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 Pollux Chan
nelliel · 16 · 6th · n/a · pureblood · 5'7
Awards: None
Feb 24 2018, 12:32 AM   Link Quote
original, unedited // 230218

Name: Pollux Chan / Chan Yinli
Age: 16-17
Year: 6
Bloodline: Pureblood

Appearance: 5’7; Pollux (or Lux, if he allows it) is an infusion of mismatched traits under a smoothened, perfectly finished canvas. How authentic that finish is remains a mystery to most.


As far as comparisons go, would it be trite to establish Pollux as an art piece? But for all that is glaringly obvious, Pollux is a painted skin that stretches perfectly over his frame. Moreso than the color of each strand of his hair, the inquisitive arch of his eyebrows, or the rich red charm laid over his lips, Pollux is aware of his each and every action.

Wait. Let’s backtrack.

Pollux is a staggered stack of reflexes that he pulls like scarves over the eyes of everyone he comes into contact with. The color and texture of each scarf is painstakingly chosen, as are the words he uses, the gestures he adopts, and the tilt of his head or speed of his blink. He can blend into watercoloured backgrounds or strike through a crowd in dusty charcoal. He can be as subtle or loud, distant or close, aloof or intimate as he sees fit. If a person is built upon their actions, then Pollux can be whoever he pleases, dragging forth each different facet of himself until it stretches into an entire complex being, hiding his other personality traits away like unused tubes of paint. He paints himself in whatever palette will pull him to the right distance from his subjects, position him at the angle that balances the light with the shadow… oh. Let’s backtrack again.

Pollux sees the world in terms of subjects (of study) and resources (to further his studies). Subjects can be his classmates, his professors, a stranger who catches his eye from behind a window across the street. Resources can be previous subjects, but more often end up being people he can probe with expected regularity. That isn’t to say he fails to consider the human aspect of people. After all, humanity is what makes a portrait unique, is it not? Pollux cherishes the humanity he sees in people. He loves humans. He loves their ticks and quirks and little unnoticed habits, so much so that he pulls them away from people and bottles them up into potions and charms and enchantments, and splashes them all over his paintings to make them real. To make them the best. The difference between Pollux and a malevolent information broker is that the knowledge Pollux keeps packed up in neat boxes and twine-tied scrolls of parchment is meant for art and history and the world... not a targeted individual.

And of himself, well. Pollux doesn’t know himself very well, does he? It is hard to chip away at the coats of different palettes he’s thrown over his bare bones, and harder still to break the frame caging everything he wants to keep hidden. What do you like, Pollux? Art (but that’s really a lie). What do you do? Art (also, a lie). Why do you do it? Yet again, art (a third lie). Without art, Pollux is nothing; therefore, he strives to become the embodiment of his craft: meticulous, exacting, perennial. He is obsessive in his pursuit of attaining immortality; the stacks of sketches heaped on his nightstand, all protected with layers of preservation charms, all marked with his elegant signature, can attest to that. It might come as a surprise, then, to learn that Pollux does not care for his craft as anything beyond a means to stay on top of the neverending battle to secure himself as successor of his family line. With the understanding that doubt and hesitation will take him out of the running faster than anything else, Pollux locks up the questioning parts of him the same way he compartmentalizes everything else he encounters, sells the keys, and uses them to buy more paintbrushes.

Character Background:

The Chan household resided behind an art gallery that cut sharply into clean blue Harbin skies. Hidden by the Fidelius charm, the mansion was only visible to a handful of household staff and the core of the tight-knit family. The custom of the Chan family was to keep its main branch small: only one heir would inherit the mansion when the time came, leaving the rest to either find meaningful employment or meet their fate elsewhere in the world. Pollux grew up carefully trying to avoid forming attachments to his childhood home, but, unbidden, the bonds held, anyway.

There were eight of them in total: the grandparents Chan Yiwen and Yang Liu, the parents Chan Lei and Rong Weixia, Pollux and his twin Castor, their younger siblings Lyra and Propus. Pollux could not say that his childhood was difficult in the traditional sense. He was provided for and received the correct number of presents for each holiday, dressed in whatever clothes he desired, and encouraged to excel. His parents were excellent at perfunctory affections, especially during Ministry functions. He was praised for his ability with a brush, his ability to use turns of phrase, and his ability to get the measure of people. The Chans, in lieu of sending their children to Mahoutokoro, hired several tutors for the humanities, logical sciences, theoretical magic, practical magic, foreign language, and, as per family industry, art. Pollux found that portrait painting came easily to him, and his talent was fostered carefully under the watchful eyes of his entire family.

It was not difficult in the traditional sense, but of course, the lack of security and trust would, in time, take its toll, just enough to wear down anyone unsuited for inheriting the mansion.

And as strange and complicated as it all was, he grew through it and let it all become a part of him. Pollux, for all the wayward strands of possibilities and necessary actions to be taken running through his head, for all the stifling fear of one day being kicked out of his home, loved Harbin. He loved the cool summers and heavily snowed-in winters. The sky felt borderless and blue and free overhead, customarily free of clouds. Hints of Russian architecture bubbled and twisted into unmistakable onion domes every few blocks. And the city was a constant, living force all around him, beating and full and vivid. He loved the histories that had passed down in the cracks and crevices and attic boxes of the modest-sized mansion. It was his cherished childhood, but more than that, it was his. His right. He was more certain of this than anyone.

So it was a nasty shock to him when his parents sent him on an exchange program to Hogwarts. Just for a year, they had said clinically, but Pollux’s eyes grew wide with horrified implications. He was being sent away so that Castor, the golden child, could be head of the family, probably. The bitter taste on his tongue thickened every time he thought about Castor sitting on the steps, listening to their phoenix sing, every time he imagined Castor sifting through the attic boxes, every time he pictured Castor lingering to watch their parents talking with each other or his tutors in the drawing room, sneaking kvass from the kitchen, rearranging the pillows in the Red Chamber. Instead of being the one to do all these things, Pollux would go to Hogwarts to study, to draw, and to experience the world.

He did not want to, but now that he was here, he might as well make the best of it.
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