We are currently accepting new applications for Elsewhere!

Author Topic: Theodore Litchfield - Divination  (Read 288 times)

Theodore Litchfield

    (14/12/2014 at 17:07)

Character name: Theodore Abiel Litchfield

Previous and/or Current Character(s) if applicable: Lucille Hopland, Gwydion Medraut VI, Milena de Carvalho

Character age: 20 (b. October 27th, 1922)

Character education: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – Gryffindor ‘41

Strength and weaknesses (details please):

His strengths have been weakened and his weaknesses strengthened by years of ineptitude and neglect from his family. He is The Middle Child. Lost amongst the many pairs of stomping feet and eager faces ready to show his parents that, no, having six children was not, and would never be, a lost cause. He’s used to being on his own, he enjoys it rather, and has never known the need to seek out others for help. He’s cruelly independent – so much so that he could say he’s been living on his own for years now, despite having moved out no more than two years ago. He’s a single-moving unit and to the outside world he’s cruising through life without a hitch. And therein lies his biggest strength: his inability to allow – and show - any emotional toil on his psyche.

Theodore, in a sense, is a brick wall.

He cares little and cares vaguely, and refuses to care too much for he knows firsthand how awful it is to pull back once he’s taken that first step. Because of this, he hasn’t come across a situation or person where he couldn’t simply box away the negative feelings that are brought on by said person or situation and push them to the back of his mind. He’s great with coping and even better at prioritizing. Words can’t hurt him, stigmas have no affect on him, and responsibilities are a thing of the past. He’s stress-free. He’s weightless.

Contrastingly, his inability to care could also be deemed a large weakness. One of his ways of coping, other than shoving all emotions to the back of his mind, is by making a joke out of everything. He thinks himself a comedian. When things get difficult he brushes them off with a snipe or two. As a teenager, it was rare such actions would allow him to get by with his superiors. As an adult now, it sure as hell will not.

Physical description:

Since he lacks the brawny stature the rest of his family contains – sans Victoria – and the aptitude for fast-paced, life-threatening activities, he’s had to stick to simpler methods of maintaining the lean physique he currently has. He’s quite tall, too, about 6’3, with long limbs and even longer strides. His length coupled with the slow, sure way he carries himself gives him a willowy air. During times of necessary focus, a pen or something or other can be found hanging from the edge of his mouth thoroughly chewed and beyond discernable. Another noticeable feature about himself is his hair. It looks and feels like a cloud but acts like a black hole. If he loses something in it, he expects to never see it again.

Personality (nice, rude, funny etc. Paragraph please.):

He’s the kind of guy to judge someone for doing something foolish and then wait a moment before doing the exact same thing. Only he’ll act affronted when he’s the one being scolded afterwards. He’s impulsive and just a bit reckless – that’s the Gryffindor in him talking; impressing and not in the least bit impressionable, and although he looks at the world with a blunt point of view, he’s not the jaded or mysterious or some other stereotypical broody professor type. He’ll just be straight with you no matter what. Unless you’re his mom. He can’t be brutally blunt to the only woman he loves.

Hopes and dreams. Why are you teaching at Hogwarts?:

Theodore's hope is to live long enough to see his eldest brother Lincoln married. At the rate they're all going, he’ll be living forever. So, basically, he hopes to live forever.

His dream is a little more substantial. It involves his family and for once in his privileged life, it relates to his duty as a Pureblood son; he seeks the approval of his father. Nothing too elaborate either, for even a simple, “I’m proud of ye’, son,” or a slap on the back would suffice. He just wants something that’ll remind him he’s done his duty to his family and can live the rest of his life in piece.

Seeing as his grandfather was the Divination professor the term prior and had recently dropped from the position, his father had sent out a request among his family members, namely the ones whom he believed were specialized for the task (aka needed a job) to apply for the same position. For what better employee to fill the spot of Divination professor than one who had practiced the art all their life? That was his father’s reasoning. To Theodore it was simply another excuse to get his son to jumpstart his attempt at paving a way through the adult world seeing as how the first few tries failed pitifully.

So, now he’s doing it to represent his family, except he’s really not. He’s doing it because he knows Hogwarts, it was home for a better portion of his childhood, he knows what it’s like to be around teenagers and to be a teenager, and the one thing he well and truly knows is divination. It’s something no one’s been able to take from him. It’s in his blood and it’s in his mind and it’s about time he put it to good use.

Also, it was either this or the army.

Biography (500 words minimum. There is never such a thing as too much.):

c. 1939

”Do you understand why this is dangerous?”


“Yes, father.”

”And do you understand why you’re to never go that far again?”

(Because you’re afraid of things I’m not.)

“Because it’s dangerous and I’m too young to be able to control it.”

”Are you even aware of what you’re saying?”


“I'm fine.”

The sigh of disappointment from his father was enough to cut through the fog surrounding his mind, but just barely. It wasn't enough to lift the monotone voice with which he'd been answering with or the washed-out look to his face. Those could only be cured over time.

They were the result of an unnecessary amount of time spent within a dreamstate, lost in his subconscious while his active body remained at rest. Dream Walking was what his father called it. Suicidal was his next word.

They were also the result of recklessness, that much his father and him could agree on, but because of two different reasons. He believed it was because he was untrained and simply needed more practice. His father thought it was dangerous what he was trying to do, especially at his age, but at what age were dreams deemed "safe enough" to toy with. Ten? Sixteen? Twenty four? His father's age?

It was a dangerous thing what they were able to do, their entire family, and he couldn't see why no one was taking advantage of it. They fit their mold as Ministry-hired Obliviators, Unspeakables, specialists, the lot of them, but were they truly happy? They were given a decent-sized paycheck, respect, freedom to do their job as they sought fit, but was that all they were needed for? They'd been taught to push boundaries, make the impossible happen -- he even came from the house of red and gold, the most daring of them all -- and yet one exploration gone wrong and all the red flags were drawn?

It was hardly fair.

"You were asleep for three weeks, Theodore!" He couldn't say he didn't see it coming. His father always had a short temper when it came to their abilities and things he'd specifically told them not to do. But the haze drawn over his mind prevented him from flinching or reacting in any way. This only served to make his father angrier.

"Look at what you've done! Your mother - " His gaze flickered up to his father's face once and then back to the surrounding bed sheet.

"Where is she?" He hadn't seen his mother since leaving for school. It would've been nice to see her face after such a heavy dose of his father.

"Never again. Do you understand me? Never. Again." If he were his normal self, he would've rolled his eyes. Instead he demanded for his mother again.

"I haven't seen her yet. Where is she?" The anger seemed to have cooled considerably as his father let out another sigh, perhaps realizing that dealing with his son at this state was a little more effective than talking to a wall. It seemed there was no getting through to him.

His father placed a firm hand on his shoulder and gave a squeeze.

"She'll be in...later."

"Oh - "

One word, same tone, the haze over his mind relentless in its hold.

"Well tell her to come up soon."

(Please respond to to this in third person past tense. Do not write the other characters' reactions. Only your own.)

It was the largest office in Hogwarts and, perhaps to students and newcomers, the most intimidating. The shelves were filled with various odds and ends, with a place of honor for the Sorting Hat, and the walls held all the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses.

In the middle of the room sat a large desk. Everything was in order, for the current occupant had always despised a messy desk. It was the sign of a messy mind, and she had always favored neatness.

A clock sat on the desk, which currently showed the time to be 2:05. The meeting was supposed to begin at 2:00 precisely.

Along with order, Anneka valued punctuality. She was a very busy woman these days. Even during the summer, she had a number of matters to attend to. Interviewing and hiring staff was only of those matters. The newest potential member of her staff wasn't making a good impression.

She paced the room, black heels clicking against the stone floor. When the door finally opened, Anneka turned, her expression reminiscent of a Russian winter. "You are late."

Explain yourself was what her face said.

Roleplay Response:

“My fault,” Was what his said, figuratively and literally.

“Seven years, countless visits, and you’d think I’d have gotten the hang of this place by now,” Perhaps not the best idea to bring up his errant past to his future (potential) boss, but what reason was there to withhold the inevitable. Anneka didn’t become Headmistress by being ignorant, that much he knew.

Stepping fully into the room, the 6’3 man straightened up under her stiff gaze, hands smoothing over the front of his favorite crewneck. It was his coziest. He only wore it on special occasions but seeing as it was laundry day, he’d had nothing more to wear. And maybe to some extent this day could’ve been counted as a “special occasion”.

He took exactly three strides to get to the chair in front of his previous headmistress’ desk, helping himself to the seat without being prompted. They’d already wasted enough time with formalities – had those even counted as formalities? – and if Theodore had any plans of saying all that he was supposed to say, they needed to begin promptly. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to remember his whole spiel.

There wasn’t much to say, anyhow. Only relevant details that without their mentioning his application would seem lackluster and quite frankly pathetic. He’d been trained since he was a child to hone certain abilities. As he grew older he learned to test those limits. Now, as an adult he knew better than to push certain bounds. And that exact knowledge was what he wanted to pass on as a professor.

If he could prevent even one kid from making the same mistakes he did – solid. If not, he could say he tried.

Standing up once more, a hand extended out towards Anneka, eyebrows furrowed as if reprimanding himself for forgetting something as simple as an introduction, “Theodore Litchfield, m’am.”
« Last Edit: 14/12/2014 at 17:10 by Theodore Litchfield »