Filthy Mudblood

мυdвlood'ѕ ιnтereѕт cнecĸ

massive bump
ps - if I have ever had a role-play with you in the past, and dropped off of the face of the earth, I'm sorry and would love to keep chatting. hit me up, friends.

(DELETED)

Yeah, sounds good :)

(DELETED)

I am indeed interested, too.

CANCELLED.

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_{Location: Mockridge Mansion ↠ the party
Interactions: Briefly talking to Elodie {@Legion02}}

The beauty of living in a ridiculously large house in Beverly Hills is the guarantee that you will almost certainly not be barged in on due to the fact that no one can actually be bothered making the needlessly long trip up to your room. Hence was the reason why Delilah's speakers were blasting out Michael Jackson as she strut her fuckin' stuff in the middle of her room without a care in the world.

"You better run, you better do what you can
Don't want to see no blood, don't be a macho man
You want to be tough, better do what you can
So beat it, but you want to be bad"

Oh fuck, now it was time for the chorus. Delly put on a performance even MJ would envy - her arms flourishing dramatically, her feet sliding across her carpet and her lips mouthing the words with so much enthusiasm that she almost dislocated her jaw. By now, she had completely forgotten that she should, in fact, be getting ready for the first and possibly the greatest party of the year - and she probably would've kept on forgetting if it wasn't for the alarm that went off on her phone. It told her that she had an hour 'till 7, the time that the party would not-so-officially start.

This was when the nerves kicked in. She felt her stomach flutter as she turned the music down to a suitable volume and glanced down at the outfit she had chosen. As always, the Elite had been somewhat vague when it came to the dress code, so she had opted for a simple black dress that she thought would look nice. Maybe.

There. It was on. And she looked shit. Her thighs were too big for this kind of dress; and her shoulders, too. Ugh, her arms! Her eyes were just travelling down to find something else wrong with herself when she let out a deep sigh and closed them, clearing her mind and counting to ten.

"There is no magic cure."

And when she opened them again, it was better. Not perfect, but better. She could hear Gerard, her second therapist, telling her that perfection wasn't something she needed and wasn't something that she would ever obtain. The butterflies hadn't disappeared, but the excitement was back. This would be her first proper chance to integrate herself back into the community, and she wasn't about to miss it.

Delly spent a while browsing through her snapchat - mainly to put off tackling her hair - and couldn't help but feel a stab of jealousy towards the group of girls she saw getting ready together. Just over a year ago, she would've been doing the same with perhaps some of her fellow dancers, or even some of the pretty girls in school; but now she was stuck on her own. It wasn't all bad. She didn't have to wait for anyone, for starters, and there was no need to keep up shallow, vapid conversations that so many of the girls she knew tended to have these days.

It didn't take long for her to realise that doing something with her hair would be decidedly less depressing than watching everyone else have fun together, so the curling tongs were switched on and the hair brush dragged through her tangled locks. Pros of bleaching your hair within an inch of its life? It looked edgy as fuck. Cons? It left your hair frazzled as fuck. Oh well. That didn't stop her from abusing it further, but it did make her take the time to spray some expensive protection spray that her mom had bought her before curling it into lazy waves.

Getting out of the house was another task altogether. The second she stepped into the foyer looking all nice and dolled up, her mother descended - demanding to know where she was going, who she would be with and how long for. Fortunately, Delly had planned ahead of time for this interrogation, so the twenty minutes she spent trying to explain to her mom that going to this party was a good thing didn't make her late for her 8 o'clock arrival time. What she had not planned ahead of time, however, was how she was going to get there. There was no way that she was going to be dropped off by either of her parents - as if her social life wasn't dead enough already. There was always she option of an Uber, but she despised small talk and felt weird sitting in a car with strangers. It seemed to be her only option, though, so she was just pulling out her phone to call for one when what was meant to be a playful nudge on the shoulder almost sent her flying.

"Jesus, Daniel! I'm not one of your punching bags." It took her a second to gather what her older brother was waving in her face, and she sighed in relief when she recognised his car keys.

"Calm down, sunshine. I'll give you a ride up."

Delilah's relief was soon replaced by dread, however, when she recalled that it had taken Daniel six attempts at his driving test before he passed, and that was only after a few phone calls from their father threatening to sue the company for wasting their time. Oh well, seat belts save lives.

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By the time they arrived at the beach house, Delly's nerves had tripled and she was chewing on her lip ravenously. She was so worked up that she hadn't even cared that Daniel's driving probably should've got them killed. In fact, she probably would've preferred a trip to A&E rather than having to face this party alone. It wasn't until the engine stopped that she dared to glance over at her brother, who's face seemed to be holding an uncharacteristically compassionate expression.

"You don't have to go, you know. I can just take you home if you want. We can stay up and binge-watch Westworld or something instead." Of course, they both knew that she did have to go. It was either this, or another year of solitude.

"Nah, it's fine. I'll be fine. If it goes to shit, I'll call you." Delilah managed a weak smile as Daniel ruffled her hair, climbing out of the car with a shakey breath.

"Don't get too wasted!" She heard him shout out of the window as he pulled away, leaving her alone in front of this stupid mansion and stupid party filled with stupid people. Fluffing her hair one last time, she took off the sunglasses that she had adorned for all of five minutes and hooked them onto the front of her dress. She longed for a smoke, or anything that would settle the butterflies in her stomach that was somehow worse than the pangs of hunger she had grown so used to, but stopped herself from thinking about it. She wanted to stop smoking - what smoker didn't? But she doubted that it would happen anytime soon.

"Fuck it."

Before she could look like any more of an idiot just standing there and staring at the house, she entered it with another wave of people. Immediately, she recognised two of the Elite standing at the door - Owen and Soleil - keeping watch, it seemed, for anyone not welcome. Everyone knew that the HOT girls and the Candies had been pretty much banned from this party, and it had been a source of relief for a lot of the people - including Delilah. The last thing she wanted was those stunningly gorgeous, judging eyes analysing her every move. She just wanted to have fun.

And to do that she needed a drink. Getting to the bar was a task, and she found herself murmuring non-stop apologies as she gently pushed past people the whole way there. She recognised a few people clustered around the bar, a few of them looking as uncomfortable as she probably did, but she hung back from starting a conversation with any of them. She didn't want to think about it, but she had seen the stolen glances aimed her way and heard the whispered words of 'sick', 'thin', and 'anorexic'. It was something that she had already grown used to, however it hurt all the same. She was distracted from her self pity for a second as a head of blonde hair appeared next to her at the bar, a bright voice chirping out french to anyone that was listening. A smirk lifted Delilah's features as she watched the strange French girl clap a hand over her mouth before asking for a mocktail, and she couldn't help but speak up - the girl was clearly in unfamiliar territory, so what's wrong with helping her out a bit?

"Don't let anyone touch that drink once you get it if you want to stay sober, 'kay?"

She didn't give the girl time to reply or even to see if she understood as she left the bar, deciding that fancy cocktails were not for her. At least, not tonight. Grabbing a cup of who-knows-what from a nearby table, she began to weave her way in and out of people with a tad more confidence than before. Taking a hefty swig of what seemed to be beer (a drink she despised) and grimacing slightly, she made her way back outside to where it was somewhat quieter and found a place leaning against a wall just outside the house. Well, she wouldn't be going out of her way to talk to anyone until she was at least somewhat drunk, so may as well make a start.

Beverly Hills High │ High School Never Ends

<3

Delilah Mockridge

_{Sometimes even the devil on my shoulder asks what the fuck are you doing.}

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| | N I C K N A M E (S) | |

• Delly
• Lilah
• Dee - "right, this is where people are just getting lazy."

| | A G E | |

18, March 4th
"The only date that's also a sentence. I was held back a year. Not because I'm stupid or anything."

| | G E N D E R | |

Female

| | S E X U A L I T Y | |

Heterosexual

| | R E L A T I O N S H I P S T A T U S | |

Single
"I ain't afraid to eat alone."

| | O C C U P A T I O N | |

Unemployed.
"I would work if I needed to. But I don't."

| | C L A S S I F I C A T I O N | |

Senior

| | R O L E | |

Formerly a jock, it can probably be said that she's more of a Floater now - she still needs to find her place in the grand scheme of things now that she's back in school.

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| |H E I G H T| |

5'5". A somewhat lacking height for a dancer, which has caused much frustration on her behalf.

| |E Y E C O L O R| |

Green

| |H A I R C O L O R| |

Naturally light brown, but she dyes it blonde.

| |D E S C R I P T I O N| |

Delly has a habit of, no matter the weather, dressing like it's the height of summer. Crop tops and sleeveless shirts are her go-to's, and she's never far away from a pair of shorts. She has a fairly diverse palette of colours, black being a popular choice for her since it safely goes with everything.

Her hair is almost always left down nowadays - naturally wavy, reaching her mid-back and dyed blonde. Makeup is not something she's overly fond of. She finds that if she does wear it, she forgets it's there and it ends up half way down her face by the end of the day.

Delilah's figure is not something to be commented on, however certainly has regained some of its former health. Her collarbones are perhaps a little too prominent and her wrists a little too fragile, but she's getting there. If one didn't know her, they could assume that she's just a bit thin for her age instead of a recovering anorexic girl. It's not noticeable - but it's there.

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| | H A B I T S | Q U I R K S | O D D I T I E S | |

• Quoting everything - whether it's Shakespeare, her favourite movie, or even a bloody Vine, count on Delilah to find a way to incorporate it into a conversation. Extra points if you actually get it.
• Smoking - something she started doing at the height of her disorder, Delly is trying to stop but struggling. She's cut it down to no more than two a day and she knows it's disgusting so don't bother telling her. It's a work in progress.
• Swearing - she never used to, but now this girl curses like a sailor. She'll never swear at someone, just to them.
• Biting her lip - it's not one of those things that girls do to make themselves look hot. No, it's a nervous habit. She always has a lip conditioner on hand to stop them from being practically chewed off. Ew.

| | D R E A M S | |

Ballet, of course, has been all she ever wanted since she was tiny. To make it big in nationals, perform in global ballets, and to have her name known in the dancing world. She still refuses the fact that this is no longer a possibility. Her chance has been and gone.

| | L I K E S | |

• Rain
• Ballet
• Parties
• Bruno, a white shepherd

| | D I S L I K E S | |

• Scales
• Doctors
• The color orange
• Spiders
• Dirt

| | F E A R S | |

Her fear of being forgotten was what ultimately drove her to her eating disorder - however, now the fear of going back to that dark place of self hatred is what scares her to most.

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| | H I S T O R Y | |

"I'm not gonna sit here and tell you I've had it hard, because I haven't. I'm so lucky to have this life. But, shit happens. And, when it comes to me, it never seems to get just a little bit rough - when it rains, it fucking pours."

You know those couples in movies that bump into each other, completely by accident and usually in the rain, and fall in love at first sight? That's what it was like for Delilah's parents (at least, that's what her father says). Her mother, Hazel Clarke, was twenty at the time and had just started her job as a journalist for the local newspaper. Her father, on the other hand, was twenty six and had inherited his own father's fortune of a little over half a billion dollars he had made by selling his worldwide watch industry. Hazel had thought him brash, cocky and far too up himself for his own good at first; while Ben had fallen head over heels in love with this stubborn red-haired girl with a head full of dreams.

After many refusals, Hazel finally agreed to go on a date with this 'rich arsehole', and they haven't parted since - marrying a year later and settling down in Beverly Hills. By the time Hazel was thirty two, they had four sons and two daughters - the youngest being Delilah.

Growing up into a large family with a ridiculous fortune left her wanting for nothing except the attention of her parents. Her older sister, Marie, was her father's favourite (although he would never admit it) because she looked so much like their mother, and her four older brothers got into enough trouble to keep her mother distracted enough to need a nanny to care for the girls. It wasn't lonely, for she had Marie to spend her childhood with, but she still grew into a rather quiet girl. In fact, the only thing that could really get her talking in her younger years was ballet.

Oh, ballet. Delilah was obsessed with it. Hazel had started sending her two daughters to classes when they were six in on of the Chasing Lights Dance Studios. Marie soon lost interest as she didn't care for the strict stiffness of the dance, but Delilah fell in love with the music, with the grace of the movements, and with the way it made her feel like a princess. As she matured, weekly classes turned to daily ones and she began to compete.

Delly loved every part of dancing, apart from her own body. As she started high school, she began to hate the way her hips dipped inwards and how she couldn't wrap her hand around her whole arm like she saw another girl do at nationals. She started to watch what she ate as anything even remotely unhealthy turned to sandpaper in her mouth, and she would spend days without eating in an attempt to feel lighter while dancing. It wasn't until she was fifteen and she passed out in the studio that it was recommended to her parents that she should seek medical help and stop training for the time being.

Both Hazel and Ben accompanied her to the hospital where she was diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa and was discovered to be severely underweight. On top of that, the muscles in her legs were torn beyond belief - the doctors had muttered that it was a wonder she could still walk. Delly's mother blamed herself, as any mother would, and swiftly pulled her out of school and enlisted the top therapists to help. After over a year of a painful cycle of progression and relapse, Delilah finally began to get better. She was gaining weight steadily, and had a new sense of confidence in herself that had not been there before. It is doubtful that she will ever get back to the level of ballet she was at before - that opportunity has been missed, and she knows it. This year will be her return to BHHS after a year's absence, and it is unlikely that many will recognise the girl she has become.

The sweet, reserved girl that was equally as passionate has been replaced with an outgoing, 'fuck-it' attitude and a sense of anger at the world. She is still as compassionate and reliable as before, but perhaps a little - scrap that, a lot - more open to living dangerously.

"What's the point in leaving quietly? I'm going out with a bang, bitches."

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| | E X T R A C U R R I C U L A R A C T I V I T I E S | |

She has the intentions of joining the photography club this year.

| | B E S T & W O R S T S U B J E C T S | |

| B E S T |
English, PE

| W O R S T |
Maths, History

| | E X T R A N O T E S | |

Mother - Hazel Mockridge, 47 years old
"The living embodiment of maternal instinct. She's a little too overprotective, but that's understandable, all things considered."

Father - Benjamin Mockridge, 53 years old
"An absolute idiot when it comes to giving advice and being a fatherly figure, but he loves us all and is a good laugh."

Sister - Marie Bethany Mockridge, 21 years old
"She can be a Class-A bitch sometimes, but I wouldn't change her for the world. I miss her now that she's moved out."

Brother - Daniel Mockridge, 19 years old
"He definitely didn't get the brains of the family, and it's easy to see that he cares about his looks a bit too much, but he's the nicest out of all of us."

Brother - Alexander Mockridge, 23 years old
"He's the smart one - no wonder dad gave him the family business. Alex is a bit up himself, but he deserves it."

Brother - Benjamin Mockridge Jr., 23 years old
"Alex's twin, but they couldn't be more different. A total party animal with dad's arrogance and mom's rebellious streak. He's the easiest to talk to."

Brother - Elijah Mockridge, 26 years old
"Mom's pride and joy. Pretty sure he's married now with some high and mighty job. I don't know him well, since he's like ten years older than me. I've heard funny stories about him, though."

Questionsssss

- The OG squad of it-girls were the Unholy Trinity, Alyssa Green, Audrey Huntsberg and Evelyn Harding. The Unholy Trinity's legacy lives on in the HOT girls, whose names just happen to come together to spell 'HOT'.
"An absolute waste of time, if you ask me. Why would someone put in so much effort to be top of the social ladder in high school, of all places?"

- The candies are an organisation of love - almost like a sorority in high school, if that makes sense. It's lead by Belle's niece, Ophelia, now.
"Is be lying if I said I didn't use to wish I could be a part of the Candies. I suppose I still do, in a way. It would be cool to have such close friends."

- Bryant O'Connor led the original Elite group, when there was only five of them.
"I suppose it's hard not to like them. They're hilarious in a eye-roll kind of way. It's good to see that someone can stand up to the HOT girls - y'know, remind them that they're not quite the stars they think they are."

_{Face Claim : Imogen Poots | Color : Orchid/DA70D6}

Beverly Hills High │ High School Never Ends

I am most certainly interested :)

Folk Devils and Moral Panics - High Casual 1960's Roleplay

Stand by Me, Ben E. King || Stanley Cohen's Study || Quadrophenia

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Society (n.)

the aggregate of people living together in a more or less ordered community.

Subculture (n.)

a cultural group within a larger culture, often having beliefs or interests at variance with those of the larger culture.

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Britain, Spring, 1964

News Headlines

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The Mods. Short for Modernists, this group of youths blossomed from their love of jazz and funk music, and partying well into the early morning hours. Many refer to them as the original ravers down to their notoriety of pill-popping, clubbing and anti-establishment attitude.

They are easily distinguishable by their 'chic' apparel, usually consisting of tailored suits and appropriately named 'mod-caps'. A popular mode of transport amongst the Mods are scooters, usually of the Italian variety and adorned with an excessive number of mirrors and Union Jacks.

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The Rockers. This group of youths has been around much longer than the Mods. Their culture revolves primarily around rock music, by artists such as Gene Vincent, Eddie Cochran and Chuck Berry, music that people call "screw and smash" music.

The Rockers can be easily recognised with their leather jackets and slicked-back hair. They get around on motorbikes, which are not only used as a method of transport, but often as a tool of intimidation and masculinity. Despite the fact that they don't have the drug-taking reputation that the Mods do, Rockers tend to be abused more by society due to their reckless appearance and stunts.

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After just about a decade of torment from both sides of the Mods and Rockers all around Britain, the government invested in the Edgewater Programme. A school of sorts was built off the coast of England on one of the Islands of Scilly known as St. Martin's. It was a place constructed in isolation from the outside world with the intentions of straightening these delinquents out.

Within a matter of weeks, parents, teachers and the like were clambering to have their kids enlisted as part of this programme - some wanted some peace and quiet in their town, while others were genuinely concerned about the drug taking and fighting that was gripping the generation. No matter the reason, if you put your child's name in while paying a surprisingly low fee, they would be shipped off to St. Martin's the following month.

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Okay, so that's all I have to far, but, basically, this roleplay will take place in the Edgewater Institute. You will be playing either a Mod or Rocker sent there from anywhere in Britain to be sorted out. There is no set plot yet, so I'm definitely open to suggestions on that - and I'll certainly need a co-GM to help me out. This probably won't be up and running until the New Year, but I'd love to see everyone's interest!

(High Casual) An Age Old Feud II

Still here!

(High Casual) An Age Old Feud II

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Location: Kingdom of Abhainn; just outside the ballroom
Interacting with: Unknowingly, King Maddox {@Scarlet Loup} _{yeah, she ain't the brightest star in the sky}

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Evangeline's embarrassment increased tenfold as she came to terms with the fuss she seemed to be causing. Not only had she managed to assault a relatively handsome man, she seemed to have ran right into a relatively handsome, rich and important man judging by the looks she was getting from his company. It took her a second to figure out that they were most likely guards, from their matching attire and quick obedience to his orders. She perhaps would have apologised some more if it wasn't for the fact that this stranger's lips were pulled up into a grin. Wait. Was he laughing at her?!

Her cheeks flamed as she struggled to gain some semblance of dignity standing in the middle of a hallway in the rags she was wearing. Eve's gaze swept over him as he did the same to her - sizing him up, judging him. He was clearly very wealthy, to say the least. He was very easy on the eyes, too - something he seemed to be very much aware of by the way he smirked and held himself with an air of arrogance that said I get what I want. If she happened to be meeting him in the actual ballroom, she reckoned she would not particularly like him. She would be as polite and charming as ever if they happened to strike up a conversation, but she would not go to great lengths to impress this stranger. However, they were not meeting in the ballroom. She had practically knocked him over before they had even arrived, so she pushed away any reservations she would normally have and put her trust in the gentleman.

Eve couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance at his dismissive statement. She could be a threat if she wanted to be, couldn't she? She wasn't that pathetic. Her sapphire gaze followed the guards as they retreated, her lips twitching upwards into a small smile. Well, he seemed to be friendly enough. Charming, even. In fact, she certainly wasn't opposed to the intensity of his eyes, or the infectious nature of his smile.

"I must look awfully frightening if I've made them that worried." Her tone, no longer raised in panic, held a hint of amusement that embraced her Sliabhann accent.

"Or, you must be very high-and-mighty." Hearing the words out loud, Evangeline almost flinched at how stupid they were. She had meant no offence by them, of course, and had said it merely as a joke - but anyone could take such a bold statement offensively.

"My name's Evangeline, sir. Evangeline Farthing." Almost as a second thought, she added:

"Lady in Waiting to the future Queen - who I should probably find at some point. But of course, I can't address royalty looking like this." She gestured somewhat vaguely down at the state of her garments, her statement one that was both completely oblivious and utterly ironic in the present situation at the same time.