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[b]Perfectionist[/b]
[revelio](WC: 466)[/revelio]
[reducio]Manu Macedo was tired of being seen as lesser. 

Four full years at Castelobruxo, now, spending time among her peers and fellow wizards, learning more than she ever possibly could’ve thought she would know. Manu could cast spells and tend llamas and brew potions now, and she was only getting better at each with every passing year, growing more skilled, smarter, a better caster, a better witch. 

And yet it still wasn’t enough, somehow, for [i]some[/i] people. 

It was no secret that Castelobruxo was different from some of the other wizarding schools, students from which Manu had met - even befriended - over the previous summer. These other students didn’t care so much about blood purity. Hell, some of them weren’t even born to a single magical parent, which is something Manu couldn’t even comprehend, seeing as Muggle-borns simply didn’t exist at Castelobruxo. Maybe one or two, but they were certainly very rare. And even half-bloods like Manu weren’t nearly as common as those of “pure” blood. Manu couldn’t even think, off the top of her head, of a single other half-blood of whom she knew in her year. 

It was all those damn purebloods, treating her like she was someone worse than them. Like she didn’t deserve the same as they did. Like her magic wasn’t just as good, if not better. 

And so Manu made it better. 

Determined to be the best duellist, determined to be the best caster, determined to be top of her class and [i]determined to take down that absolute jerk Boe[/i], Manu threw herself into her studies. No longer would she just carelessly throw her spells like she would her fists. No longer would she let her temper steer her magic. It was time to learn to control herself, and it was time to be perfect. 

During Manu's last year of the Fundamental portion of her education, she doubled down on making sure every spell cast from her wand was said in the exact pronunciation with the specific wand movement required - meticulously cast, and aimed painstakingly at the exact point on her target which she wanted to hit. She also practiced her Ch'olti' every day, trying her best not to let her Spanish, English, and Quechua slip as a result - though that was to be expected when trying to gain fluency of a [i]fifth[/i] language. Over the summer, she threw herself into astronomy books, knowing that if she could get ahead of the game now, she could return to Castelobruxo for their first year of Superior learning taking one of the most difficult classes at the school - and, if she had her way, to be perfect in it. Perfect in duelling. Perfect in [i]everything.[/i]

Boe Correa would never be able to tell her she was lesser again.[/reducio]

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[quote][quote]Is your character a Broom Racer? NO
Is your character a Quidditch Player? YES (Beater preference)
Is your character a Duelist? NO[/quote]

[quote][center][b]Stats[/b] 
Stamina: 7 | Evasion: 7 | Strength: 10 | Wisdom: 4 | ArcPower: 3 | Accuracy: 9[/center][/quote]

[quote][b][center]Abilities
[/center][/b]
[b]Broken Broomshaft[/b]
[reducio][quote][quote]Monet has always been athletic and rowdy, often playing too rough with those she grew up with. [i]Too bad[/i], she'd think. [i]Suck it up, you'll be fine eventually.[/i] Football, tag, wrestling, it didn't mater. All of them usually ended up with one of her friends running to their parent in tears and Monet celebrating a victory (before being scolded by her parents) 

Monet also has never understood that brooms in the wizarding world are expensive. No matter how many times it had been explained to her, it just never got into her head that these were basically [i]machines[/i], not what you use to clean your floors. And so, Monet wasn't ever careful when she flew. She tugged, she dragged, she dropped every broom she used. It surely would be easy to replace, no? Couldn't another wizard just... Make another one? 

And so Monet's disregard for people's pain tolerance and their brooms turned her into a beast of a quidditch beater.

From the moment Monet learned what quidditch was, she knew she wanted to be a beater. Beaters, the menaces of the sky. Gliding through the edges of the pitch, their eyes scanning for the right opportunity to come. They were the heavy-hitters, the ones to be sure you were watching for. The ones to fear. The bat, the thrill of whacking a bludger towards an opponent at full-force, it was just [i]too[/i] fun. The day she made the quidditch team was the best day of her whole first year.

As time went on, and Monet became better acquainted with the sport, she found herself hitting even harder. Flying more recklessly towards opponents. Aiming for not just the person, but the [i]broom[/i], the achilles heel of the sport. She found herself playing with such abandon that sometimes [i]she[/i] would end up with more bruises than her targets at the end of the game. But it didn't matter if they won, did it?

The first time she split someone's broom was [i]glorious[/i]. It was a perfect hit, a killing blow to the opposing chaser. As they were tipped over by the impact, he [i]crack![/i] of the bludger to the wood of the broom could be heard throughout the pitch. She didn't understand why the guy was so [i]mad[/i] at her after the fact, talking about how long it would take him to fix his broom. Surely he could just buy a new one, right?[/quote]

[quote]WC: 411[/quote][/quote][/reducio]
[b]Lovely Creature[/b]
[reducio][quote][quote]"Congratulations, you have a healthy baby girl!"

Natania Gallay-Navarro's heart leapt at those seven words. After a long and strenuous 8 hours of active labor, those were [i]exactly[/i] the words she wanted to hear. Of course her first joy that the baby was healthy, but her immediate second thought was that her wish had finally come true. A [i]girl[/i], a baby [i]girl[/i]. Natania knew she and her husband weren't having any more children after this, and though she would love them no matter what, she was hoping and praying for a beautiful baby girl. At last, an excuse to go shopping for precious little outfits that would make her baby shine. As she held her only daughter for the first time, she thought that this baby was the most beautiful of her children (though she'd never admit it to the others), and she decided to switch the girl's first and middle names. Her name would be Monet, a work of art named after the artist.

Well, even though it did result in some [i]adorable[/i] baby photos, Monet didn't need anything special to draw people's eye to her. She simply was a captivating person, a radiant human, a lovely creature.

There's a subtle beauty to Monet, an effortless allure that she's always had. Her gaze rested soft, her eyes capturing rays of light ad capturing the flecks and depths of color within them. Her hair, always lush and healthy, framed her face in [i]just[/i] the right place no matter how she wore it. Her voice is confident, self-assured, as if the foundations of her thoughts give strength to the sound of her words.

The nature of Monet's interests as a child meant that she had a lot of male friends as she grew up. And while it was not the case with every friend, many of them would often bring her flowers at practice, or try to chat up her father to make a good impression. This was usually met by a confused but genuine thanks from Monet, and a quick changing of the subject at hand.

Monet's presence is beautifully delicate and fierce at the same time. Her outgoing and, recently, somewhat rebellious personality combined with her physique confuses and intrigues many. Wether through her looks, her personality, her voice, or simply the presence she brought with her, there was no denying it. Monet Gallay-Navarro was simply a lovely creature.[/quote]

[quote]WC: 405[/quote][/quote][/reducio]

[b]Terrible Presence[/b]
[reducio][quote][quote]Monet has not been a "pleasant" person to be around for a few years now. She was a bit rude, a bit stand-offish, and a bit stubborn. When she was at home, it seemed as if this magic school her parents had agreed to send her to was accomplishing their goal of mellowing her out and getting their precious little girl back. How stupid they must have been to believe such an obvious facade, a mere placation to their desires.

But what was actually happening was very, very different. What was first a small seed of distaste and distrust planted by a certain Mirales Correa had begun to grow, to sprout into a bitter hatred. As the weeks turned into months, and the months into years (just two, to be exact), Monet's animosity flourished like a noxious weed in her heart. The once-minor grievances she held against ungrateful muggle-borns had transformed into an overwhelming resentment that tainted her thoughts and emotions. This bitterness crept and entwined itself like tenacious tendrils, ensnaring every facet of her being and distorting her perception of the world and those around her.

As dramatic as that sounds, Monet was still only a teenager, and thus these "poisoned thoughts and emotions" only resulted in shouting matches and being largely unliked by her classmates. But everything seems like a life-or-death scenario at that age, does it not?

Far from mellowing her out and bringing back her former self, Monet's experiences were shaping her into something entirely different. Her interactions with her fellow students and even some members of the faculty had become laced with palpable animosity.

Oh yes, it was palpable. What had once been a rebellious response to a difficult transition had now become intrinsic components of Monet's personality. No longer did she stare people down to "show them you're not afraid", but it had become an instinctual reaction. It was simply second nature. Bickering with others was had devolved from the desire to be a mere contrarian, she derived satisfaction from belittling them and reminding them of their inferior status. Reminding them where they stood. 

Put her in a line-up of teenagers and it's clear that whatever Monet is experiencing is much, much more than a phase. Her presence and aura has simply been changed, altered. She was growing from a small, innocent puppy into a rabid dog, eacer to bark and chomp. Point her in a direction, just wait and see what will happen. What a terrible, terrible thing.[/quote]

[quote]WC: 415[/quote][/quote][/reducio][/quote][/quote]

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[center][img]/images/upload/zq236c.webp[/img][/center]
[quote][center][b]Stats:[/b][/center]
[center] Sta 10 | Eva 7 | Str 6 | Wis 7 | Arc 5 | Acc 11
[url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=737521#p737521](+1 from duelling)[/url][/center]
[center][b]Abilities:[/b][/center]
[quote][b]Fearless[/b]
[reducio]She’d never been one to look for danger but there was always something dangerous about living in the ancient city of Cusco, Peru. Of being surrounded by jungle and mountains and ancient cracking temples. Growing up, her parents had always warned her about where she should go and where to avoid, but having spent the last nearly 11 years walking the city, Agata didn’t feel the usual caution or fear that she saw in others. Especially the tourists. They were everywhere. Roaming around the streets in wonder. But to her this was home. And it always would be.  

Gallivanting around the city with her siblings was always the best part of her day. Now that they were away at school, Agata was on her lonesome. She’d been used to it of course in some way. The youngest of seven, she’d been left to her own devices many times by her parents who were too busy running their plant shop to truly look after her. They specialised in muggle and magical plants, providing anyone with ingredients for whatever they may need. Her siblings at first at cared for her, but as she got older and they left for Castelobruxo, they too left her to her own devices. In the end, she’d spent days exploring the ruins of Machu Picchu, taking the train by herself, and climbing, albeit secretly, the ruins to explore. 

She’d even come across sun bears and pumas when walking the ruins in the early mornings. Instead of the rush of fear one would expect at seeing such magnificent beasts, she’d only felt respect and admiration for them. She quietly snuck out of their way, heading towards a different part of the terraced gardens, leaving the animals to themselves. Although she didn’t fear them, she wasn’t stupid. It would be best to leave them alone.  

The adventures hadn’t stopped in Machu Picchu. When she was still in Cusco, on days where her mother forbid her from exploring, she’d help in the shop. Her mother would always send her on errands, either delivering packages or getting them for the shop. It was one of her favourite pastimes, and had been for years. She’d been braving the streets doing these errands without assistance for over 5 years now, and felt comfortable in walking the criss-crossing, star-aligning streets by herself without help. She always waved and smiled at her neighbours, not bothered by the sedate llamas or busy cars.[/reducio][/quote]
[quote][b]Potion Mastery[/b]
[reducio]She’d been stuck helping her parents in the shop over the Summer. After what had ended up in a disastrous exploration of the European continent and what the British termed, the best school ever (insert eye roll here), her parents had basically kept her holed up inside. Being the youngest, her parents coddled her like a baby, always making sure she was well and wasn’t in pain. She was sick of it. She had paid her older siblings to do her chores for her basically everyday so she could escape.

She didn’t go far. Just around to the next street, into an abandoned building where she had set up her cauldron and supplies on the lower floor. The building had long since been vacated and was a perfect spot to brew potions away from prying eyes. Most of the things she used were her own from school and ingredients weren’t hard to come by either – her parents owned and grew plants for a living. They had numerous magical potion supplies right there for anyone who needed them. Agata wasn’t stealing them, she was borrowing them. Turning them into something useful. They would have been sitting there collecting dust otherwise. It was what she told herself anyway.  

Week after week, she spent sat there in the dusty old decaying building reading her potions textbook. It was after three failed attempts that she’d resorted to asking her older brother Julián for help. He was an adult, more than capable of helping her with the magical spell component of her potions. He’d been suspicious at first, but when she’d explained it was because she wanted to learn more about potions he had agreed. It wasn’t his forte but anything for his youngest sister. Sometimes being the youngest paid off! They’d set about doing it every 3 days or so, when they could both get out of chores and work. She’d collected the ingredients and brewed the potions carefully, making sure every one was the correct colour, consistency and if applicable taste. 

Once the actual brewing had commenced Julián had proposed she make a journal with all her notes. She’d scoffed at the idea at first, but now, 5 weeks in, she was glad to have listened to him. Every time she trialled a new potion, she noted it down. What type of potion it was, what it did to the consumer, what it looked like, smelt like, tasted like. They were all important details that would help her succeed in learning her potions.[/reducio][/quote]
[quote][b]Poison Resistance[/b]
[reducio]There was something about the long break and being free to do as she pleased. It meant she had ample time to collect ingredients with her siblings, play the piano and brew her potions. Not particularly in that order, but as long as she was able to do those things, she was happy.

Bottle after bottle lined her shelves. Some of them were full of liquids and paste, whilst others were nearly empty. She’d become determined over the break to not only master her potions, but be able to tell which was which by a glance or taste. Her parents, not so bewildered to discover that their youngest daughter had a liking for potions, supplied her with the ingredients and spellwork she needed to brew potion after potion. With her stock full, or as full as she could make it, she’d sat down over several afternoons throughout the weeks she had off school to learn and test herself on the tastes of the potions. She was determined to be ready come her third year.

It had come to a head on the last weekend before heading off for ‘school visits’ as she called them. She’d waved off wandering the hills of Cusco with her siblings instead wanting to perfect this last potion test of hers. That was where her mother found her - inside her room, huddled under her study desk. She’d been sitting there all afternoon reading her older brothers potions textbook. Agata had asked her brother, Julián, to brew a potion. She knew she’d been affected by it, but it wasn’t what she thought. 

Her Mother came into the room, a confused look on her face. “Mija (darling), what are you doing on the floor?” She placed the new potion herbs on the table above her daughter, and crouched in front of the befuddled girl. “What’s wrong Mija?” Agata looked up from the book, worn in places and corners folded. “It’s not working Mama,” Agata mumbled. She picked up the potion, handing it to her mother. Her mother looked at it. It was a dizziness potion, beautifully created with a shining orange colour. It didn’t look wrong at all. “What do you mean Mija? It looks fine. Is that why you’re sitting on the floor?” Agata shook her head at her mothers question. “A little, but not really. I was expecting to need to sit, so took the potion sitting down. But I’m not dizzy! Not like I’d expect from a dizziness draught.” She handed the textbook over to her mother. “That’s why I was checking the book. I can’t tell what went wrong.” 

Her mother smiled knowingly. She’d heard of this happening. Placing a hand on her daughters head, she smoothed the chocolate strands back. “It worked Mija. It’s just that your body is tolerant to the potion. Probably due to all the testing you’ve done.” Standing up, she placed the textbook on the table next to the forgotten herbs. She held a hand down to Agata. “Come now. I’m sure your siblings are back from town. Let’s go have something to eat.” Agata smiled affectionately at her Mother, clasping her hand and hauling herself up. Mama was probably right. She’d grown a tolerance to all the potions she’d drunk over the weeks and now it was all in her favour.
[/reducio][/quote]

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[quote][quote]Is your character a Broom Racer? NO
Is your character a Quidditch Player? YES (Beater preference)
Is your character a Duelist? NO[/quote]

[quote][center][b]Stats[/b] 
Stamina: 10 | Evasion: 8 | Strength: 10 | Wisdom: 4 | ArcPower: 3 | Accuracy: 12[/center][/quote]

[center][url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=752565#p751928]+1[/url] [Broom Racing], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=775004#p775004]+1[/url] [Quidditch][/center]

[quote][b][center]Abilities
[/center][/b]
[b]Broken Broomshaft[/b]
[reducio][quote][quote]Monet has always been athletic and rowdy, often playing too rough with those she grew up with. [i]Too bad[/i], she'd think. [i]Suck it up, you'll be fine eventually.[/i] Football, tag, wrestling, it didn't mater. All of them usually ended up with one of her friends running to their parent in tears and Monet celebrating a victory (before being scolded by her parents) 

Monet also has never understood that brooms in the wizarding world are expensive. No matter how many times it had been explained to her, it just never got into her head that these were basically [i]machines[/i], not what you use to clean your floors. And so, Monet wasn't ever careful when she flew. She tugged, she dragged, she dropped every broom she used. It surely would be easy to replace, no? Couldn't another wizard just... Make another one? 

And so Monet's disregard for people's pain tolerance and their brooms turned her into a beast of a quidditch beater.

From the moment Monet learned what quidditch was, she knew she wanted to be a beater. Beaters, the menaces of the sky. Gliding through the edges of the pitch, their eyes scanning for the right opportunity to come. They were the heavy-hitters, the ones to be sure you were watching for. The ones to fear. The bat, the thrill of whacking a bludger towards an opponent at full-force, it was just [i]too[/i] fun. The day she made the quidditch team was the best day of her whole first year.

As time went on, and Monet became better acquainted with the sport, she found herself hitting even harder. Flying more recklessly towards opponents. Aiming for not just the person, but the [i]broom[/i], the achilles heel of the sport. She found herself playing with such abandon that sometimes [i]she[/i] would end up with more bruises than her targets at the end of the game. But it didn't matter if they won, did it?

The first time she split someone's broom was [i]glorious[/i]. It was a perfect hit, a killing blow to the opposing chaser. As they were tipped over by the impact, he [i]crack![/i] of the bludger to the wood of the broom could be heard throughout the pitch. She didn't understand why the guy was so [i]mad[/i] at her after the fact, talking about how long it would take him to fix his broom. Surely he could just buy a new one, right?[/quote]

[quote]WC: 411[/quote][/quote][/reducio]
[b]Lovely Creature[/b]
[reducio][quote][quote]"Congratulations, you have a healthy baby girl!"

Natania Gallay-Navarro's heart leapt at those seven words. After a long and strenuous 8 hours of active labor, those were [i]exactly[/i] the words she wanted to hear. Of course her first joy that the baby was healthy, but her immediate second thought was that her wish had finally come true. A [i]girl[/i], a baby [i]girl[/i]. Natania knew she and her husband weren't having any more children after this, and though she would love them no matter what, she was hoping and praying for a beautiful baby girl. At last, an excuse to go shopping for precious little outfits that would make her baby shine. As she held her only daughter for the first time, she thought that this baby was the most beautiful of her children (though she'd never admit it to the others), and she decided to switch the girl's first and middle names. Her name would be Monet, a work of art named after the artist.

Well, even though it did result in some [i]adorable[/i] baby photos, Monet didn't need anything special to draw people's eye to her. She simply was a captivating person, a radiant human, a lovely creature.

There's a subtle beauty to Monet, an effortless allure that she's always had. Her gaze rested soft, her eyes capturing rays of light ad capturing the flecks and depths of color within them. Her hair, always lush and healthy, framed her face in [i]just[/i] the right place no matter how she wore it. Her voice is confident, self-assured, as if the foundations of her thoughts give strength to the sound of her words.

The nature of Monet's interests as a child meant that she had a lot of male friends as she grew up. And while it was not the case with every friend, many of them would often bring her flowers at practice, or try to chat up her father to make a good impression. This was usually met by a confused but genuine thanks from Monet, and a quick changing of the subject at hand.

Monet's presence is beautifully delicate and fierce at the same time. Her outgoing and, recently, somewhat rebellious personality combined with her physique confuses and intrigues many. Wether through her looks, her personality, her voice, or simply the presence she brought with her, there was no denying it. Monet Gallay-Navarro was simply a lovely creature.[/quote]

[quote]WC: 405[/quote][/quote][/reducio]

[b]Terrible Presence[/b]
[reducio][quote][quote]Monet has not been a "pleasant" person to be around for a few years now. She was a bit rude, a bit stand-offish, and a bit stubborn. When she was at home, it seemed as if this magic school her parents had agreed to send her to was accomplishing their goal of mellowing her out and getting their precious little girl back. How stupid they must have been to believe such an obvious facade, a mere placation to their desires.

But what was actually happening was very, very different. What was first a small seed of distaste and distrust planted by a certain Mirales Correa had begun to grow, to sprout into a bitter hatred. As the weeks turned into months, and the months into years (just two, to be exact), Monet's animosity flourished like a noxious weed in her heart. The once-minor grievances she held against ungrateful muggle-borns had transformed into an overwhelming resentment that tainted her thoughts and emotions. This bitterness crept and entwined itself like tenacious tendrils, ensnaring every facet of her being and distorting her perception of the world and those around her.

As dramatic as that sounds, Monet was still only a teenager, and thus these "poisoned thoughts and emotions" only resulted in shouting matches and being largely unliked by her classmates. But everything seems like a life-or-death scenario at that age, does it not?

Far from mellowing her out and bringing back her former self, Monet's experiences were shaping her into something entirely different. Her interactions with her fellow students and even some members of the faculty had become laced with palpable animosity.

Oh yes, it was palpable. What had once been a rebellious response to a difficult transition had now become intrinsic components of Monet's personality. No longer did she stare people down to "show them you're not afraid", but it had become an instinctual reaction. It was simply second nature. Bickering with others was had devolved from the desire to be a mere contrarian, she derived satisfaction from belittling them and reminding them of their inferior status. Reminding them where they stood. 

Put her in a line-up of teenagers and it's clear that whatever Monet is experiencing is much, much more than a phase. Her presence and aura has simply been changed, altered. She was growing from a small, innocent puppy into a rabid dog, eacer to bark and chomp. Point her in a direction, just wait and see what will happen. What a terrible, terrible thing.[/quote]

[quote]WC: 415[/quote][/quote][/reducio][/quote][/quote]