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Elsewhere Accepted / Re: elsewhere adult callum airey
« on: 10/03/2017 at 15:20 »
E L S E W H E R E A D U L T
CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: callum leighton airey.
Gender: male.
Age: nineteen years old (November 17th, 1930).
Blood Status: pureblood.
Education:
Gryffindor '42.
Residence:
1. airey family estate, london, england
Occupation
Gryffindor '42, Professional Baker, House Rosefleur Heir, and Professional Soccer Player
Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
a baker at Proctor Bakery
Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.
If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.
- Charms: 7.
- Divination: 5.
- Transfiguration: 10.
- Summoning: 10.
the resistance & Merlin's Order of Defense- both of his parents were involved in those organizations.
Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
lucas cerise, kaede akatsuki, scipio bhatair
Biography: (300 words minimum.)
July 1937 (Eleven)
"really, cal?" small fists placed on slim, thin hips. a bottom
candy floss colored lip jutting out in a pout. startlingly cobalt b-
lue eyes, cold as chips of ice, narrowed against the blazing glare
of the sun, at midpoint in the sky. a deep, throay chuckle in the
warm but wispy air from the boy on her broom. her twin, her ol-
der brother, back with another bout of "innocent" mischief. but,
although she wanted to be mad at him, she couldn't. a smile r-
eplaced the pout on her mouth, a roll of her blue eyes as he t-
raced a spiral in the sky. a laugh bubbling to her soft lips, bur-
sting through as he showed off once more. although little rose-
marie was a lady, as everyone called her, and an elegant, alluri-
ing one for a ten year old at that, she had come to appreciate
skill when she saw it- especially when it came to cal. reaching
up with on porcelain hand she flipped her golden hair, which
flowed down to her knees, impatiently behind her narrow sh-
oulder. she was a light boned little thing, narrow and birdlike.
when she spoke once more, she spoke with their thick scott-
ish accent in her clear, high soprano with flawless articulatio-
n. "cal, that's my broom. can I have it back, please?"
It was the airey family's thick scottish accent and all of them
being inhumanly, devastatingly beautiful that made them m-
ost recognizable in a crowd. they were known for their blood-
lines, regal ones, dating back to the Middle Ages. they were
known for it all being pure, and noble lineage. because of t-
his, their ancestors created two main houses, the only two
left. rosemarie, callum, and their parents, of the bloodline h-
ouse rosefleur, and house delmour, for the bourgeois and the
proletarians. of course, these two houses only apply to those
in the airey family, and those in the moriarty family. and be-
tween these two houses, is a council- rosemarie and cal's fa-
ther is the main representative for house rosefleur, while
rosemarie's best friends, krystoffrey and greylise's father,
gavin, is the main representative for house delmour.
cal's laugh echoed on the air once more, and with a grace that
cannot be matched, he alighted down beside her on the soft g-
reen grass of the estate's rolling grounds with a muted thud. a
smile curved his lips, and he swung lightly off of the broom, of-
fering her the broom tightly in one of his calloused hands until
all color pulled away from his knuckles. he was wearing the ou-
tfit rosemarie loved to see on him- a knitted light grey sweater
with sleeves that went to the back of his knuckles, slim pale b-
lue jeans, and white sneakers, despite the heat. he nodded at
the broom as she took it into her own small, soft hands, before
grinning at her. "sorry, rose. I might have been having a little
too much fun. it's a good broom. hey, aren't you supposed
to be in the conference with da and house delmour?"
a soft sigh puffed from between her soft lips, but as she parted
them to retort, their mother's ringing voice interrupted what she
had been about to say. "rosemarie, please come inside! you know
you weren't supposed to leave the council conference unexcused,
and your stockings are dirtying."
shooting a deadly glare at cal, which only made his smirk grow, she
pushed her broom into his chest, and bolted off to answer her mum's
call, although somewhat reluctantly.
Roleplay:
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:
Option One -
Amelia Nixon was many things, but she was never a pushover reporter that people could just usher away with a busy shuffle past. She was dedicated and eager to cut to the very middle of the current political tensions because she was Amelia Nixon and her articles would most certainly become front page material.
“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“
Another one brushed passed her, the shuffling busy masses making their way through Diagon Alley for the lunchtime rush. This had been the best possible time to get people, but none of them were giving her anything to go with.
Only momentarily discouraged, the short red headed lady took a seat on a nearby bench. Her quill resting in her left hand and her notepad ready in the opposite hand. Amelia pouted, tapping the quill against her leg as she scanned the waves of people for somebody - anybody - who looked like they had something to say.
She had been dreaming of her name in bold print, Amelia Nixon: The Source of Today’s Tomorrow. She had been dreaming of the larger office and the secretaries that would fetch her the morning coffee and fetch her anything she needed. The VIP interviews and the most exclusive press passes. But all Amelia had was a page seventeen piece on the rising number of frogs in London.
Hardened by a day of no success, the reporter stood up and started to trod off down the alley. A loose stone on the cobble path caught her heel, sending the distraught girl toppling down to the ground.
“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” she yelled as she tried desperately to recover her shoe frantically in the middle of the Diagon Alley moving crowds.
Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.
And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there.
Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.
"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.
"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.
"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.
Roleplay Response:
dark skies, snow clinging to the ground. a candy floss colored lip curled over teeth
in obvious distaste. blue eyes were shrewd and narrow, wandering as they gazed
at the skies above. one strong hand reached up to wipe through tousled blond h-
air, a puff of breath burst from candy floss colored lips in a swirl of grey mist as
those shrewd eyes surveyed the scene in front of him. children running and squ-
ealing in the snow, some with their nose pressed up against the transparent glass
of cafe and bakery shops longingly, their parents batting at them teasingly. the
crowds moving hurriedly through the snow and biting breeze.
a sigh, eyes softening, long legs moving slowly unhurriedly, continuing the walk
that had been paused a moment before. but the regal young man couldn't deny he loved his life.
"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" something large, bulky, heavy
slammed painfully into his side, into his ribs. he yelped inaudibly, legs stumbling
back in surprise.
"For Merlin's sake! I am so sorry! This blasted snow!"
a deep breath through his nose, cautiously looking over him
to see if he was hurt. a heavy, thick scottish accent as he spoke.
"that's quite alright. are you hurt?"
OTHER
How did you find us? Recommendation
[/quote]
[/quote]
candy floss colored lip jutting out in a pout. startlingly cobalt b-
lue eyes, cold as chips of ice, narrowed against the blazing glare
of the sun, at midpoint in the sky. a deep, throay chuckle in the
warm but wispy air from the boy on her broom. her twin, her ol-
der brother, back with another bout of "innocent" mischief. but,
although she wanted to be mad at him, she couldn't. a smile r-
eplaced the pout on her mouth, a roll of her blue eyes as he t-
raced a spiral in the sky. a laugh bubbling to her soft lips, bur-
sting through as he showed off once more. although little rose-
marie was a lady, as everyone called her, and an elegant, alluri-
ing one for a ten year old at that, she had come to appreciate
skill when she saw it- especially when it came to cal. reaching
up with on porcelain hand she flipped her golden hair, which
flowed down to her knees, impatiently behind her narrow sh-
oulder. she was a light boned little thing, narrow and birdlike.
when she spoke once more, she spoke with their thick scott-
ish accent in her clear, high soprano with flawless articulatio-
n. "cal, that's my broom. can I have it back, please?"
It was the airey family's thick scottish accent and all of them
being inhumanly, devastatingly beautiful that made them m-
ost recognizable in a crowd. they were known for their blood-
lines, regal ones, dating back to the Middle Ages. they were
known for it all being pure, and noble lineage. because of t-
his, their ancestors created two main houses, the only two
left. rosemarie, callum, and their parents, of the bloodline h-
ouse rosefleur, and house delmour, for the bourgeois and the
proletarians. of course, these two houses only apply to those
in the airey family, and those in the moriarty family. and be-
tween these two houses, is a council- rosemarie and cal's fa-
ther is the main representative for house rosefleur, while
rosemarie's best friends, krystoffrey and greylise's father,
gavin, is the main representative for house delmour.
cal's laugh echoed on the air once more, and with a grace that
cannot be matched, he alighted down beside her on the soft g-
reen grass of the estate's rolling grounds with a muted thud. a
smile curved his lips, and he swung lightly off of the broom, of-
fering her the broom tightly in one of his calloused hands until
all color pulled away from his knuckles. he was wearing the ou-
tfit rosemarie loved to see on him- a knitted light grey sweater
with sleeves that went to the back of his knuckles, slim pale b-
lue jeans, and white sneakers, despite the heat. he nodded at
the broom as she took it into her own small, soft hands, before
grinning at her. "sorry, rose. I might have been having a little
too much fun. it's a good broom. hey, aren't you supposed
to be in the conference with da and house delmour?"
a soft sigh puffed from between her soft lips, but as she parted
them to retort, their mother's ringing voice interrupted what she
had been about to say. "rosemarie, please come inside! you know
you weren't supposed to leave the council conference unexcused,
and your stockings are dirtying."
shooting a deadly glare at cal, which only made his smirk grow, she
pushed her broom into his chest, and bolted off to answer her mum's
call, although somewhat reluctantly.
June 1947
"callum leighton airey! finish up, please, you have a game in te-
n minutes, and you're playing on the front lines. you don't want to
be late."pursed stained red lips. one raised eyebrow as she looked at
her eldest child, and her only son. he was older now. the boy- no, the
man, almost reached six feet already, and was probably growing still.
everything was long about him now- a long face, long fingers, long l-
egs that always seemed to be carrying him to score something, to win
something. he made a competition out of almost everything. and that
competitiveness led him to soccer, where he played professionally. it
was a little hard at first for him, what with balancing school with bak-
ing and then with soccer. but he did it, with time and hard work.
and he enjoyed his two professions. he loved the running and
athleticism of soccer, the feeling of being a part of a team. seeing the
look on his face when they won a game made her proud. prouder than
any words could ever describe. and it had gone the same way with b-
aking, him loving the idea he could shape and make something with
simple ingredients and with his hands. it had made him extremely
happy, and life was finally going his way.
It made them proud to see him doing something other than just follo-
wing what mist wicthes and wizards would do, and they were proud
that he chose a muggle job other than a wizard's. after all, if he was
a passionate person about the sport- which he was, being extremely
passionate cal- than they agreed to anything that he wanted to do w-
ith that profession, and they'd support him throughout his decisions.
It was actually one of cal's muggleborn friends that introduced him to
the sport ( and that friend is now a professional alongside him ) and
he had become quickly drawn into the competitive air, growing more
and more interested in soccer than he ever had in quidditch.
he stood behind the marble island in the kitchen now. wearing his usual
red soccer jersey with a black long sleeved t shirt underneath and black shorts
that hung low on his hips and reached down a little way past his knees,
black soccer cleats, and high black socks. it was just plain cal- and
it emphasized the athletic look to him even more. however, despite he
was dressed to play in ten minutes, he had a baking project laid out bef-
ore him. his hands were covered in a fine layer of white powder. some
of it was smeared across his cheeks and nose. his eyes were calm, foc-
used, intent on his work as he used his hands and some cookie cutters
to expertly, precisely cut out the dough. by the looks of it and the spr-
inkles and icing scattered wherever space wasn't being used, he was
making sugar cookies. and it was the good kind, the ones that tasted
amazing that they all loved- and he made the recipe himself. they w-
ere always warm but there were some that were cold, just for rosem-
arie, the way she liked them. they were always favorable and sugary,
the way they were supposed to be. his eyebrows were mashed toget-
her in extreme concentration. he was always extremely precise when
he baked, and because of that the results were perfect.
when she spoke, however, he slowly looked up from his work his eyes
brightened, his hands pausing on the soft dough. the crease on his f-
orehead disappeared, and a sigh puffed from his lips as he relaxed, r-
emoving his hands form the glob of dough and stepping back. he grin-
ned, a relaxed, happy one, and quickly ran his powder-covered hands
through his hair. realizing what he had done- as there was now white
in his hair, he winced, and they both laughed, cal grabbing his side f-
rom laughing too hard. the grin quirked up his lips once more. "well,
mum, shall we go and win the game?"
and so they did.
n minutes, and you're playing on the front lines. you don't want to
be late."pursed stained red lips. one raised eyebrow as she looked at
her eldest child, and her only son. he was older now. the boy- no, the
man, almost reached six feet already, and was probably growing still.
everything was long about him now- a long face, long fingers, long l-
egs that always seemed to be carrying him to score something, to win
something. he made a competition out of almost everything. and that
competitiveness led him to soccer, where he played professionally. it
was a little hard at first for him, what with balancing school with bak-
ing and then with soccer. but he did it, with time and hard work.
and he enjoyed his two professions. he loved the running and
athleticism of soccer, the feeling of being a part of a team. seeing the
look on his face when they won a game made her proud. prouder than
any words could ever describe. and it had gone the same way with b-
aking, him loving the idea he could shape and make something with
simple ingredients and with his hands. it had made him extremely
happy, and life was finally going his way.
It made them proud to see him doing something other than just follo-
wing what mist wicthes and wizards would do, and they were proud
that he chose a muggle job other than a wizard's. after all, if he was
a passionate person about the sport- which he was, being extremely
passionate cal- than they agreed to anything that he wanted to do w-
ith that profession, and they'd support him throughout his decisions.
It was actually one of cal's muggleborn friends that introduced him to
the sport ( and that friend is now a professional alongside him ) and
he had become quickly drawn into the competitive air, growing more
and more interested in soccer than he ever had in quidditch.
he stood behind the marble island in the kitchen now. wearing his usual
red soccer jersey with a black long sleeved t shirt underneath and black shorts
that hung low on his hips and reached down a little way past his knees,
black soccer cleats, and high black socks. it was just plain cal- and
it emphasized the athletic look to him even more. however, despite he
was dressed to play in ten minutes, he had a baking project laid out bef-
ore him. his hands were covered in a fine layer of white powder. some
of it was smeared across his cheeks and nose. his eyes were calm, foc-
used, intent on his work as he used his hands and some cookie cutters
to expertly, precisely cut out the dough. by the looks of it and the spr-
inkles and icing scattered wherever space wasn't being used, he was
making sugar cookies. and it was the good kind, the ones that tasted
amazing that they all loved- and he made the recipe himself. they w-
ere always warm but there were some that were cold, just for rosem-
arie, the way she liked them. they were always favorable and sugary,
the way they were supposed to be. his eyebrows were mashed toget-
her in extreme concentration. he was always extremely precise when
he baked, and because of that the results were perfect.
when she spoke, however, he slowly looked up from his work his eyes
brightened, his hands pausing on the soft dough. the crease on his f-
orehead disappeared, and a sigh puffed from his lips as he relaxed, r-
emoving his hands form the glob of dough and stepping back. he grin-
ned, a relaxed, happy one, and quickly ran his powder-covered hands
through his hair. realizing what he had done- as there was now white
in his hair, he winced, and they both laughed, cal grabbing his side f-
rom laughing too hard. the grin quirked up his lips once more. "well,
mum, shall we go and win the game?"
and so they did.
e p i l o g u e
callum completed his education at hogwarts in 1942 with most of his
grades as outstanding, his best classes being transfiguration and summo-
ning, his worst charms and divination. he really just didn't have talent- or
interest in them. he was gifted a Great Horse at the age of sixteen- a Great
Horse being a horse fit for war, and his name is Hosanna. he's a beautiful
horse, massive with long legs, his muscles long and taut. his coat is the reddish
brown color of blood, his muzzle a dark grey with white stockings and a white
swirled star on his forehead. he has become a professional baker and soccer player within the time spanof three years. his father had gone to war some years back but never returned, the only thing left to the family was his beloved journal and
sword, and his war horse Gryffed was returned as well for retirement.
he left callum aiery as his successor and heir to house rosefleur.
rosemarie is eighteen now, and has completed school at hogwarts as
a hufflepuff. greylise, krystoffrey, and gavin returned to scotland. his
mother died soon after his father had from a stroke.
grades as outstanding, his best classes being transfiguration and summo-
ning, his worst charms and divination. he really just didn't have talent- or
interest in them. he was gifted a Great Horse at the age of sixteen- a Great
Horse being a horse fit for war, and his name is Hosanna. he's a beautiful
horse, massive with long legs, his muscles long and taut. his coat is the reddish
brown color of blood, his muzzle a dark grey with white stockings and a white
swirled star on his forehead. he has become a professional baker and soccer player within the time spanof three years. his father had gone to war some years back but never returned, the only thing left to the family was his beloved journal and
sword, and his war horse Gryffed was returned as well for retirement.
he left callum aiery as his successor and heir to house rosefleur.
rosemarie is eighteen now, and has completed school at hogwarts as
a hufflepuff. greylise, krystoffrey, and gavin returned to scotland. his
mother died soon after his father had from a stroke.
Roleplay:
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:
Option One -
Amelia Nixon was many things, but she was never a pushover reporter that people could just usher away with a busy shuffle past. She was dedicated and eager to cut to the very middle of the current political tensions because she was Amelia Nixon and her articles would most certainly become front page material.
“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“
Another one brushed passed her, the shuffling busy masses making their way through Diagon Alley for the lunchtime rush. This had been the best possible time to get people, but none of them were giving her anything to go with.
Only momentarily discouraged, the short red headed lady took a seat on a nearby bench. Her quill resting in her left hand and her notepad ready in the opposite hand. Amelia pouted, tapping the quill against her leg as she scanned the waves of people for somebody - anybody - who looked like they had something to say.
She had been dreaming of her name in bold print, Amelia Nixon: The Source of Today’s Tomorrow. She had been dreaming of the larger office and the secretaries that would fetch her the morning coffee and fetch her anything she needed. The VIP interviews and the most exclusive press passes. But all Amelia had was a page seventeen piece on the rising number of frogs in London.
Hardened by a day of no success, the reporter stood up and started to trod off down the alley. A loose stone on the cobble path caught her heel, sending the distraught girl toppling down to the ground.
“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” she yelled as she tried desperately to recover her shoe frantically in the middle of the Diagon Alley moving crowds.
Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.
And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there.
Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.
"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.
"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.
"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.
Roleplay Response:
dark skies, snow clinging to the ground. a candy floss colored lip curled over teeth
in obvious distaste. blue eyes were shrewd and narrow, wandering as they gazed
at the skies above. one strong hand reached up to wipe through tousled blond h-
air, a puff of breath burst from candy floss colored lips in a swirl of grey mist as
those shrewd eyes surveyed the scene in front of him. children running and squ-
ealing in the snow, some with their nose pressed up against the transparent glass
of cafe and bakery shops longingly, their parents batting at them teasingly. the
crowds moving hurriedly through the snow and biting breeze.
a sigh, eyes softening, long legs moving slowly unhurriedly, continuing the walk
that had been paused a moment before. but the regal young man couldn't deny he loved his life.
"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" something large, bulky, heavy
slammed painfully into his side, into his ribs. he yelped inaudibly, legs stumbling
back in surprise.
"For Merlin's sake! I am so sorry! This blasted snow!"
a deep breath through his nose, cautiously looking over him
to see if he was hurt. a heavy, thick scottish accent as he spoke.
"that's quite alright. are you hurt?"
OTHER
How did you find us? Recommendation
[/quote]
[/quote]
