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a_thrillkill's Journal

Created on 2006-07-02 21:24:37 (#10580710), last updated 2006-12-14

144 comments received, 405 comments posted

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16 Journal Entries, 6 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 41 Userpics

Basic Info

Name:	Ambidextrous "Dex" Thrillkill

Bio

This is a journal for the fictitious character Ambidextrous Thrillkill at the community

ww_thedream.
Only members of the community will be added and permitted to see the entries.

The header was made by Dex's player; please, do not steal. (Dex will catch you. No one wants that. >_>)

. . .

In scarlet groves of eglantine,
In glen, in fen, and moor,
Beneath the Lake of Gelderhine,
And lurking at thy door,
The adder and his poison mead
Doth wait where he oft takes
The lives that, careless, do not heed
The boy who speaks to snakes.

----Character Information----
Name/Journal Username: Ambidextrous “Dex” Thrillkill / a_thrillkill
Age/Birthdate: 17 / January 28 (Aquarius)

----Student Specific Information----
House Slytherin
Year: 7

Family
Guardian #1's Name/Age/Occupation/Relationship/ Magical Status:
Harriman Thrillkill/46/Interrogator for the Wizengamot/Father/Wizard
Guardian #2's Name/Age/Occupation/Relationship/ Magical Status:
Vermillion Thrillkill/44/Housewife/Mother/Witch
Siblings' Names/Ages/Occupations/ Magical Status:
Demetrius Thrillkill/21/Obliviator for the Ministry/Wizard
Pet Names/Species: Horned Owl, named Nemesis. Smooth Snake, named Scythia.
Bloodline: Pureblood.
Birthplace/Heritage: Kent, England / British (With a bit of Nordic Viking ancestry lurking in the earliest roots of his family tree, hence the rare surname.)
Family Social Status: Elite Upper class.
Religion: Merlin-fearing.

----General Character Information----
Personal History:

The spindly-limbed tutor with thickly rimmed spectacles smiled generously down at his pupil, who was catching on even more quickly than he’d imagined possible. He watched as the young boy kept a trained eye on his subject, even through the mass of long dark hair that he refused to cut. The small salamander squirmed under his gaze, but did not move from the spot – held under a spell? It was quickly dehydrating outside of its native marsh, without water… but faster than seemed natural. Soon it shriveled like a raisin beneath the sun. It was dead.

“Such a bright boy, so much talent,” remarked the tutor, proud of his pupil, even if a little uneasy at the boy’s smooth success. “The gods must have smiled down from the heavens when you were born.”

The boy finally looked up at his mentor, his face a blank slate of expression. “The gods may have smiled, sir; but my mother cried.”

So began the education of young Master Ambidextrous Thrillkill, born to Vermillion and Harriman Thrillkill, and fondly known as Dex. Perhaps ‘fondly’ is not the right word. A better explanation might be that Dex will make you sorry six ways from Sunday if you call him by his full given name without permission. Dex prevented an adder from attacking him when he was but a small boy of six; instead, the poisonous snake chased after another young child who was in the same playground, who only just escaped with the timely rescue by her mother. His parents were thus assured their second son was blessed with magic, as was expected. At the age of seven they put him under the private tutelage of distinguished Professor Skimbleshanks to ensure he would be properly groomed and prepared for his later entrance into Hogwarts.

The family received a small scare, however, when his invitational letter almost didn’t arrive.

Dex had a fabulous soirée of an eleventh birthday, with floating candles and icy blue fairy lights adorning the entire main hall of his family’s sprawling Kent country manor; presents piled themselves to the ceiling, cake with ice cream charmed not to melt until eaten, a small unicorn ride for all the invited children in the paddock beside the stables. Everything was just as it should be. But there was no letter from Hogwarts. Dex waited all day, and he didn’t go to sleep at night. Angry and confused, deeply offended, he destroyed many of his gifts in a furious rage before dawn the next day. And then, amidst the rubble, as tissue paper and wrappings slowly settled to the floor around him, one thin envelope fluttered along with them down to his lap, addressed to him. The rustle of wings was nearly lost among all the bustle of packages. At first Dex assumed it was merely another birthday card, and he almost destroyed it as well. But at the last moment he opened it instead… to find all his worries were for naught.

He was going to Hogwarts after all.

Whether someone had misgivings about him or whether owls were simply late that day, he would never know.

Alignment:

Like his father before him, he is very much in line with Voldemort. However… what Dex seems to be the most fascinated with in addition to the political philosophy is the violence one is encouraged to commit if one becomes a Death Eater. His parents have only ever been sideline supporters of the Dark Lord’s cause; by all means, aid the effort in secrecy (Harriman uses his position in the Wizengamot not altogether innocently). But when Dex informed his parents of his desire to become a Death Eater, they were repulsed, frightened… and yet hardly surprised. His penchant for twisted, dark behavior and, it cannot be denied, sadism, was something he formed as a child.

He views it all merely as a stepping stone. Don’t you know he has his own plans, hm?

Jory the Almost Fearless and Dex the Shattering Serpent:

He laughed.

Dex laughed, a short, plain exhalation—he opened his mouth, it curved up almost cruelly, carved his face into amusement… but what was rare here, what was strange and what should be marked: incredulity. His jaw lay open, between settings. Between smiling and unhinging to swallow you whole. And he blinked.

“A break? A break?” There was a streak of accusation in the voice, like rust, like an old door creaking on rusty hinges. “Why should I give you a break, Jory?” The name clattered into the space between them. More accusation, ridden deeper, sharper. Rusty nails.

“Do you want me to pity you, Jory?” he sneered, taking a step closer to the boy again, his head tilting, accusing, accusing, accusing. “Feel sorry for you, cut you some slack? Go easy on you?” Each question resounded with more rancor, tasting bitter as it left his tongue, closing in on Jory yet again. But he felt like he was closing in on himself. His eyes narrowed to the point that he could hardly see what was before them, and they were stinging, hot and burning and he could feel something welling up in them. No, no it was welling up in him, something was welling up inside of him and his lips were curling into a snarl at Jory and he…

…he was hissing at him. He hissed at Jory and it was loud and venomous and hateful and confused.
And it was Parseltongue.

It took Dex a moment or two to realize what he had done. Stunned, his face fell into a mask of immobile, plaster-like… mess. His lips hung slightly open, vision unfocused, so pale, and really the only parts of him that moved were his eyelids. Blinking. He blinked many times, in that silent, stunned fashion.

Dex had never used Parseltongue without meaning to before.

When he ascertained that he had regained use of his motor functions he backed away from Jory, awkward and stumbling, hairs standing on end, a frightened alley cat as he reached out and felt for the safety of the stone wall. Dex latched onto it, the familiar harsh dampness, the grooves between the grey where he could fit his claws and cling.

But when he was finally able to look at Jory again he wasn’t the wild-eyed feline ready to flee. He was almost… defeated, even as he lifted his chin.

There was a tremor in his gaze and in his voice as he asked, “Is that what you came here for?”

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