Post by steeb on Sept 25, 2016 10:30:52 GMT
Liang Hongxi Tseng
male | sixteen |
Macanese/Chinese | asexual |
174 cm | 124 lbs |
halfblood | |
personality
[attr="class","profileboxscroll"]A boy with the sharpness and suaveness of a businessman, Liang HongXi "Nicolau" Tseng is known primarily for his cunning — and if he isn't, then he should be. Pristine, academically-focused, and undoubtedly a genius, the boy can rob you blind in with a few smooth words if you're careless. Whether you're his classmate, his friend, or a teacher, there's reason to worry about Liang. He's constantly calculating and always judging. Behind that mask of his, it's impossible to predict what he's thinking or what he'll do; he's truly a wild card. But be assured that he will always do whatever will tip the scales in his favour. No one in their right mind can trust a mind like Liang.
Even though he puts up a pleasant front with his teachers and acquaintances, there's something oddly artificial about it. It's slight, and few pick it up unless they really dive into conversation with him. Then they find that, beyond studies and exchanging notes, Liang cares very little for what they have to say. "How are you doing?" doesn't really mean he wants to know about how your day has been going, and if you decide to get into detail, he'll simply slip into constant nodding and "mhm"s. Everything he says as the bright and studious Liang doesn't translate to his actual thoughts. In the classroom and in the school hallways, Liang cares what you think and does his best to make you comfortable in his presence; he dotes on you and always seems to remember the details about you if you interact with him on a daily basis. Oh, how is your mother doing -- didn't you mention she'd written that she was ill the other day? And how about your brother?
All the kindness that makes up the public side of Liang is woefully different from the real Liang... who, you will find quickly, does seem to care for the welfare of others at all.
Indifference has been carved into Liang, leaving a once emotionally-attuned boy only a hollowed-out teenager who allows himself to feel little towards others. It's odd speaking to Liang; one often hears him utter phrases such as "I'm happy for you" or "My condolences", but without any sincere meaning behind it. It's as if he recites the phrases from rote memory when it's socially appropriate, but lacks the capacity to feel the words he speaks. Whether Liang is incapable of feeling empathy or whether he simply doesn't let himself is a mystery to those around him.
Liang places all his worth into his studies and future fortune. Within his very first year at the school, it became clear that investing in a proper career that would bring him money was the only thing that mattered to the boy; he would rather push away all those around him than give up his future. It's led many to think that he is selfish, materialistic, and cold-hearted... that being said, he doesn't have a completely frozen heart as many believe.
Behind the confident veneer and the perfect grades that he's racked up over the past few years, insecurity and diffidence plague Liang's every action. He may push away others, never allowing himself to connect emotionally with anyone else. But all that pent-up emotion finds another target: Liang himself. There is always a reason to drag himself down... he hasn't been performing well enough in class. The way he's written his latest essay isn't perfect. Why doesn't he have enough recognition from his teachers -- don't they say that enough money will bring you happiness? He's on his way to getting all that... So why isn't he finally content with his life?
Liang remembers the days when he used to be more than grades, studies, and a pristine record. The days when he used to feel more for others, when he was so emotionally in tune with anyone around him that if they cried, he cried. And if they laughed, he too bubbled over with joy. That was the Liang that cared for others' well-beings as if they were his own. The Liang that looked constantly to what he could do to help others and make them feel more at ease. He'd cook for them, sing for them, play with them, and do his best to make them laugh (his humour now is only dry, biting sarcasm, which elicits more uncomfortable chuckles than any real laughter). He liked helping people, and fixing their problems. And if fixing their problems didn't work? Then, the problem was obviously with himself. He would do whatever he could to change the situation or even his own personality to make someone else feel better.
But he pushes all that away, focuses on his work and on his future, and keeps everyone away. It's for the better, anyway.
Even though he puts up a pleasant front with his teachers and acquaintances, there's something oddly artificial about it. It's slight, and few pick it up unless they really dive into conversation with him. Then they find that, beyond studies and exchanging notes, Liang cares very little for what they have to say. "How are you doing?" doesn't really mean he wants to know about how your day has been going, and if you decide to get into detail, he'll simply slip into constant nodding and "mhm"s. Everything he says as the bright and studious Liang doesn't translate to his actual thoughts. In the classroom and in the school hallways, Liang cares what you think and does his best to make you comfortable in his presence; he dotes on you and always seems to remember the details about you if you interact with him on a daily basis. Oh, how is your mother doing -- didn't you mention she'd written that she was ill the other day? And how about your brother?
All the kindness that makes up the public side of Liang is woefully different from the real Liang... who, you will find quickly, does seem to care for the welfare of others at all.
Indifference has been carved into Liang, leaving a once emotionally-attuned boy only a hollowed-out teenager who allows himself to feel little towards others. It's odd speaking to Liang; one often hears him utter phrases such as "I'm happy for you" or "My condolences", but without any sincere meaning behind it. It's as if he recites the phrases from rote memory when it's socially appropriate, but lacks the capacity to feel the words he speaks. Whether Liang is incapable of feeling empathy or whether he simply doesn't let himself is a mystery to those around him.
Liang places all his worth into his studies and future fortune. Within his very first year at the school, it became clear that investing in a proper career that would bring him money was the only thing that mattered to the boy; he would rather push away all those around him than give up his future. It's led many to think that he is selfish, materialistic, and cold-hearted... that being said, he doesn't have a completely frozen heart as many believe.
Behind the confident veneer and the perfect grades that he's racked up over the past few years, insecurity and diffidence plague Liang's every action. He may push away others, never allowing himself to connect emotionally with anyone else. But all that pent-up emotion finds another target: Liang himself. There is always a reason to drag himself down... he hasn't been performing well enough in class. The way he's written his latest essay isn't perfect. Why doesn't he have enough recognition from his teachers -- don't they say that enough money will bring you happiness? He's on his way to getting all that... So why isn't he finally content with his life?
Liang remembers the days when he used to be more than grades, studies, and a pristine record. The days when he used to feel more for others, when he was so emotionally in tune with anyone around him that if they cried, he cried. And if they laughed, he too bubbled over with joy. That was the Liang that cared for others' well-beings as if they were his own. The Liang that looked constantly to what he could do to help others and make them feel more at ease. He'd cook for them, sing for them, play with them, and do his best to make them laugh (his humour now is only dry, biting sarcasm, which elicits more uncomfortable chuckles than any real laughter). He liked helping people, and fixing their problems. And if fixing their problems didn't work? Then, the problem was obviously with himself. He would do whatever he could to change the situation or even his own personality to make someone else feel better.
But he pushes all that away, focuses on his work and on his future, and keeps everyone away. It's for the better, anyway.
history
[attr="class","profileboxscroll"]Liang was born into a poor family in Zhongshan, in China, on the first of December. His father was an accountant, and his mother a housekeeper who stayed at home to care for her son. Before that, however, she was a woman of career and a pediatrician. Both had been born and raised in Macau, but in the years following their marriage they had moved to their current home. Liang's mother was loving and doting even if she was strict on her son, and his father always came home with a smile on his face despite the exhaustion of his long and tedious hours at work. The man would leave the house in the early mornings, and Liang would see little of his father until the late evenings — but even then, the older Tseng brought small gifts and snacks home for Liang, and the boy found glee and happiness in waiting by the doorstep every day for his father to come home. And Liang loved sitting by his mother while she worked at her sewing machine, loved watching the colourful colours come together. He could do this for hours, and even when she wasn't at the machine and simply using a basic sewing kit to fix and patch up clothing, he enjoyed keeping her company. He would ask her everything, about her work, about her childhood in the larger cities of inland China, and every question that he had about the ways of the world. He ride with her to the clothes shop in Macau where she sold her things sometimes to make extra money for the family. She even taught him Portuguese; she had been fluent in it, as her father was a native of the country. Although the family often had money troubles and sometimes found it difficult to put food on the table, those were happy days.
However, things changed when Liang's father received a promotion at work. Liang was around three and a half at the time... and when his father came home, grumbling about the state of the economy and how the company he worked at was teetering on the edge of collapse. Liang's mother and father decided, that very day, that it was of the utmost importance that Liang received a proper education and was ensured a secure future in the world of business. Liang thus began his studies at his young age. His mother bought second-hand books, bring them home and giving them to Liang. He was assigned a good amount of work each day to be done on time and completely correct... and if he did not do it right, then there was a scolding and a punishment in store. Thus, the boy learned the art of perfectionism at a young age.
He also learnt the meaning of resentment, however. Despite being taught that he should respect and love his family above all other things, education being a close second... he hated having to learn so much every day. He missed playing with his mother and waiting for his father by the doorstep. Instead, by the time his father came home every night, Liang was sitting at the dining table with his mother often shouting at him for an incorrect maths problem. Liang turned to his father for comfort in these early days, but his father's work hours had lengthened. As a result, the man was tired and wanted little to do with anything but a bottle of beer and his show on the television: the only respite from his long hard days of crunching numbers and being pushed around by his new superiors. Shouting, always shouting in his home.
The constant state of trepidation had a horrible effect on their home life. Liang watched, over the years, as his mother's smile disappeared, and her youth faded into greying hairs and wrinkles. She became less kind to her son each day. Soon, Liang could not even speak to her without being screamed at for something or other he had done wrong. He still saw little of his father, but he soon realised that his father being so tired was not just temporary. Liang no longer received a hearty smile when his father finally arrived at the doorstep each night; instead, he was ushered inside with a harsh and loud scolding for being stupid for staying outside in the cold. Liang's mother would join in on the berating as well: after all, Liang's father didn't need Liang to wait for him, he was just fine without his son attending himself to something so useless for hours.
Liang, too, slowly became disheartened. He stopped sitting by the sewing machine with his mother. He never again asked her his questions, or talked to her about her youth. Everything that he wanted to know, he would find elsewhere... or not at all, rather than face her shouting at him and lecturing him for hours because of some careless slip of the tongue, just a hint of displeasure. He didn't wait by the doorstep for his father anymore, either. It was clear to Liang, when he was as young as six, that no one cared much about him. It was his enrollment in school that made it so obvious. He was put into regular schooling hours, and then more paid-for classes afterwards. His parents poured all their money into their one child.
However, so involved were they in their work that they didn't even notice when the boy came home from school. Liang even played a little game of hide and seek with himself. If he sat in the next neighbourhood and waited for hours... or if he didn't come home from school... would his mother notice he was gone? And so Liang tried it.
For hours and hours, he would wait every day. He'd hide at his after-school classes, or in the back rooms of the house in a tiny cabinet just large enough to fit his tiny body inside, or even behind the walls of a nearby house. He waited for his mother to notice, or to come looking for him. Perhaps she would realise suddenly that her precious child was gone, and would come sprinting and looking for him. And he imagined that when she found him, he would look up her forlornly and ask if she really cared for him. Why did she treat him so badly, without even a scrap of the affection that he longed for? In his mind's eye, Liang saw his mother scooping up her small son and holding him tightly, telling him that she did care. She did love him. And after that, everything would return to normal, as it had been when he was a baby.
Days and weeks flew by. Liang waited, and no one looked for him. His mother always seemed too busy, sitting in her little room with her and loom or whatever it was she was handling. And even when Liang waited more than twelve hours until the skies were dark and his father came up the doorstep... even then, he was not asked for, either. It was only when they received the grade report that his father would give him a firm nod, or his mother a pat on his shoulder.
The boy gave up on his game quickly. No one was coming for him.
Each and every day, his resentment for his mother and father grew, and wanted nothing more than to be away from them. He would look back on his younger days with bitterness and envy. Who was that child that his parents were so much happier with? What had Liang done wrong? His grades should be good enough for them, right? His parents' careless attitude towards him wore him down day by day. Until he realised: it was not he who was at fault, but they. Work and their income had done the Tseng family no favour, and Liang could not blame it all on them. But even as young as seven, Liang knew he didn't want to spend all his life surrounded by people who could give him little kindness and love. He couldn't. He had few enough friends as it was at school; while he kept his books and studies as company, the other children ran around together and played without a worry. None of them had dreams of becoming a businessman, nor worried so horribly about their mathematics or sciences at this age. Liang was jealous.
Liang didn't want this joyless life. Son of one or not, he refused to let himself be grounded by his father's dreams for him. He had long eyed a foreign girl at his school who had such strange yellowish hair and blue eyes and even a language that was incomprehensible to him. She shared both his class and his after school classes, and she was in awe of his brilliance at his studies.
It was nothing, Liang told her, but nevertheless he was proud. He began to grow attached to her.
One good thing did come from Liang's little game of hide-and-seek. He found that he was free to roam wherever he pleased. In the flower fields, near the mountains... he could even cross over to the next town close by and his parents wouldn't be the wiser if he were home in time for dinner. And so, at the age of ten (just a few weeks shy of eight), Liang stopped paying attention to his studies and started, instead, paying attention to the girl from Sweden. He wanted to see more of this European girl close up. He wanted to speak to them and to learn more about them. Perhaps, if he spent long enough around her, he would come to understand her strange culture and the mystery that this girl was.
Her name was Adelaida. Her father came to China for his work, and his family came with him. She was bright, peppy, and beautiful for her young age. He quickly made a friend of her, and they ran about the town and through dozens of shops and restaurants. She bought him little trinkets and candies and gave him food, and Liang had never been happier to meet his new friend. She even taught him some of her language; a quick learner as he was, Liang picked it up quickly and was soon speaking close to her level. There was something magical about it all... a loose atmosphere of comfort and easy happiness that didn't exist in his small home. Liang went with Adelaida as often as he could after classes, even every day at some times, to run about with her, explore, and to simply talk. He was fascinated the most by her stories of her home. He wanted to go there someday... perhaps with her, if possible. To Europe... 歐洲 (Ōuzhōu). The name of the place was strange and thrilling on his tongue.
It was in these outings with Adelaida that Liang discovered his strange abilities. He often found himself doing the impossible; once, as the two of them were staring through a shop window, hands and face pressed up against the glass, Adelaida said aloud that she dearly wished for a shiny silver bracelet that laid within the confines of the glass. Liang thought about how dearly he wanted to get it for her... and with that, the glass vanished beneath their hands. Adelaida grabbed the bracelet, and they ran, laughing it off as a strange and miraculous incident. "God must have wanted to give me this bracelet!" she laughed. Liang felt oddly proud, but he wasn't sure why.
Another incident was when he and Adelaida had landed themselves in detention for talking in class. The teacher had to leave for a moment, and he locked the door behind him. Adelaida was complaining of how she wanted to leave, of how she hated the classroom... upon laying a hand on the doorknob, Liang no longer found that the door was locked. They escaped and ran to play for the rest of the afternoon.
Liang was never sure exactly of what these abilities were, but by age eleven he knew that they weren't simple coincidences. But he had no idea what they were, either, and so he refrained from telling anyone. Adelaida told him, however, that he had something of a great gift. Something like magic! Because he was always there to save their day.
Then came the day that changed Liang's life. At the end of the school year just before his eleventh birthday, Liang came with his grade report in his backpack home. He had gotten a look at it, however, and had shredded and tossed it into the trash bin outside his house. His time spent with Adelaida had taken a toll on his grades, and he couldn't possibly tell his parents.
That night, however, Liang's father demanded he hand over his grades. When Liang refused, the older man raised his voice, shouting about why Liang was hiding such an important thing from his parents. Was Liang determined to ruin his future? Did he not feel grateful for what his father and mother had done for him all these years? Trembling and afraid, the boy walked out onto the cold streets in his pyjamas and dug his grades out of the trash bin. He brought them inside and reassembled them on the dining table for his father, who looked over them silently. Liang had never felt such fear in his life as he did in the few minutes that passed. And just as he thought he was safe -- his father flew into a rage. He was gesturing so wildly, screaming so loudly, that Liang feared for his physical safety. His father let out a scream of frustration and hurled his beer bottle to the floor at their feet -- and Liang screamed, too.
At that moment, the shards of the beer bottle flew up from the floor at incredible speeds... and they pierced the skin of his father's face, hands, and legs hard enough to draw blood. Liang's mother, who had been watching, rushed the boy out of the room as his father shrieked in horror.
She was a pureblood witch, it turned out. She explained this all to him in vivid detail in the safety of her bedroom that night. His father would sleep in Liang's room. His mother clutched the boy's hand and told him that she would make sure he had a spot in the school she attended. His father would never understand; she would send Liang away to be safe. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid for all these years. She had only wanted a normal life with her husband and child. Unfortunately, she admitted to Liang tearfully, this was not to be the case. Liang had a future in magic. She had a friend who would fly here tomorrow and pick Liang up to go to his new school in Sweden.
Liang was entranced by the prospects offered to him in the school his mother spoke of. Magic was something entirely different from the rigourous studies he was so used to, and he wanted to explore this new world. He didn't want to be like his father, always going to work and coming home exhausted and shouting at his wife and child. Staying in China was something he despised to even think about. Europe was full of magic and fantasy, as well as this school that he was to attend. His mother had just opened the doors to his future.
Liang sought out Adelaida the next day. He told her of where he was going, and what he was: a wizard!
Instead of the amazement and happiness that he expected from his friend, she simply gave him a look of disbelief. He was crazy, she said. She'd entertained him because she felt bad for him, but now it was out in the open that he was out of his mind.
When Liang left China that evening with his mother's friend, he left a friendless home that he felt no love for. Europe, the strange land he had longed for, was still new and odd to him in every way. But the magic he had imagined with it was nowhere in sight, even when his guardian brought him into the shops to buy his school things and his wand. And then came Durmstrang: his new school. A school of magic, the place where Liang was now to put his skills into.
He was sorted into the House of Eldur, though he knew nothing about it. He didn't desire to know very much about it at all -- the only thing that was important to him from then on was his studies, which he threw himself into. He proved to be a brilliant student with a natural inclination towards fulfilling assignments to not only their requirements, but beyond them. He sought to understand every single problem he ran across. Rarely was a subject misunderstood by Liang HongXi, and if it was? Then he threw everything he had into it until he became a master of it.
The world of magic was new to him, but he filed it all into logical definitions and neat, impassioned little categories. His rule of perfectionism in his youth followed him everywhere he went, and he could not escape it even if it tore him down little by little. Liang had no friends, either... Adelaida had been his only friend, and she hadn't been one at all. He lost in faith in friends, after her.
He chose the nickname of "Nicolau" upon entering the school. He picked up the name from a Portuguese book he had read in his youth, one bought for him by his mother. He no longer wanted to be associated with his parents or with his Chinese heritage. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with them anymore. Even if he still writes his full name on his papers and in his books, anyone who actually calls him by that name is asking for trouble.
Liang has a goal now: to succeed and to become someone significant. He knows his goal is in Magical Law Enforcement... and now, simply to get there. And he will push everyone out of his path, betray friends and companions, and claw his way up to the top if need be.
However, things changed when Liang's father received a promotion at work. Liang was around three and a half at the time... and when his father came home, grumbling about the state of the economy and how the company he worked at was teetering on the edge of collapse. Liang's mother and father decided, that very day, that it was of the utmost importance that Liang received a proper education and was ensured a secure future in the world of business. Liang thus began his studies at his young age. His mother bought second-hand books, bring them home and giving them to Liang. He was assigned a good amount of work each day to be done on time and completely correct... and if he did not do it right, then there was a scolding and a punishment in store. Thus, the boy learned the art of perfectionism at a young age.
He also learnt the meaning of resentment, however. Despite being taught that he should respect and love his family above all other things, education being a close second... he hated having to learn so much every day. He missed playing with his mother and waiting for his father by the doorstep. Instead, by the time his father came home every night, Liang was sitting at the dining table with his mother often shouting at him for an incorrect maths problem. Liang turned to his father for comfort in these early days, but his father's work hours had lengthened. As a result, the man was tired and wanted little to do with anything but a bottle of beer and his show on the television: the only respite from his long hard days of crunching numbers and being pushed around by his new superiors. Shouting, always shouting in his home.
The constant state of trepidation had a horrible effect on their home life. Liang watched, over the years, as his mother's smile disappeared, and her youth faded into greying hairs and wrinkles. She became less kind to her son each day. Soon, Liang could not even speak to her without being screamed at for something or other he had done wrong. He still saw little of his father, but he soon realised that his father being so tired was not just temporary. Liang no longer received a hearty smile when his father finally arrived at the doorstep each night; instead, he was ushered inside with a harsh and loud scolding for being stupid for staying outside in the cold. Liang's mother would join in on the berating as well: after all, Liang's father didn't need Liang to wait for him, he was just fine without his son attending himself to something so useless for hours.
Liang, too, slowly became disheartened. He stopped sitting by the sewing machine with his mother. He never again asked her his questions, or talked to her about her youth. Everything that he wanted to know, he would find elsewhere... or not at all, rather than face her shouting at him and lecturing him for hours because of some careless slip of the tongue, just a hint of displeasure. He didn't wait by the doorstep for his father anymore, either. It was clear to Liang, when he was as young as six, that no one cared much about him. It was his enrollment in school that made it so obvious. He was put into regular schooling hours, and then more paid-for classes afterwards. His parents poured all their money into their one child.
However, so involved were they in their work that they didn't even notice when the boy came home from school. Liang even played a little game of hide and seek with himself. If he sat in the next neighbourhood and waited for hours... or if he didn't come home from school... would his mother notice he was gone? And so Liang tried it.
For hours and hours, he would wait every day. He'd hide at his after-school classes, or in the back rooms of the house in a tiny cabinet just large enough to fit his tiny body inside, or even behind the walls of a nearby house. He waited for his mother to notice, or to come looking for him. Perhaps she would realise suddenly that her precious child was gone, and would come sprinting and looking for him. And he imagined that when she found him, he would look up her forlornly and ask if she really cared for him. Why did she treat him so badly, without even a scrap of the affection that he longed for? In his mind's eye, Liang saw his mother scooping up her small son and holding him tightly, telling him that she did care. She did love him. And after that, everything would return to normal, as it had been when he was a baby.
Days and weeks flew by. Liang waited, and no one looked for him. His mother always seemed too busy, sitting in her little room with her and loom or whatever it was she was handling. And even when Liang waited more than twelve hours until the skies were dark and his father came up the doorstep... even then, he was not asked for, either. It was only when they received the grade report that his father would give him a firm nod, or his mother a pat on his shoulder.
The boy gave up on his game quickly. No one was coming for him.
Each and every day, his resentment for his mother and father grew, and wanted nothing more than to be away from them. He would look back on his younger days with bitterness and envy. Who was that child that his parents were so much happier with? What had Liang done wrong? His grades should be good enough for them, right? His parents' careless attitude towards him wore him down day by day. Until he realised: it was not he who was at fault, but they. Work and their income had done the Tseng family no favour, and Liang could not blame it all on them. But even as young as seven, Liang knew he didn't want to spend all his life surrounded by people who could give him little kindness and love. He couldn't. He had few enough friends as it was at school; while he kept his books and studies as company, the other children ran around together and played without a worry. None of them had dreams of becoming a businessman, nor worried so horribly about their mathematics or sciences at this age. Liang was jealous.
Liang didn't want this joyless life. Son of one or not, he refused to let himself be grounded by his father's dreams for him. He had long eyed a foreign girl at his school who had such strange yellowish hair and blue eyes and even a language that was incomprehensible to him. She shared both his class and his after school classes, and she was in awe of his brilliance at his studies.
It was nothing, Liang told her, but nevertheless he was proud. He began to grow attached to her.
One good thing did come from Liang's little game of hide-and-seek. He found that he was free to roam wherever he pleased. In the flower fields, near the mountains... he could even cross over to the next town close by and his parents wouldn't be the wiser if he were home in time for dinner. And so, at the age of ten (just a few weeks shy of eight), Liang stopped paying attention to his studies and started, instead, paying attention to the girl from Sweden. He wanted to see more of this European girl close up. He wanted to speak to them and to learn more about them. Perhaps, if he spent long enough around her, he would come to understand her strange culture and the mystery that this girl was.
Her name was Adelaida. Her father came to China for his work, and his family came with him. She was bright, peppy, and beautiful for her young age. He quickly made a friend of her, and they ran about the town and through dozens of shops and restaurants. She bought him little trinkets and candies and gave him food, and Liang had never been happier to meet his new friend. She even taught him some of her language; a quick learner as he was, Liang picked it up quickly and was soon speaking close to her level. There was something magical about it all... a loose atmosphere of comfort and easy happiness that didn't exist in his small home. Liang went with Adelaida as often as he could after classes, even every day at some times, to run about with her, explore, and to simply talk. He was fascinated the most by her stories of her home. He wanted to go there someday... perhaps with her, if possible. To Europe... 歐洲 (Ōuzhōu). The name of the place was strange and thrilling on his tongue.
It was in these outings with Adelaida that Liang discovered his strange abilities. He often found himself doing the impossible; once, as the two of them were staring through a shop window, hands and face pressed up against the glass, Adelaida said aloud that she dearly wished for a shiny silver bracelet that laid within the confines of the glass. Liang thought about how dearly he wanted to get it for her... and with that, the glass vanished beneath their hands. Adelaida grabbed the bracelet, and they ran, laughing it off as a strange and miraculous incident. "God must have wanted to give me this bracelet!" she laughed. Liang felt oddly proud, but he wasn't sure why.
Another incident was when he and Adelaida had landed themselves in detention for talking in class. The teacher had to leave for a moment, and he locked the door behind him. Adelaida was complaining of how she wanted to leave, of how she hated the classroom... upon laying a hand on the doorknob, Liang no longer found that the door was locked. They escaped and ran to play for the rest of the afternoon.
Liang was never sure exactly of what these abilities were, but by age eleven he knew that they weren't simple coincidences. But he had no idea what they were, either, and so he refrained from telling anyone. Adelaida told him, however, that he had something of a great gift. Something like magic! Because he was always there to save their day.
Then came the day that changed Liang's life. At the end of the school year just before his eleventh birthday, Liang came with his grade report in his backpack home. He had gotten a look at it, however, and had shredded and tossed it into the trash bin outside his house. His time spent with Adelaida had taken a toll on his grades, and he couldn't possibly tell his parents.
That night, however, Liang's father demanded he hand over his grades. When Liang refused, the older man raised his voice, shouting about why Liang was hiding such an important thing from his parents. Was Liang determined to ruin his future? Did he not feel grateful for what his father and mother had done for him all these years? Trembling and afraid, the boy walked out onto the cold streets in his pyjamas and dug his grades out of the trash bin. He brought them inside and reassembled them on the dining table for his father, who looked over them silently. Liang had never felt such fear in his life as he did in the few minutes that passed. And just as he thought he was safe -- his father flew into a rage. He was gesturing so wildly, screaming so loudly, that Liang feared for his physical safety. His father let out a scream of frustration and hurled his beer bottle to the floor at their feet -- and Liang screamed, too.
At that moment, the shards of the beer bottle flew up from the floor at incredible speeds... and they pierced the skin of his father's face, hands, and legs hard enough to draw blood. Liang's mother, who had been watching, rushed the boy out of the room as his father shrieked in horror.
She was a pureblood witch, it turned out. She explained this all to him in vivid detail in the safety of her bedroom that night. His father would sleep in Liang's room. His mother clutched the boy's hand and told him that she would make sure he had a spot in the school she attended. His father would never understand; she would send Liang away to be safe. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid for all these years. She had only wanted a normal life with her husband and child. Unfortunately, she admitted to Liang tearfully, this was not to be the case. Liang had a future in magic. She had a friend who would fly here tomorrow and pick Liang up to go to his new school in Sweden.
Liang was entranced by the prospects offered to him in the school his mother spoke of. Magic was something entirely different from the rigourous studies he was so used to, and he wanted to explore this new world. He didn't want to be like his father, always going to work and coming home exhausted and shouting at his wife and child. Staying in China was something he despised to even think about. Europe was full of magic and fantasy, as well as this school that he was to attend. His mother had just opened the doors to his future.
Liang sought out Adelaida the next day. He told her of where he was going, and what he was: a wizard!
Instead of the amazement and happiness that he expected from his friend, she simply gave him a look of disbelief. He was crazy, she said. She'd entertained him because she felt bad for him, but now it was out in the open that he was out of his mind.
When Liang left China that evening with his mother's friend, he left a friendless home that he felt no love for. Europe, the strange land he had longed for, was still new and odd to him in every way. But the magic he had imagined with it was nowhere in sight, even when his guardian brought him into the shops to buy his school things and his wand. And then came Durmstrang: his new school. A school of magic, the place where Liang was now to put his skills into.
He was sorted into the House of Eldur, though he knew nothing about it. He didn't desire to know very much about it at all -- the only thing that was important to him from then on was his studies, which he threw himself into. He proved to be a brilliant student with a natural inclination towards fulfilling assignments to not only their requirements, but beyond them. He sought to understand every single problem he ran across. Rarely was a subject misunderstood by Liang HongXi, and if it was? Then he threw everything he had into it until he became a master of it.
The world of magic was new to him, but he filed it all into logical definitions and neat, impassioned little categories. His rule of perfectionism in his youth followed him everywhere he went, and he could not escape it even if it tore him down little by little. Liang had no friends, either... Adelaida had been his only friend, and she hadn't been one at all. He lost in faith in friends, after her.
He chose the nickname of "Nicolau" upon entering the school. He picked up the name from a Portuguese book he had read in his youth, one bought for him by his mother. He no longer wanted to be associated with his parents or with his Chinese heritage. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with them anymore. Even if he still writes his full name on his papers and in his books, anyone who actually calls him by that name is asking for trouble.
Liang has a goal now: to succeed and to become someone significant. He knows his goal is in Magical Law Enforcement... and now, simply to get there. And he will push everyone out of his path, betray friends and companions, and claw his way up to the top if need be.
rp sample
[attr="class","profileboxscroll"]Gothic horror AU -
"Please take him." The shaggy creature before him wagged its tail ferociously. Liang searched its face for beady black eyes to peer into, but found none. The dog was ridiculously furry; he had no idea how the thing found its way about every day.
"Please," said the boy who owned the animal. He was just as shaggy as his dog, if not more.
He thrust the Yorkshire Terrier up towards Liang, clearly expecting the man to scoop the dog into his arms. Liang glanced down at the dog, then gestured for the boy -- who could not be more than five years old, seven at the most -- to put it down on the counter that separated him and the shaggy pair.
"How old are you?" asked Liang as he poked the dog that now sat limply on his counter... examining and prodding it as if it were a piece of fine cheese to be inspected. Somewhere in there was a piece of mould that either must be extracted or covered up, or the whole cheese must be thrown away. No one wanted to purchase an unattractive product, after all.
"Four years old," said the boy, raising both hands and trying to spread his chubby fingers in a set of three and one. Liang stared down at him, nose wrinkling. Why didn't the child simply raise four fingers on one hand? Infinitely easier, and less energy expended.
Well, he could not expect a child to think reasonably. After all, the boy's request of him, upon bringing the wet and dripping dog into Liang's shop, was to take the dog back to France and to his family.
The boy was only four. Liang supposed it was excuseable.
"These parents of yours," he said to the boy, "why did they let you come all the way here to Schwarzkirch?"
"They didn't," said the boy, mouthing his words as if he were a goldfish. His mouth formed around his o's in the shape of the letter, the thick accent pouring forth from his fish-like lips. He was English. "I wanted to go for a walk on the forest on our grounds." He spread his arms wide, flailing them dramatically. "Then I came here."
"You are a long way from home, child."
"I know. That is why you have to bring Emily home." The boy pointed at his precious dog, dripping water all over Liang's fine wood counter. Liang swiped at it, irritated, with a handkerchief from his back pocket. "I want Mummy and Dad to have her. They said that you'll take Emily out of here. You're one of the only ones who can."
"Mm." He ran his hand through the wet fur. Wet, the paws a little muddy from the puddles outside, but not a dirty pet. It would be worth something.
"You will bring her back to Mummy and Dad, won't you?" said the boy. His eyes were large and pleading. "They live in France. In Lyon."
"Mhmn," Liang murmured, then waved a dismissive hand. "I will set out next week. Bring her back then. Or leave her with me. Whatever pleases you."
"Where will I go?" the child asked him, desperately. His hands twitched at his sides, as if he wanted nothing more than to reach out to Liang and cling on to the cloth of Liang's sleeve forever. It was the look of a trapped creature at the end of its line, with nowhere to go. "I can't ever go home. What will I do?"
Liang regarded him coolly before turning away to rifle in his drawers for a towel for the dog. It was impressive that his young visitor knew of the town's tendency to keep its inhabitants forever. Although it was nothing that couldn't be figured out after attempting to leave the place repeatedly, then finding that no matter how long one walked, they always ended up back in Schwarzkirch. Liang had experienced it himself, as well, when he first arrived.
"There is an orphanage a ways down the road," he informed the child, "where the matron will take good care of you."
"And then what?" The boy's lip trembled. "What will I do next?"
"That all depends on you," Liang said sharply. Now his patience was running out; he had no time for children like these, who were too innocent and never knew what to do. Always looking for someone to guide them, or lead them to what they assumed would be a better place. That innocence had no place in his world, which was one of clarity and sensibility. Liang could not bother having empathy for others like this boy when he himself had to survive. The kid would get over it sooner or later. Perhaps it was better that the little English noble had stumbled into his own personal tragedy. It would harden him, give him something to worry about other than little tea parties and pretend play at being everyone's darling prince.
He gave the dog a final swipe with the towel, though he expected that it would get immediately dirty again once the boy brought it outside with him on the way to the orphanage. "I assure you, though, that your Emily will leave Schwarzkirch."
"Thank you," breathed the boy, reaching up to grab his now-dry dog. He brought the dog, which was almost half his size, up in his arms so that he could hold it like a baby. "Thank you. Please, take her home to Lyon. To Mummy and Daddy. They can have Emily, at least."
The boy was thinking, then, of Emily coming home to his mother and father. How he would bring his parents closure by way of Liang who (the boy imagined) would deliver the story of the noble sacrifice their son had made. Given up his dog, his beautiful Emily, just so his parents could have a small but tangible of their little son to hold close. In his mind, the boy was thinking that his giving up of Emily would be all worth it; because even if he could not leave, a part of him could.
Liang was thinking of little else but the price that the dog would fetch in Brasov, his next stop in his travels that would lead him everywhere but France.
"Please take him." The shaggy creature before him wagged its tail ferociously. Liang searched its face for beady black eyes to peer into, but found none. The dog was ridiculously furry; he had no idea how the thing found its way about every day.
"Please," said the boy who owned the animal. He was just as shaggy as his dog, if not more.
He thrust the Yorkshire Terrier up towards Liang, clearly expecting the man to scoop the dog into his arms. Liang glanced down at the dog, then gestured for the boy -- who could not be more than five years old, seven at the most -- to put it down on the counter that separated him and the shaggy pair.
"How old are you?" asked Liang as he poked the dog that now sat limply on his counter... examining and prodding it as if it were a piece of fine cheese to be inspected. Somewhere in there was a piece of mould that either must be extracted or covered up, or the whole cheese must be thrown away. No one wanted to purchase an unattractive product, after all.
"Four years old," said the boy, raising both hands and trying to spread his chubby fingers in a set of three and one. Liang stared down at him, nose wrinkling. Why didn't the child simply raise four fingers on one hand? Infinitely easier, and less energy expended.
Well, he could not expect a child to think reasonably. After all, the boy's request of him, upon bringing the wet and dripping dog into Liang's shop, was to take the dog back to France and to his family.
The boy was only four. Liang supposed it was excuseable.
"These parents of yours," he said to the boy, "why did they let you come all the way here to Schwarzkirch?"
"They didn't," said the boy, mouthing his words as if he were a goldfish. His mouth formed around his o's in the shape of the letter, the thick accent pouring forth from his fish-like lips. He was English. "I wanted to go for a walk on the forest on our grounds." He spread his arms wide, flailing them dramatically. "Then I came here."
"You are a long way from home, child."
"I know. That is why you have to bring Emily home." The boy pointed at his precious dog, dripping water all over Liang's fine wood counter. Liang swiped at it, irritated, with a handkerchief from his back pocket. "I want Mummy and Dad to have her. They said that you'll take Emily out of here. You're one of the only ones who can."
"Mm." He ran his hand through the wet fur. Wet, the paws a little muddy from the puddles outside, but not a dirty pet. It would be worth something.
"You will bring her back to Mummy and Dad, won't you?" said the boy. His eyes were large and pleading. "They live in France. In Lyon."
"Mhmn," Liang murmured, then waved a dismissive hand. "I will set out next week. Bring her back then. Or leave her with me. Whatever pleases you."
"Where will I go?" the child asked him, desperately. His hands twitched at his sides, as if he wanted nothing more than to reach out to Liang and cling on to the cloth of Liang's sleeve forever. It was the look of a trapped creature at the end of its line, with nowhere to go. "I can't ever go home. What will I do?"
Liang regarded him coolly before turning away to rifle in his drawers for a towel for the dog. It was impressive that his young visitor knew of the town's tendency to keep its inhabitants forever. Although it was nothing that couldn't be figured out after attempting to leave the place repeatedly, then finding that no matter how long one walked, they always ended up back in Schwarzkirch. Liang had experienced it himself, as well, when he first arrived.
"There is an orphanage a ways down the road," he informed the child, "where the matron will take good care of you."
"And then what?" The boy's lip trembled. "What will I do next?"
"That all depends on you," Liang said sharply. Now his patience was running out; he had no time for children like these, who were too innocent and never knew what to do. Always looking for someone to guide them, or lead them to what they assumed would be a better place. That innocence had no place in his world, which was one of clarity and sensibility. Liang could not bother having empathy for others like this boy when he himself had to survive. The kid would get over it sooner or later. Perhaps it was better that the little English noble had stumbled into his own personal tragedy. It would harden him, give him something to worry about other than little tea parties and pretend play at being everyone's darling prince.
He gave the dog a final swipe with the towel, though he expected that it would get immediately dirty again once the boy brought it outside with him on the way to the orphanage. "I assure you, though, that your Emily will leave Schwarzkirch."
"Thank you," breathed the boy, reaching up to grab his now-dry dog. He brought the dog, which was almost half his size, up in his arms so that he could hold it like a baby. "Thank you. Please, take her home to Lyon. To Mummy and Daddy. They can have Emily, at least."
The boy was thinking, then, of Emily coming home to his mother and father. How he would bring his parents closure by way of Liang who (the boy imagined) would deliver the story of the noble sacrifice their son had made. Given up his dog, his beautiful Emily, just so his parents could have a small but tangible of their little son to hold close. In his mind, the boy was thinking that his giving up of Emily would be all worth it; because even if he could not leave, a part of him could.
Liang was thinking of little else but the price that the dog would fetch in Brasov, his next stop in his travels that would lead him everywhere but France.
other
Wand | |
phoenix feather | Pine |
Twelve and a quarter inches | supple flexibility |
Strongest Subject | Weakest Subject |
arithmancy | CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES |
Familiar | Patronus |
(liang hates animals) | Sparrowhawk |
Macau from Axis Powers Hetalia | |
aaron/kitsuki | |
width: 1px;[/newclass]
