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Cardosa, Rafael; Ravenclaw Sixth Year
Topic Started: Aug 26 2006, 01:08 AM (293 Views)
Rafael Cardosa
Member Avatar
Is beauty to behold
Ravenclaw Student
CHARACTER DOCUMENTATION
Character Name: Rafael Cardosa
Character Nickname: None
Character Age: Sixteen
Character Year: Six
House/Alumni: Ravenclaw

Physical Appearance:
“I don’t know. This is a weird question, and I really don’t want to come off as cocky. But I suppose I have to do it right? Otherwise people wouldn’t know what I look like and then I would be rather screwed over. Or at least I think that I would be. Really, it wouldn’t be so bad. Because then people would stop being so shallow and actually care about what [or who] I am on the inside and instead of what I look like. God, I could be an entire jerk and people would still find someway to love me if I had a pretty face. Yet, I digress. Let me return to the subject at hand.

“So I’m tall. I’m 6' 2.5". I guess that’s tall right? I think that it’s normal, but apparently no one else does. Maybe they are all just abnormally short and I’m just regular height. Really, I think that is what it is and they just say that I’m tall so that they don’t have to feel bad. Because really, I’m a normal height for a teenage boy. Whatever, that’s not really that important is it? Either way you look at it, I’m 6' 2.5', and if you think that its tall, or you think that its short, that’s your opinion and there is nothing that I can do about it. So there. God, that sounded rude. But it’s just hard to describe yourself by how you look. Like I could say anything I wanted and it all really comes off as how I say it, you know what I mean. Like I could say, ‘I’m vertically challenged at 6'2.5"’ and then people would be like, ‘poor boy’. Or I could say, ‘I am practically the next Jack and the beanstalk,’ and people would be like, ‘OMFGJACKANDTHEBEANSTALKEXISTS!’ That’s the problem with writing you know, is that you can manipulate it to aid you. Beautiful really. Oh, crap, where was I? Sorry, I’ll try and stay focused. Or at least be a neutral narrator instead of an unreliable one.

“My eyes are brown. Not blue, not green, not hazel- brown. Like trees. Really dark brown. All my life I’ve had this weird fetish about eyes, because I believe what Edgar Allan Poe used to think about the eyes being the windows to the soul. God, I love eyes- but I hate mine. Their not special or unique at all. They are just brown, like the majority of every other person that has decided to walk upon this earth. And it kind of sucks. Hogwarts seems jam packed of people with really startling eyes, and I have to say its rather annoying walking around with your turn of the mill brown average ones. And yet I digress again.

“I have brown hair as well, and it’s usually short unless I get utterly lazy and let it grow out which rarely happens. I like my hair, because I think that blonde is overused and I think that blonde hair against my skin would actually look really, really bad. I don’t know, maybe it wouldn’t but I don’t think that is true at all. See, I’m not white. I can’t pull of blonde hair. I’m Spanish. Actually, I’m from Brazil. But I guess that we are going to have to wait and get into that later, aren’t we? Either way, I’m tan and therefore brown is the only thing that looks good against my tan skin. No, I don’t dye my hair. That’s just the way it is and that’s just the way that it is always going to be, so stop trying to pressure me to change it. God.

“As for my style.. Well I would say that I am clean cut for the most part, although sometimes I get really lazy and let a little hint of a mustache grow out. But that usually lasts only three days, and its usually when I’m studying up something fierce and don’t have time to shave myself, or am too lazy to shave myself, and therefore that is usually when I get scruffy. Whatever, I know how to take care of myself when it comes down to it, seeing as I take care of my body and I’m well conditioned. I run a lot, as well as play a lot of sports, but I’m not the most jacked guy that you could ever meet. This si probably because I don’t really take myself to seriously. I just want to have fun, and so I play to have fun, not to win. And for that I don’t look like the guys that do a thousand sit ups a night and go lift weights for fun.

“Um, I think that’s about it. God, I hope that I don’t sound too horribly cocky or too self assured. Because I’m not. Or at least I don’t think I am. Is that it? Oh, there is more? Wow, this is some strange interview, huh? Well, I suppose I’ll keep answering. Oh. Oh? Oh, I don’t have a choice? Well, alright, lets fire away then. “


Personality and Traits:
"Ahh, I wondered when this question was going to come up. They always do you see, but people just pretend to word it funny. ‘Personality’. Strange, rather straight forward if you don’t mind me saying. ‘Personality’. Like I am supposed to be able to captivate my entire being in a few paragraphs? That seems odd. But I’ll try. Well, as you can see, I’m a thinker. I love to think. I just do, and my mind goes off on tangents that can last hours if I am really bored. And they will be spurred from nothing else than a word, or a movement... or something like grass. Yes, my mind manipulates it into any possible way, shape and form as it tried to not only analyze it, but explore its complex depths of any meaning. That’s the way my mind works, you can never simply give me a sentence without expecting my mind to over indulge itself as it thinks.

“Um, well I suppose that you can already get that I don’t like being labeled as cocky? I hate cocky people, I think that they always think that they are cooler than they are, because really if you are that cool, you wouldn’t feel the need to go around prancing around about being ‘hot’ all the damn time. You would just be you. But if you are an air head then the only thing that you can do is bank on your looks right? So thank god that I don’t have to bank on my looks. No, I’m smart. Really, really smart. Please don’t tell me that I sound cocky, because its hard to explain your personality without either coming across as cocky, or downplaying yourself. But I know I’m smart. That’s a fact. Look at my OWL scores, I got an ‘O’ in everything. That means I’m smart. Honestly, that was what the test was instilled for, to tell the smart people from the dumb people. The weird thing is, is that it comes so easy for me. Whether demonstrated or on a piece of paper, concepts can just come second hand to my nature. I have an innate sense for them, and usually I spend time in the library reading up on more difficult concepts, most of which they don’t even teach at this school.

"I like books, and I’m not afraid to admit it. I used to be ashamed growing up, I always yearned to be in my room, shut up with a decent read, absorbing the words. I love words. They complete me. I find nothing better to read about philosophy and ideas. They help me develop my own, and too often I think that they are overlooked as people try to make their own ideas. They are unappreciated, thrown to the side, and no one seems to comprehend the majestic nature that they can provide us with. As I said before, words can be manipulated into the most beautiful art form known to man. Along with that, I calculate each movement before I do it. I’m a strategist, I can beat practically anyone at chess because I think and anticipate people’s moves three ahead. It sounds crazy, but I do. And I have a photographic memory. People just walk down the street and don’t pay attention, but not me. No, I take my time to actually take everything in. Everything. It’s a bit insane, my mind works like a computer game. Instead of just seeing a simple person, its like I see the arithmetic that goes along with them as well. I process everything, the angle in which their arm bends, how long it takes them to walk, how their body movements convey messages. I always thought what went through my mind was normal, but apparently it isn’t.

“But anyways, lets get away from my studies, because I could honestly talk about that for hours. Well, as you can see, I’m a thinker. I love to think. I just do, and my mind goes off on tangents that can last hours if I am really bored. And they will be spurred from nothing else than a word, or a movement... or something like grass. Yes, my mind manipulates it into any possible way, shape and form as it tried to not only analyze it, but explore its complex depths of any meaning. That’s the way my mind works, you can never simply give me a sentence without expecting my mind to over indulge itself as it thinks.

“I’m usually cool minded. My friends have said that it is strange how I seem to keep my mind under the most pressing circumstances, and I hardly get mad or have an over explosion of emotion. If you get that out of me, well then god, you deserve an award seeing as no one has yet succeeded in getting an outpouring of emotions from me. Usually, if I get mad or whatever, I just keep it inside, roll my eyes on the inside, scream on the inside, but just smile and nod on the outside. It’s a gift. I swear. I get along with most people well enough, because I can usually find some kind of a common ground with them. Or if that is unattainable I can usually be polite enough for as long as they need to be stood, and then I’ll walk away and feel the need to shoot myself in the head. However, most people can’t tell when I don’t like them, and I usually prefer to keep it like that. In fact, I like avoiding conflict at all costs. No, fighting isn’t my thing. I’m better playing up to my strengths, which is education. Seeing as that wouldn’t help me too much in a fight, I don’t think that is a dire problem. After... after my eleventh birthday I have become a lot more introverted. People who don’t know me say I’m shy, and that’s exactly it. They don’t know me. I’m not shy, just most of the time I don’t talk unless someone approaches me. Helps to keep me out of trouble and keep my nose clean. When I do talk, I’m known to be a charmer though. I can talk my way practically out of anything because I have a way of appealing to people that most people can’t capture. Does that make sense?

“I will stop myself before I bore you with one of my tangents, and try to be rather straightforward with the rest of this, though I can’t promise you anything at all, and I am sorry for that. I don’t mean to be a disappointment. I’m hard on myself, maybe a little too hard then I need to be, but I know I am. I can not, under any means, accept failure at all. I hate ordinary. I can’t blend the two, and I try my hardest to stay away from it as well as I can. There is no way I am ordinary. Yes, I have an ordinary name, and an ordinary family, but I am not ordinary. I define myself, and no one else can do that accept me. I won’t allow it.

“Um, that’s all I can think of at the moment. Or all that I’m willing to share. God, do you really think that I would put my bad qualities up here? I’m judgmental. I don’t have an open mind to things. God, there. I’m done.”



Background/Family History:
“You don’t want to know. No, like really you don’t want to know. You know those people that have those skeletons hidden in their closet? I’m one of those kind of people. I have stuff that has happened to me that I will never, ever talk about. Can I leave it at that? No, I didn’t think I could. Do you promise that you wont say anything? No, you have to swear to me. You don’t understand, I don’t tell people this stuff for a reason. Probably because they would probably walk away real fast and never talk to me ever again. Oh god, against my better judgement I am going to do this. Well here goes.

“I lived in a favela that was located in the district of Jacarepagua, a small west zone sanction of Rio De Janeiro. By the confusion that is apparent in your eyes, you have no idea where that is or the complex density of what that little favela means. Hell, you probably don’t even know what a favela is, do you? Favela’s are slums that adorn different places in Brazil, mostly along the coast seeing as the coast has always attracted the poorest of people for economic and cultural reasons. Yes, I have researched this, but lets not talk about that, shall we? Anyways, I’m one of the only actual Hispanic people that you will meet that actually come from a Favela, seeing as most of the people that are there are black because of the old slave trade. Enough of the history lesson, you don’t want to hear that. Anyways, there isn’t really a town or a name for where I live, it’s more so... just there. However, it has over the years developed a little nickname for it. They call is Cidade de Deus. Yeah, that’s right- The City Of God.

“Now, if you know anything about anything you’ll stop asking me questions right now. You know why? Because that name is infamous- hell, its fucking legendary. They call it that because they say you need God’s Grace to be able to live there. If you step one foot inside, its almost guaranteed that you aren’t coming out unless you have made the right friends in the right places. Make sense? Neighboring Brazilians will actually make hour long detours around the place to avoid stepping foot inside, and I know that rich people will actually fly over in helicopters to avoid being close to it. If you are an outsider you can’t bring money in, because you will get robbed. You can’t bring a cell phone in, because you will get robbed. And if you don’t have either of those things, then that sucks because your not going to come out alive. There are at least fifty shootings every day, and you can’t step outside of your house without hearing shots ringing out all over the place. You can’t leave your house at night because if you do, then you will get shot. Certain fact. Even in the day time, you will get shot. Its not just teenagers that this is for, it goes for everyone. Kids as young as four run around with guns. Babies die in crossfire all the time. Everyone is a civilian, and everyone gets killed. That is, unless you play your cards right and make alliances with the right people. Yes, the only way to survive is gangs. There is no law in Cidade de Deus. Just whatever you gotta do for survival.

“Okay, I’m going to stop scaring you now because I think you have a pretty good deal about some of the crap that I have seen. I never knew my dad, I don’t know what came of him but I don’t really have any anger towards him. I mean, I know it’s kind of sad but I don’t really care. I don’t need him. My mom was always working, trying to make an honest living just so she could get me, my sister and my older brother out of there. My brother was seven years older than me, and my sister was my twin. I was the youngest. It was a flipping miracle that we lived to be as old as we did, that’s all I have to say. Anyways, my brother was one of those hard worker types. He was like my mom, he would tell me over and over to stay away from the gangs and stay at home, and he would also tell me that we would one day get out. I mean, it worked for a while, seeing as I was young and could barely walk, but then... you know how things go. You can’t keep a child cooped up. And he needed to work to make money seeing as my mom barely made enough to put dinner on the table for one. I don’t know what he did, but he had this way about him... this way that let even the most notorious crime lords know that he was clean, and that he was going to stay clean. No one messed with him, and in the beginning of my life he made sure that no one was going to mess with me either. But it was strange, you know. Its not like he did it with violence. That crap doesn’t work there. You punch someone in the face and they come back and AK your ass. They fight fire with fire, an eyeball for your eyes and your nut sack. I digress. Anyways, he did it with some kind of poise, some kind of respect. I think that all the people on my block looked up to him, and getting that is enough to keep them off your back.

“So for a while, I stayed off the streets and kept my nose clean. That was until I was seven. Now, my family was all muggle, but I was the only different one. I just didn’t know it yet. Anyways, as I grew older my brother trusted me enough to stop having constant supervision of me. And so I would wait until he left the house, and... god, I hate myself for it now, but then I would leave. My sister would try and convince me to stay at home, because she heeded by brothers advice. I would just shrug, and walk out of the house, the pull of the streets too much for me. One day I was walking, and I could hear these people behind me. They were older, and I was nervous and jumpy and kept walking fast. I guess my nerves peaked their interest, and they kept following me, their voices growing louder and more vulgar. Panicking, I took the wrong turn down a dead end, only to be met by a fence. In all sense of reality, they had me cornered. And I guess partially due to my brains and partially due to magic, I managed to escape. Landed right on the roof of the building that I was cowering near. Apparently, I thought it was over and just ran home, laughing about it later, but I guess I was wrong.

“Apparently I had angered them. I was now in their bad books, because they thought that I was some random hoodlem. Yeah, it sounds stupid right? I mean, I didn’t touch them or anything. I just escaped. But I guess that they figured me escaping was like an insult to them. So for the first time, I was in trouble. I probably should have just told my brother, but of course I didn’t. No, I thought I was a big man. Please, I was seven. I hadn’t even hit puberty. So for a couple of days I took refuge in the solace of my small house, jumping at ever sound and movement that I heard. It was pretty much hell, because I knew that I was in trouble. However, after a couple of days, I figured that they would be over a stupid seven year old, and moved on to bigger things. God, I was wrong. I left my house a week later, only to be cornered by at least ten guys, all from the particular gang that I had ran from before. I could tell that they were about to hurt me, so I fell back on what I was good at. My intelligence. I basically outsmarted them by just talking ain circled over their heads. Finally, they got sick of it and socked me in the face, and I passed out.

“When I woke, I realized I wasn’t at home. I was in some weird warehouse, and I had a bad feeling about it, because there were guns everywhere. I tried to move, but then realized I was held down rather tightly by some big guy. There was another guy, who wasn’t too far off from the first. Just by looking at him I realized that I was in big trouble, and there was no way that I could talk my way out of it. So then the guy launched into some big spiel about how I had troubled his ‘family’ [which I assume meant his gang], and how no one caused trouble to his family. I knew that was the end. I could feel it in my bones. But, surprisingly it wasn’t. It seemed that maybe he realized that I was smarter than the average kid in Cidade de Deus, something that he could exploit and use to his own advantage. So he offered me an ultimatum. Either he shoot me right then, or I agree to ally to myself to his side. I mean, I was scared. I was seven. All thoughts of what my brother had told me went right out of my head. So I agreed.

“For years this went along happening, and I was way too scared and in to deep to tell my brother. So I kept it to myself and pretended that I was being good and staying at home. I knew my sister knew, but any time she brought it up I would just tell her to stay out of it. I love my sister, so much. I didn’t want her to get involved. Anyways, I became their runner. That meant that I was given a gun and used as a scout. I would stay on the streets and survey possible drug deals, before I went back and told them exactly where, when and how we were going to transport without being intercepted by other gangs. Yeah, big deal for a kid who was seven. But then again, it was one of those times when my smarts became necessary. Most of the kids my age were the ones that they risked first, sending them into enemy territories with guns and no idea what they were doing there. But Alvaro, as he was called, realized something unique about me. He could tell I was different. Which was why time and time again I was spared my life.

“But anyways, my intelligence and ability to plan out and calculate allowed me to rise in rank quickly. Too quickly. There was a stir about my name, and it wasn’t time before competing gangs found out about me. Something that you never want to happen unless you are a powerful drug lord and can makes problems like that disappear. Needless to say, that was not the case with the now-ten year old Rafael. Anyways, I couldn’t make them disappear. I knew they were plotting against me. But Alvaro told me again and again that I had nothing to worry about. He, however, knew how much of a threat I was becoming. If he started relying on me too much, I could be his fatal flaw. So what did he do? What any other person would do. He decided that he was going to terminate me. I say that now, and you think its as simple as him simply shooting me. No, that’s not the way it works. They hit you hard. Knife to the chest. They went after my brother.

“It was one of those rare days that I lived for, when my brother, my sister and my mother were actually home long enough to eat a meal together. Actually, not even a meal but more of a couple bites. I knew that by then my brother knew. He was too smart not too. But he didn’t say anything. I think that he knew I couldn’t get out. Anyways, we were eating, and then I heard them outside my house. I thought that they were coming for me, but my mother and brother didn’t look alarmed. After all, crap happened outside my apartment every day, and it was then I realized I might just be paranoid. So I kept trying to eat, but I couldn’t stop myself from my hand shaking. My sister had went to the bathroom, and had the sense to stay there for a while. Anyways, just when I had started to convince myself that I was indeed being paranoid, they busted into my door. My own gang, The people that I had helped pave their way. And they were in my house, as though it was clear as day, a gun pointed at my brother and my mother.

“It was one of those moments when time stood still. I mean, growing up there I had seen people gunned down every day, but this... this was different. The guns were pointed at my family. Then that bastard came out. Alvaro, with a sickening smug look on my face. And you know what he did? He handed me a gun, and told me to shoot my brother. And he said if I didn’t then he would kill my mother. And my mother was huddled in a corner, shaking and sobbing screaming No, and my brother was looking at me with tears in his eyes. I didn’t know what to do. My brother told me to shoot. I didn’t move. He repeated it over and over, until he was practically yelling at me. I panicked. I pulled the trigger.

“At age ten, I was a murderer.

“I don’t remember much of that day, or that entire month actually. I just couldn’t stop seeing my brother sprawled out across the floor with a bullet in his head, his blood everywhere. They left quickly, I know that. And I could hear my mother sobbing even harder, he voice coming out as though she was the one dying. God, I don’t want to finish this. I can’t. Please don’t make me. All you have to know is that we knew we had to get out. I figured it out. After all, I was the strategist, right? It was a month before my eleventh birthday. The day before we planned on smuggling out, I got my letter, and my sister had one too. My savior. It was as though they had known. Everything had been arranged for us to evacuate and come to London. So we did. It made sense. I didn’t care anymore. I just needed to get out.

“We’ve been living here ever since. My mother, sister and I. We don’t talk about it. We never did. I never did to anyone. My sister has grown quite over protective of me, and I don’t fight it anymore. My mom- my mom is a different stoy. I can tell she wishes it had been me. I took away the only son that she loved. I wish that it had been me. I told you that you didn’t want to know, didn’t I?”


Father: n/a
Mother: Alzira Cardosa
Siblings: Alfonso Cardosa [deceased], Yelena Cardosa

Pet: None
Broom: None
Wand:11 inches, unicorn tail
Boggart: Alvaro

Member Title: Is beauty to behold

<span style='font-size:12pt;line-height:100%'>PERSONAL

Name: Fati
Your Age: Sixteen
Other Characters: Antonio De Luca, Zdravko Vrkljan.. sorry for making so many
Contact Information: PM
How Did You Find Us?: Friends and PP
Role-Playing Experience: Almost a year
Miscellaneous/Other: </span>

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