Post by Marko Iliev on Jan 20, 2013 17:28:58 GMT -5
Application for "Bulgaria"
The Basics:
Nation:
Bulgaria
Name of Character:
Marko Iliev
Age:
21
Gender:
Male
Country of origin:
Bulgaria
Blood status:
Pure blood (though he's actually part Veela, which still counts)
School:
House:
Slytherin
Year: Fifth
Job Prospective:
He wanted to be a Professional Quidditch Player, but given that he hasn't been scouted yet, that doesn't seem likely. He figures he could maybe go back to his home country and do something in politics.
Subjects:
-Astronomy
-Charms
-Divination
-Defense Against The Dark Arts
-History of Magic
-Herbology
-Potions
-Transfiguration
Quidditch?:
Yes; Chaser
Appearance:
Eyes:
Greyish hazel
Hair:
Black
Other features:
Tnothing really very particular about Marko's appearance upon first glance. Perhaps the most obvious is that he's pretty tall, standing just short of 6'3''. He has very dark, very sleek hair that reaches his chin at its longest part. All things considered, his hair is probably the most uniform thing about him. It would be unusal for any of his hair to stick up on top or be out of place. His eyes are actually a hazel colour, but in certain lights have more of a dull greyish hue to them. If one were given the chance to look for long enough, they'd see very little emotion actually in his eyes, though he tends to wear a shady look about his countenance in general. His facial features are also quite angular. His skin is lightly tanned; however, he's still somewhat pale for a Southern Slav.
Character Background:
Likes:
★ Yogurt.
★ Rakija. The good stuff, mind.
★ Beer.
★ Getting his ego stroked.
★ Money.
★ Roses.
★ Superiority. (ie. being the boss)
★ Pretty girls
★ Folk music. Especially if it's loud.
★ Corny Europop music. Especially if it's loud.
★ Queuing for no reason.
★ Football. Err, 'soccer'.
★ Cigarettes.
★ Fixing stuff.
Dislikes:
✖ Being spurned ("what do you mean it's not awesome?")
✖ People with "annoying faces", or so he claims.
✖ Certain rules and regulations. He's fickle with the ones he chooses to follow.
✖ People touching (their) eyeballs; ie. putting in contact lenses, etc.
✖ Turks.
✖ Gypsies.
✖ Losing.
✖ Studying.
Personality:
On the exterior, first impressions of Marko can vary. Generally he's fairly polite, and seems like a pretty okay guy overall, albeit in an off-hand manner. He doesn't seem to say much at first, though. This can make him seem rather stoic, at times. His mood or whom exactly he's talking to can affect this, too, because on the other hand, he can be quite cheerful and friendly. However, if he doesn't like the look of someone at first, then it'll be quite a task for him to get to like them at all; it isn't impossible to get on his good side, though. Pay him enough attention, and he'll soften up quite quickly. Likewise, ignore him completely and he'll probably be sulky about it.
On the other hand, he can at times be exceptionally headstrong, selfish and arrogant. He has a tendency to pick on people, although his means are quite varied. He isn't against bullying others. To friend and foe alike, he's the type to get a kick out of messing with others' heads. Unless it's clear he hates someone, though, it usually isn't done with spite, though he likes to give bad reasons for doing so, too. He mostly just does it for attention. Outwardly, any slyness about him is also rather obvious.
He's a very proud guy, too. He thinks everything he does is fantastic, and that the world revolves around the oh-so-wonderful him. So the best way of getting on his bad side - if one wanted to do so - would be to spurn him, or point out particularly weak points. This would be at one's own risk, however. He's generally quite irritable, and pushing the wrong buttons can invoke a nasty, often violent temper in him. Or, if you're somewhat intimidating, you can attempt to freak him out... This doesn't always work, though. He's strong, both physically and mentally. Even if it doesn't seem possible, he can endure a lot just by gritting his teeth and bearing it. He's the type who can't see failure as an option. And if he fails at anything, he'll make up an excuse as to why it wasn't really a failure for him, whether he has to explain it aloud, or just tell it to himself.
That isn't to say he's completely hard-hearted, though, even if it may be quite easy for one to assume he was. There's a side of him that's pretty sensitive. He adores children and animals and flowers and is actually pretty sweet and loving if you do happen to get on his good side. But he prefers to keep it to himself, or failing that, as few as possible. The fact is, if you tease him about having a soft centre, he will probably get annoyed. It takes a surprising amount for him to really gain someone's trust, but once someone gains it, he'll be exceptionally loyal to them.
Marko is more intelligent than he lets on. A lot more intelligent. He doesn't tend to show it, though, considering he's fairly average in wizarding skills. One of his more redeeming qualities, is that he's actually very courageous, and not one to back down from a challenge, no matter the scale. Some might call this headstrong, and idiotic. Others might call it showing off. All are very likely.
Pet?: n/a
Background:
Born of rather snobbish Bulgarian Pureblood parents in the country's capital, Sofia, Marko was just one of eight brothers and sisters. Though his life wasn't anything out of the ordinary - for a wizard - otherwise, he was a poorly-behaved child, and often played rough with, picked on or bossed his siblings around (even those older than himself). It is, in fact, likely that his overall attitude and superiority complex stemmed from being in such a large family - he wanted, more than anything, attention, one way or another.
He was accepted into Durmstrang at age 11. He made progress there, in both academic subjects and Quidditch, though his parents treated it as more of a prison than a school, and unlike his siblings he was never really welcomed back during Christmas or summer. He became distant from his family because of this, and after turning seventeen, he stopped going home altogether; proceeding to spend the time between years in on his own in England, transfering to Hogwarts from Durmstrang once the compulsary levels of education were over.
Relations with other characters:
(to be discussed)
Sample:
[April 21st 1917; Lake Dojran, the Macedonian front]
When he had closed his eyes, it was late afternoon, and there had still been a pale light shining behind the grey clouds. When he had opened them again, it was pitch black. It seemed the blizzard had never stopped once. Neither had the shelling.
He wondered why he'd fallen asleep, seated on the trench floor, his legs crossed and his shoulders hunched over, hugging himself for warmth... Then, momentarily, he wondered how he'd managed to sleep at all through the noise. The barrage was near deafening.
Shaking the settled snow off his coat, Bulgaria rose with a stagger, his legs numb from the cold. With no source of light, he was forced to pat around the wall to get his bearings. There were no soldiers in the trench around him; those who were not on lookout were behind in the galleries, he expected... He hoped. Squinting, he looked up at the black sky above. It was difficult to make out what was bullets and what was snow. It was perhaps midnight, were he to take a guess - it was too dark to go looking for a watch or a clock of some kind - and the British had been firing relentlessly since the previous morning. It had come as a shock, at first. But that was natural - how often did open fire not come as a shock? Yet since he had last checked, only three of his men were wounded. It was both relieving and gratifying, to think that, whilst knowing that the shells were flying far overhead.
Perhaps England's aim was just abysmal. Or perhaps he was wasting perfectly good ammunition on purpose. Maybe he'd bored him to sleep - maybe his tactic was to bore him to death. Unlikely. He was there to defend what was his - his land, his people, his honour and dignity. The Entete's task was to break through the Balkans. His task was to liberate Macedonia. There was no room for error. Losing here would open the way for the enemy to enter Sofia. They would do it over his dead body.
When the hail of bullets ceased, it came suddenly, and as the silence filled the air for a moment, it was almost as if the battle was over. Cocking an eyebrow in both surprise and suspicion, he felt around for the trench ladder, and - beginning to get the feeling back in his legs - climbed, peering over the top, cautiously - though the likelihood of him being shot at was incredibly slim. He licked at his chapped lips for a moment, mulling over whether this was some kind of trick to lure his men out... Was England aware he wasn't hitting his targets? Perhaps he'd given up entirely. His mind toyed with the notion of victory for a moment... But he remembered he'd been told not to get cocky. Vazov's tactics were working almost perfectly, but if he got ahead of himself, he could mess up. That was normally his downfall.
Still, he narrowed his eyes, spending a while watching the other side of No Man's Land. So much so that, when they came, he was startled - if only because he was surprised he hadn't seen them first.
The first voice to break across the hissing northern wind cried backwards, towards the galleries. "Te idvat!" 'They are coming!'
And come they did - armed, in a line, fading in from the dark abyss of the other side; seeming to carry themselves without concern, without doubt, advancing over No Man's Land like Angels of Death. Interesting... So England thought he'd won, after all. How he wished he still had the capacity to smirk. He jumped off the ladder and went for the nearest machine gun, as the men departing the galleries upon being called forth would soon do, too. He was confident, he wasn't afraid of England or the Entete or the fact that they outnumbered him greatly. But his soldiers were naught but humans; naught but men incapable of suppressing this level of fear. He'd witnessed many officers abandon their uniforms for parade clothes and white shirts. All this time, they expected they would die. Yet their moral was superior. They were defending their homes, their families, their freedom.
He locked on to the other nation, aimed, and put his finger to the trigger. Silently, he thanked his men for their bravery.
The rest
Anything else you'd like to add: nah
Country/Timezone: England/GMT
Contact: (Aim/Msn/Skype/etc.) (optional) ask for my Skype
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