger sister's chubby hand, she dragged her over to the far end of the park, dumping her behind a bush. "Stay here." She ordered. "Don't move -- it's a game!" She added brightly, with dark thoughts to go with. Giving her sister a harsh pat on the head, she skipped back to her parents, to inform them of her Felicity's 'disappearance'. Frantic, the parents searched the grounds. It didn't take long for them to find her, huddled in a bush, all excited about the idea of winning the game. They angrily shouted at her, demanding an explanation. It was Felicity's word against Elizabeth's. They believed the words of the eldest. June, 1965 -- 7 The family stood, at platform 9 3/4, waiting for the Hogwarts Express to pull in. The 7 year old -- now demanding to be called Ashe -- stood, a little apart from her parents, arms crossed, bored. 7 years of life, and already, she had had enough. 7 years worth of constant bullying, and who wouldn't be? Her older sister, for some reason she couldn't quite figure out, detested her existence. Her parents, thought of her as the disappointing DeLuca sibling. The sibling, that constantly stood second best; a mere shadow, hidden behind the shining figure of the eldest. It was hardly their fault; Ashe didn't blame them. But Elizabeth was a different matter. The train finally pulled in, and out stepped the eldest DeLuca, hair in perfect ringlets as always, chatting perkily to the crowd surrounding her. Miss popular. Number one. Already, with only one year at Hogwarts, the eleven year old had already received high praise. Genius, they said. Child prodigy. Her parents flung themselves onto their daughter, murmuring about how proud they were, about how she was the best daughter they could have ever asked for. Ashe stood at the side, completely forgotten. August, 1969 -- 11 She was brimming with excitement. A few days back, her letter from Hogwarts had come, and today was her birthday, which meant that her grandmother was coming. Her grandmother; the woman who was Ashe's possibly most favourite family member. Because she took notice of the younger DeLuca. Even when others did not. And they hardly ever did. The bell rang, and Ashe sprang off her chair, padding down the hallway to wrench open the front door, beaming. Her grandmother held a long, thin box that could easily contain some sort of present for the birthday girl, and hardly able to contain her happiness, she opened her arms to receive the embrace from the only person in the world she would let. But her arms remained empty; instead, the girl turned her head and watched as her grandmother made her way towards her older sister, who was standing a bit behind her, and pulled her into a hug. "Elizabeth! We heard that you've been made a prefect! We're all so proud! Look, I've even brought you a congratulatory gift." Once again, Ashe stood, at the side. Forgotten. February, 1973 -- 15 Surely, this was love. Ashe didn't think she was capable of it; after all, wasn't she the same girl that shut everyone out? But no; Ravenclaw, ebony hair with eyes to match, slightly tanned skin and a body to die for, the boy in the year above had managed to melt her heart away. She had managed to gain a handful of friends -- even with the cold exterior she constantly held -- and she had told the friend she had trusted the most, indulging her in her secrets. That she was in love. They formed a silly plan like young girls do, with dreams of bumping into the boy, where he would scoop Ashe up in what would be strong, safe arms, and then they would kiss; and it would be magical. The two giggled, in the darkness, safe under the protection of their thick duvets. May, 1973 -- 15 Ashe turned a corner, and entered the empty classroom, thoughts of stealing a few ingredients for a certain potion she was attempting to make on her mind. Only it wasn't empty. There, partially hidden behind a row of desks, lay two people, a girl and a boy, lips locked. The girl, dark haired, green eyed, slim. They boy, ebony hair with eyes to match, slightly tanned skin and a body to die for. She blinked. Suddenly, she felt shockingly and painfully numb. The two bodies entwined messily on the floor, were the very two people she wouldn't have dreamed of being together. The Ravenclaw boy from the year above. And her most trusted friend. Together. May, 1974 -- 16 It was better to be alone. Friends were a risk. Families a disappointment. Lovers, unthinkable. Yes. It was better to be alone.   Coded by Juliet of RCR, ATF, SP, & Caution.