Snezana Bodnia | Serbia

[serbiandelight]

Application for "Serbia"


The Basics:

Nation:
Cyrillic Serbian: Сербиа
Latinized Serbian: Srbjia
English: Serbia
Name of Character:
Cyrillic Serbian: Снежана Бодниа
Latinized Serbian: Snezana Bodnia
Age: 21
Gender: Female
Country of origin: Serbia
Blood status: Pure blood

School:

House: Hufflepuff
Year: 5th
Job Prospective: She wants to either do something involving tennis, or Quidditch. She's very athletic.
Subjects: Transfiguration, Potions, History of Magic, Divination, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ancient Studies, Tennis?
Quidditch?: Naturally a Beater

Appearance:

Eyes: salmon
Hair: platinum-blonde
Other features:
(Is there anything extra about your character you would like known that may not show in the picture?)

Character Background:

Likes:
+ The occasional drink.
+ Tennis
+ Unique potions
+ Foreign Literature
+ Foreign Languages
+ Plums
+ Football/Soccer
Dislikes:
- Sarcasm
- A sense of entitlement some of her classmates have.
- The thought that magic could replace physical demand.
- Yugoslavia (It brought out the worst in people. She's glad that phase in history is over)
- Romance novels
Personality:

She longs for interaction, although doesn't often have the nerve to engage in conversation with someone new. So while she's very literate, and well educated, she's hardly the most social. Her interests in science and sports have molded her into a reasonably intelligent, but also athletic woman. She is an insomniac; so nights are a bit hard on her. While far from an alcoholic, she enjoys an occasional drink, which makes her more open with people, instead of hiding her feelings as she usually does.

She is often considered shy, although she can be cruel if you get on her bad side. She's mostly desensitized to the atrocities of this world, so most don't irk her enough to ever see her bad side at all.

Snezana is used to keeping her thoughts to herself. She is very good, as a result, at taking orders from others, and preforms just as vigilantly as those seemingly stronger than her.

Overall, she's a very friendly girl when you get to meet her. She does have a darker side, but only if she doesn't like someone. She cannot stand sarcasm, mostly due to the fact that she finds it degrading.

Pet?: Nope.
Background: Born poor, in Jošanica, Žagubica, Snezana's parents tried to give her a relatively normal life. They were worried that if she wasn't athletic, if she wasn't normal, she would never find happiness. And she did find her happiness. She felt relatively normal in a land where having nothing was a luxury. In a small village in which everyone knew one another. However, this proved problematic when Snezana began to develop her own powers. The people noticed she was being questionably different, and this alone was enough for her to be relocated to the grand capital, Belgrade. As her magical abilities began to be obvious, her parents realized that they would never find their refuge in a life of normalcy. Her parents, whom of which were over-protective of their daughter, had finally decided, after several years of home-schooling, that they would teach her magic, at least until she was ready to head out to Hogwarts for her own knowledge. Unaware of what status her parents had, she went in knowing very little about the school itself, but a sufficient amount about the magic. (This isn't so good right now because I'm feeling really knackered and I'll be adding to it myself later.)
Relations with other characters:
Serbia: Herself. Shush this is filler.

Sample:

FROM MANOR OF FATE EVENT IV:

There were several people who questioned whether or not Serbia's strokes were too clean to be a nation, rather affirming that her arm had to be mechanical by comparison. Her ability in tennis was undisputed, she was one of the best in the world, if not the very best. She knew this, but she didn't win every time, nor did victory get boring. She simply enjoyed it as a passion, and wanted to revive tennis as a sport of purity, athleticism and simply, fun. This is the very reason that she had brought the racquet in the first place, she had expected to play tennis. Whilst she enjoyed playing all sports, she had only found her métier in tennis.

She remembered showing off her skills to a Kosovo who seemed to have been an eternity younger. The old Kosovo, who respected her, laughed at her terrible jokes, and always begged to play with her, to learn how to play tennis and football and diving. He was interested in her customs, culture, and just her in general. She had lost everything she had worked to obtain, for the sake of protecting him. What had happened?

She often wanted to blame Albania for it, and sometimes openly would. This, however, was nothing that was not her own responsibility. He had been pushed, and even turned against her, stabbing her repeatedly with his words. He left, and the world supported him. Much of the world still supports him. Being assaulted and losing yet another important figure in her life, if only she could go back and change how she had scolded him. If only she would have shown her smile more often. If only she could have escaped with him already, before this whole ordeal had even begun. A tranquil walk, down the far reaches of the Danube River.

This situation, however, did not allow for such enjoyable festivities. Had it been a tennis match, she would easily have won, and been able to have acted upon her plan for escape. Escape at the current time seemed like an improbability, something to not even try and think of. This situation required complete concentration, a remembrance of what she had to fight for, and a good use of her skills. Her skills, however, were in a sport, and her only means of fighting off the Mexican's long knife was a meager tennis racquet. Even with an inhuman level of precision in her swing, her racquet would not be hitting a ball, and moreover, her opponent was more cunning, and threatening, than a fuzzy green ball. Missing her target in this match would prove to be her final match.

Therefore, it was hard to not cling onto her hope. Odds were never in her favor before, this was only an advantage, that having the odds out of her favor was already embedded into her psyche, it was her second nature. While the other two seemed stressed, and losing their mind, the longer this ordeal played out, the more calm Snezana was becoming. She had learnt not to question her better judgment before, so why would she start now? Two beautiful nations would become lunch for the literal bottom-feeders below. The great hope for escape, it was enough to keep her reasonably positive about the outcome. Astrit, another Serbia, and just as energetic as the original, was out there somewhere. She would do everything in her power, no matter the cost, to protect him from danger, to keep him innocent from the harms and temptations of this cruel world. This was her unforgotten vow, from a time that was better off forgotten. However, nations must remember everything, if they want to learn from their mistakes. Serbia regretted that she did not know everything about herself, and next to nothing of her origins.

Snezana knew very little about her mother. She only knew that Byzantium had taken her over following her disappearance. The mother of all serbs, the White Serbia, after traveling away from the oppressive reaches of the world, who only wished that her daughter could grow into the woman that she chose to herself, met an untimely end at his hands, most likely defending the baby Snezana. The thoughts bubbled up, and time could never cease their rekindling. The emotional toll of knowing that one's mother had perished without explanation created a rage within Snezana, and she particularly detested the Byzantine Empire for it, him being the only one who would have known, but his lips never uttered the words she had longed to hear. This was a prohibited topic, a taboo in her mind to ever talk about. She always wanted to, though. She always wanted to know everything there was to know about her mother that could never truly be there for her.

Holding back tears, she knew that this was not the time, nor was it the place. She would not give them the satisfaction, not again. This was a mental game that she wasn't going to lose. The metaphorical tennis ball was a formidable opponent in itself. No matter how many times she would try and dismiss the nostalgic thoughts, they returned, more painful than before. This was not something she was supposed to think about, except in the privacy of her own home, in her own room. For a very long time, she would set another plate at her table, destined for someone she wanted to come home more than anyone else. Someone to read her stories, and assure that her nightmares couldn't harm her. Someone who never came.

But, what if someone knew something, and her mother turned out not to be the hero that Serbia needed her to be? What if that made her less of a nation because of it? These were thoughts that she could never accept, and it was a very touchy subject, a personal wound. She always wanted her mother, or anyone really, to tell her that they were proud of her. To tell her that her ideals, her thoughts, her bravery and her pride were not in vain. Her own family was always bickering and never really seemed to notice what was really happening to her inside. Nobody could see her pain.

She had to believe in hope. It was a fundamental part of what got her through the hardest times of her life. She had to hope that what she was about to do wouldn't shame her mother, her family, and Astrit. She wanted to believe and hope that her decision this time was right, and furthermore, that there would be others who supported her. That slimmest bits of optimism forced a smile to her face. What of the perished? What would they think of this match? Would they even have the courtesy to care she was in peril, or would they rather laugh and root against her? Was her mother, by the slimmest chance, watching and rooting for her? This was the most beautiful thought Snezana had in years, during the worst turn of events.

Snezana had always been a woman of faith. Of faith in her people. She had faith in those around her, as well. Faith that they would one day remove selfish borders, and become friends. It was the reason she had risen from a nobody to an empire. Her resolve, however, was the reason she had fallen. Her ability was always among the best. Her quarrels were out of hope, but she did not have the ambition to destroy others, this was not what she was expecting. Others had fallen by her hand, but as the numbers increased, as did her hatred of ambition, her hatred of enjoying it. She had taken the lives of other nations, but she had only ever killed herself in the process of such atrocities. The faces she wanted to believe in her, the blurred faces and forgotten voices of the past. Is this going to happen all over again? Was she truly going to revert back to that state from her darkened history?

No, this was actually different from the past. This was much different. She would not be able to negotiate from her mistakes, and this time it would not be an army leading the attack, a force of power to support her. This was a three-way duel. She could not have the luxury of the support of her people, nor could she have any of their assistance. This was different.. At least before, she had her people supporting her close by. Was this what being alone really felt like?

“You still have a lot to learn, Sırbistan...”

She remembered a time in which Turkey was teaching her. Or rather, when he thought that he was. At the time, Snezana felt his equal, and that he was foolish for trying to teach her what she simply dismissed off as common knowledge, and useless tactics. Even so, she would listen to humor him. For a nation that so many, herself included, had seen as some kind of monstrous killer, deep down he had much kindness and wisdom, for a non-European, anyway.

“Vakitsiz öten horozun baþýný keserler*... You must not only know that fighting is always detestable, you must know when to fight. You must know what's worth fighting for. Everything else is worth losing.”

His words held merit, and they were relevant. Nothing from the outside world seemed relevant in this place, yet everything still was. She was still a nation. She was much more than just Snezana Bodnia. Rather erudite, fairly vigorous, but greatly misunderstood. However, there was only one who needed to understand this situation, and that was Serbia. The other two? What did they mean to her? She had her promise, her mother's forgotten legacy, and the rest of her family to not only prove wrong, but establish that she was not merely
a dying beast, history's forgotten empire that was slowly crumbling away into ash.

Her resolve, that she would fight to the best of her ability, would not falter. The other two might has well have been knitting a sweater, the silence was dreadful. Had this time passed in vain? Were they unable to understand that they were both puppets, the same as she was? The thought of being undermined and counted out as just another loser wasn't something she would let manifest into an insatiable rage, rather, she would prove those who ever doubted her wrong. Strike the sword while the iron is hot, her own words. Her own advice to her two fellow puppets in this display. The Inhabitants wanted a show, and Snezana was prepared to deliver one hell of a spectacle.

No matter what the truth was, no matter who would or wouldn't be there for her after this was over, Serbia had resolved upon two critical points. At this critical juncture, she promised herself that no matter what happened that she would assure that Kosovo would be safe. This was the most important point, and assurance that in the event of her death that he would be well taken care of was vital. There would be no other choice, he was what was the most important in all of this. Not her self, not her pride. A young rebel going through some confusing times and making mistakes he would eventually regret.

The other major resolve, while not as significant to anyone else, was crucial to her. She would not allow herself to preform insufficiently. This was going to be a clean fight, an impressive fight from three different competitors. She had to show her late mother that Snezana Bodnia was indeed someone to be proud of, that she was just as well a legacy worth passing on to the new generations. Fighting for the approval of someone that had long since passed away was all the likely an unorthodox view to many, but these were the type of thoughts Serbia had used to assist her as a toddler. One's parents are often seen as heroes, and to not have them there for you is enough to crush one's spirits. If such a thing had happened to others? Perhaps it was so, but they didn't understand her, they couldn't even begin to.


"Yes,"


Amidst her thoughts, the shyer, and more happy of her two opponents would have been the one to break the silence. It was almost ironic, if not admirable. She had expected something to have happened by now, or at very least Mexico to have been the one to have collected herself. It only proved that some of what Turkey said was more true thane even he believed it to have been. The beautiful girl was strong in heart, even though her fear was still present, she had affirmed to herself that she was going to do this. It had to have been the case. Her accent, admittedly, was cute, but it was different than before. Her voice wasn't stumbling, nor was it broken in an almost forced tone. The terror in her voice was seemingly absent. Perhaps, however, she had been quick to judge the girl after only saying one word.


"Let us enjoy this, and celebrate the our victor in advance, whoever it may be."

These words were startling, almost. Snezana had heard much worse in her time. It was clear that Monaco was eternally fading away. In Serbia's mind, Monaco had already given up, or snapped. This would prove to be interesting, likely either ending in blood lust or total defeat, despite her prior, and fair warning that things were going to get hot quickly. Monaco didn't seem as though she had it in her to begin the offensive. Nor did she appear to be fully aware of where she was in the moment. Was she, in fact, broken? Either way, she was not as much of a threat at this moment in time as the quiet, mysterious Mexico.

Snezana averted her eyes from Monaco, as if discrediting her statements, and studied the Mexican inquisitively. She saw it clearly, a familiar face. She was fighting inside of herself, unsure of something. But in her case, she had done anything but given up. No, it almost appeared as though she enjoyed it. Regardless of the truth, Mexico seemed to be transitioning into something frightful, letting out a distorting laugh and giving a fiendish smile. A formidable opponent, with an unparalleled, difficult to measure rage.

Perhaps her past was worse than Serbia could understand from simple studies. Her history was also dark, and it seemed to be getting the better of her. Her body seemed much more tense, and stiff than before. Her expression giving into an inner chaos, an indescribable madness, perhaps. Did she have the tenacity to attack her head on? Serbia easily deduced that she was the likely target, that she would be the greater concern, at least in Mexico's eyes. Her heart was clearly racing, and her resolve seemed much easier to decipher than the Monacan girl's mixed signals and mysterious personality. It was enough to make Snezana loosen her grip upon her weapon, almost dropping it.

It startled her, that this girl had the same expression that she had so long ago. An undaunting rage, and a prideful expression of desire to protect someone, or something. Did she too have her own Kosovo to protect..?..or that she failed to protect? It seemed as though with each passing moment that the hatred and that her thoughts grew darker. The split second in which she almost related to the girl had passed, and she saw what she could only describe as madness.

"C'mon my dears, who wants to be the first?"

It was confirmed. Both of her opponents were reduced to some form of a crazed mental status. Could she really blame them, though? Serbia herself had always felt like the world saw her as a monster, despite her intentions having always been good, if not for the best of what she saw with her biased, fixed eyes. This must have been why she had calmed down so quickly. It would be inopportune to strike against a crazed berserker as this, but if she targeted Monaco she would be easy fodder for that blade Mexico had sheathed. Why did she have it sheathed? Why was she just standing there, looking as though she wanted to kill, without actually doing it.

Monaco may very well have been her target, after all. She seemed more interested in blood at this point than in a fight. Thinking Monaco was crazy after hearing Mexico's voice, after seeing her slowly give into her instincts? This was not a good development. Serbia was beginning to regret another round of examining the two, since they seemed much more willing to fight than before. A good match was one thing, but this felt like suicide. Seeing the monsters within the manor was enough to scare her. Seeing her fellow nations slowly becoming monsters? For a brief instant she almost preferred being eaten.

"If you don't come out here to play, I'm gonna be forced to come to you."[/color]

Her words were simply salt on a wound. She was sane enough to try and psyche out the serb, and this wasn't all for naught. It wasn't exactly scaring her, but it did make her hesitate in thought. Was her resolve finally enough? Was she making the right decision? The rope burn, all but forgotten, didn't seem to hinder her as much as she had thought prior. At very least, it shouldn't affect her infamous swing negatively.

But there was a fatal flaw in Mexico's logic. Discrediting her fear was not real strength. It was merely impudence. It annoyed the serb, but it didn't amount to something that she wanted to get to her mind. Was it? Yes. But this wasn't something she was willing to allow to happen... Not willingly. She was not going to be defeated with such a meager endeavor as this.
It would take overcoming that in which you fear, to truly reach strength.

Serbia's greatest weakness was once her ignorance. She would face defeat and blame herself too harshly, rather than learn from her mistakes. She would repeat them to a horrible extent, and she nearly disintegrated in the past because of this. Wars seemed to brew like the morning stew, filled to the brim with death and destruction. Serbia was no exception to this, nobody was. It was beginning to become difficult to differentiate illusions from realities, and Serbia just wanted to get it over with.

That's when Serbia noticed the gaze Mexico had given her a dreadful gaze. In an enthralling glance, her eyes reflected her hatred, and enticed her, almost. Unfortunately for her, Serbia was used to the surmounting feelings of dread and having someone stare her down that wanted her dead. All too familiar, but that didn't ever ease the feeling of having done something horribly wrong. There was no reason for this fight, and there was nothing to be gained but a quick laugh. At very least, this much was true for the fiends that decided such a combative event could possibly end well at all. Serbia had decided, that they must be trying to weed out the weak, and then attack the strong until they were too exhausted to keep on fighting. Their sick game was only beginning.

A slow start, and reasonably so. To rush head-on into a battle of this magnitude with no preparation, no mental strategy would be foolish. The other two had obviously found it in themselves to accept what was happening in their own ways. It was impossible to read their minds, but calculating what they were probably thinking was always a decent alternative.

An open invitation, an obvious trap. She wanted the Serb to rush in, only to meet her knife. There was enough space in between them, after all, for her to draw it at the perfect time. This was her ideal situation, easily assumed. The girl would either go for a quick and painless kill, or if already she had succumbed to her savage nature, she would go for a very messy end. None were preferable, but both were highly probable. Snezana would do anything in her power to prevent her death, much less before she gave off a good fight.

Serbia was clearly outmatched by the Mexican in terms of what they were both armed with. Mexico, having a rather large knife, against a tool of tennis. However, Serbia was reasonably skilled in a particular martial art: Aikido. Much more specifically, Real Aikido, a Serbian variant in which schools in Serbia would teach children compulsorily.

Aikido as a word comes from two others, Aiki, and Buhdo. Aiki is a word simply meaning "love". "Buhdo" is a more complicated word, represented as the path of the warrior, and most often written as "Bushido" in Japan. Combining the spirit of the Earth, the sea, and the sky within one's heart, their love shines through all troubles. Nothing can shake the resolve of one who has become one with nature. The ego is blasted away, and insecure gestures fade away whilst in battle. To channel nature, and to use the will of one's foes against them.

The goal of Aikido, Serbian or not, was never to reach perfection of combat, or to kill. Rather, the goal was to improve your own lifestyle and ability more according to the rules of nature, rather than of instinct. Her movements would be lighter than most, but not overly so. The same given principal applies to nature, to the ecosystem. The major principal of finding your center, and aligning it within that of natures. This was the purpose.

This was her secret weapon. It was nothing anyone could read, see, or take away from her. Disarming Mexico could be easily done, if the battle carried out. Snezana had no idea of the fighting patterns taught in Mexico, and that she was dealing with a brute was a difficult enough thing to try and analyze in itself. Aikido. To love, to forgive, and to become nature itself. Skin hardened like that of the earth, legs flowing gently or furiously as the water, arms blowing like the wind, and the mind being the core, the epicenter of all that was required to ensure a perfectly functioning, well oiled machine of the body was in motion.

She was far from a master of the art. She had spent most of her time in sport, not worried about needing to defend herself, or to defend Kosovo. The idea of having to kill did go against her wishes, her philosophy. However, Snezana knew that she must defend him, to protect him from all comers. With her mind finally in the right place, her resolve was made.

Without a warning, nor any hesitation, she began to run, her athletic ability being properly displayed for the first time. As she ran towards Mexico, silent and steadfast in her intentions, her grip tightened substantially, holding on for dear life. There was no more time for laments, there was only time for her to act. Her steps were soft, and despite her speed, there would be ample time for Mexico to prepare her own counter.

Serbia leaped high into the air, a blank stare countering at Mexico's own angry demeanor. It had seemed for a moment, that she would swing at Mexico from the air, and be left wide open. This, however, was false as Serbia landed upon the ground, several feet away from her adversary. Jumping into the air, while a bold action draining away at her precious reservoir of energy, got her a better, aerial glimpse at the Mexican's blade's length. As thought, Serbia had an advantage, after all.

She continued her assault after a moment's reprieve, rushing the girl from the left, and swinging forward her racquet to hit the girl in the face. Mid-way through her swing, she spun around in a circular motion, now to the girl's right, and leaped forward once more, trying to stay far enough away that she was out of reach, but close enough to let her first hit, be a powerful hit. Rather than aiming for the face the second time, her attention, despite her fake-out, was focused solely upon Mexico's throat. Such a hit early on would make her opponent considerably hindered, and give Serbia a much needed early advantage. Her body had leapt a reasonable enough distance, but this tactic was not fool-proof...

Unaware of whether or not her blow had hit, nor how hard, Serbia was temporarily winded. Taking in a deep breath, and looking down, she began to doubt her rush tactic. She was vulnerable, and while she hoped for the best, history had taught her that expecting the worst was always the better, safer option. Even if her blow did land, she had a very angry, and likely unstable Mexican to deal with. With her unorthodox strategy, the possibility that she had shattered the throat of her adversary was about as slim as Kosovo winning such a fight as this. Hopefully, his fate was shining brighter than hers.

"Ako želiš jezgro, slomi ljusku."**

---

*Vakitsiz öten horozun baþýný keserler (Turkish) - the farmer cuts off the head of the rooster who crows before the time is right.

**Ako želiš jezgro, slomi ljusku (Serbian) - To get to the core, you must first break through the shell.

The rest

Anything else you'd like to add: I'm very bad at knowing about Harry Potter, but I am good at improvising. I'm Russian, it's what we do.
Country/Timezone: As of right now I'm in the US, EST timezone. But I very well may end up back in my home in Russia. A caketastic GMT +12
Contact: Skype: Ksensyal
Email/MSN: [e-mail]
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