Ability Applications
Link to your encyclopedia thread: meow
Name of Ability that you Are Applying for: Statistically Relevant (+2 ACC)
Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it):
wc: 425
ReducioUla has finished her third school year at Hogwarts with two duelling wins under her belt. Of course, was there anything less that she'd expect from herself? Absolutely not; losing was never an option.
Still, she couldn't quite really shake off the feeling of hopelessness she experienced during her last match when her spells missed opponent after opponent. So, she made a promise to herself; she'd find an activity during the summer break that would help her improve her aim. Unfortunately, with the Hogwarts regulation in place that forbids the use of a wand outside of school, she had to resort to a Muggle activity—throwing darts (ah yes, the perfect substitute for wand practice!). The idea seemed stupid at first, but at least it was cute; daddy dearest made sure to get her a set of pink Chanel throwing darts. Because, of course, if the ravenette was going to spend the whole summer throwing sharp objects at a board, she was determined to do it fashionably.
The concept was simple: stand at a set distance, steady your hand, judge the trajectory, and throw. Unfortunately, she had discovered rather quickly that consistently hitting the intended spot was harder than she had initially anticipated. A small adjustment in her stance, the angle of her wrist, the amount of force behind the throw, or even a small lapse of focus resulted not only in her frustration, but in sending the dart several centimeters away from where she wanted it.
Naturally, Ula being Ula, she was determined to master it, determined to improve her accuracy.
By the end of summer, her throws became more consistent and her hand steadier. While the young girl understood that throwing darts wasn't the same as spell work, she actually found herself applauding her new skill that translated well into spellcasting. During Ula's first few practice sessions back at Hogwarts, she noticed that she was holding her wand with more flexibility in her wrist; her spells seemed more deliberate, and she no longer rushed her aim or entirely relied on instincts. She felt more in control of her movements.
With her newfound ability to judge the distance between herself and her target and to adjust her aim accordingly, she felt more confident in herself (and more confident in her upcoming wins). Now only the next few duelling matches of the new school year will tell how much has her accuracy really improved—and whether all those hours spent throwing pink Chanel darts at a board all summer like a mad person would finally pay off.
Ability Applications
Link to your encyclopedia thread: linky link
Name of Ability that you Are Applying for: Perfectionist
Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it):
WC: 744/400 · all definitions from oxford languages on google
Name of Ability that you Are Applying for: Perfectionist
Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it):
WC: 744/400 · all definitions from oxford languages on google
Reducio
per·fec·tion
/pəˈfɛkʃn/
noun
the action or process of improving something until it is faultless.
‘Pawn to d4.’
The ivory-gilded piece slid across the black-and-white chessboard, stopping with a small hiss at the centre. The instructor – a man of average height and build, with sandy hair and grey eyes accentuated by wire-rimmed glasses – responded almost immediately, ordering his pawn to d5.
His opponent, a svelte child with dark hair and pale green eyes, did not hesitate for even a second before responding in kind. ‘Pawn to c4.’
The exchange continued, the gambit having been accepted. The clocks ticked. Each move had to be perfect, and perfectly timed. Otherwise –
‘Check. And mate, in fact,’ stated the girl’s instructor. He rolled his shoulders backwards and stood from his seat. His hands pushed it back to its rightful place beneath the table, and then he extended his right hand towards the girl.
She took his hand in hers and shook it firmly despite the bewilderedness of her gaze. Instead of meeting his eyes, she focused on the board on the table between them. Her eyes narrowed of their own accord, and she scanned each square of black and white. It took too long for the answer, the error, to make itself visible. She should have captured that piece three turns prior. Though only the girl and the instructor were present in the room, her stomach tightened. It was but a miracle that her cheeks did not dust themselves in rose red. This error – this humiliation – could not come to pass again.
Despite day by day of disciplined drills, failure still plagued Livia as she aged. From her numerous social blunders as a youth, to spell backfires at school, she could not seem to practise enough to stop these things from occurring. Even countless nights spent practising spells instead of sleeping did not prevent her own most favourite spell from reversing its fury upon her in the Spring duel versus Hufflepuff. Few sensations existed that trumped the horror of a strike of lightning; however, the embarrassment caused by that lightning being one’s own may have created a far worse experience than necessary.
Whenever Livia struggled, she preferred to do so alone – and, preferably, not for very long. This method, though tried, was not true. More spell backfires followed, followed by more sleepless nights, which, as the girl numbly went to classes and studied, seemed to exacerbate the problem. A lack of sleep resulted in a lack of focus, and not even Livia Machavariani could overcome biology.
She conceded that a healthier approach might be necessary. Duelling prowess could not, perhaps, be conquered as easily as an opponent in chess. The strategy, the movements, all of that was second nature to the spindly Slytherin. The idea that she might have to take care of herself, even fleetingly, to procure success? That was foreign. She had forever lived by the doctrine that to suffer was to learn, and that she would not be able to grow if she did not pursue perfection – by any means necessary – in order to slowly, skillfully craft success.
During the long, rather sweltering months of the summer of 2026, Livia continued to work. During July, this was done with the help of both her family and private tutors. For a month, she tracked the length with which the presence of sleep graced her; she took careful, inked notes of what she ate, of how much, and when. In what would have otherwise been ‘free time’, at least in the mind of her brother or other individuals less prone to perfectionism, Livia pored over textbooks. On occasion, she partook in mock ‘sparring’ matches, learning how to hone accuracy and better think of spells under pressure. Time gave way to minimal success, then increased accuracy. Not once did a stray bolt of lightning turn itself upon its owner. Perfection began to lay prone to production from preparation, so prepared, she would be.
Yet it was hardly a surprise to anyone the degree of detail with which Livia’s duelling notebooks were now filled. Every idiosyncrasy of each incantation had been inscribed indelibly within reams of parchment. The book’s leather had begun to crack and grow soft with use. Upon her return to school come autumn, she would be far better learned, and far more ready to surpass all others.
After all, what else could be expected from a Slytherin with a penchant for performative perfection?
/pəˈfɛkʃn/
noun
the action or process of improving something until it is faultless.
‘Pawn to d4.’
The ivory-gilded piece slid across the black-and-white chessboard, stopping with a small hiss at the centre. The instructor – a man of average height and build, with sandy hair and grey eyes accentuated by wire-rimmed glasses – responded almost immediately, ordering his pawn to d5.
His opponent, a svelte child with dark hair and pale green eyes, did not hesitate for even a second before responding in kind. ‘Pawn to c4.’
The exchange continued, the gambit having been accepted. The clocks ticked. Each move had to be perfect, and perfectly timed. Otherwise –
‘Check. And mate, in fact,’ stated the girl’s instructor. He rolled his shoulders backwards and stood from his seat. His hands pushed it back to its rightful place beneath the table, and then he extended his right hand towards the girl.
She took his hand in hers and shook it firmly despite the bewilderedness of her gaze. Instead of meeting his eyes, she focused on the board on the table between them. Her eyes narrowed of their own accord, and she scanned each square of black and white. It took too long for the answer, the error, to make itself visible. She should have captured that piece three turns prior. Though only the girl and the instructor were present in the room, her stomach tightened. It was but a miracle that her cheeks did not dust themselves in rose red. This error – this humiliation – could not come to pass again.
Despite day by day of disciplined drills, failure still plagued Livia as she aged. From her numerous social blunders as a youth, to spell backfires at school, she could not seem to practise enough to stop these things from occurring. Even countless nights spent practising spells instead of sleeping did not prevent her own most favourite spell from reversing its fury upon her in the Spring duel versus Hufflepuff. Few sensations existed that trumped the horror of a strike of lightning; however, the embarrassment caused by that lightning being one’s own may have created a far worse experience than necessary.
Whenever Livia struggled, she preferred to do so alone – and, preferably, not for very long. This method, though tried, was not true. More spell backfires followed, followed by more sleepless nights, which, as the girl numbly went to classes and studied, seemed to exacerbate the problem. A lack of sleep resulted in a lack of focus, and not even Livia Machavariani could overcome biology.
She conceded that a healthier approach might be necessary. Duelling prowess could not, perhaps, be conquered as easily as an opponent in chess. The strategy, the movements, all of that was second nature to the spindly Slytherin. The idea that she might have to take care of herself, even fleetingly, to procure success? That was foreign. She had forever lived by the doctrine that to suffer was to learn, and that she would not be able to grow if she did not pursue perfection – by any means necessary – in order to slowly, skillfully craft success.
During the long, rather sweltering months of the summer of 2026, Livia continued to work. During July, this was done with the help of both her family and private tutors. For a month, she tracked the length with which the presence of sleep graced her; she took careful, inked notes of what she ate, of how much, and when. In what would have otherwise been ‘free time’, at least in the mind of her brother or other individuals less prone to perfectionism, Livia pored over textbooks. On occasion, she partook in mock ‘sparring’ matches, learning how to hone accuracy and better think of spells under pressure. Time gave way to minimal success, then increased accuracy. Not once did a stray bolt of lightning turn itself upon its owner. Perfection began to lay prone to production from preparation, so prepared, she would be.
Yet it was hardly a surprise to anyone the degree of detail with which Livia’s duelling notebooks were now filled. Every idiosyncrasy of each incantation had been inscribed indelibly within reams of parchment. The book’s leather had begun to crack and grow soft with use. Upon her return to school come autumn, she would be far better learned, and far more ready to surpass all others.
After all, what else could be expected from a Slytherin with a penchant for performative perfection?
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