We are currently accepting new applications for Elsewhere!

Author Topic: David O'Hair // Elsewhere Adult  (Read 187 times)

David OHair

    (07/02/2018 at 08:19)
  • Unemployed
  • C11D7T7S7
    • View Profile

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: David O'Hair
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Blood Status: Pureblood


As of the year 1932, David resides in Hogsmeade

Currently Unemployed

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?
David might apply for a suitable job in the future (unknown for now)

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: 11
  • Divination: 7
  • Transfiguration: 7
  • Summoning: 7
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Yes. David O'Hair had recently moved to England with his brother, Brendan O'Hair upon news of hearing about a rumor of a wealthy cousin (Jane Fitzwalter). It is crucial that they be together - they are a each other's financial support - they do not have enough amongst them to each make it on their own.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Jane Fitzwalter (Aplication for Brendan O'Hair will also be filled in shortly)

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
David O'Hair had always been an easy-going kind of guy. Nothing could phase him. Come wind or rain or hail, his cocky smirk was immovable.

For years he had listened to whispering of 'Those damned O'Hairs' and 'Filthy Blood' and answered only with, "My blood's not the only thing about me that's filthy (wink), if you know what I mean.” ; however, David O’Hair was only one cursed individual in a family of cursed individuals.

Son of Yvonne O’Hair and Brian O’Hair, David also grew up with his younger brother, Brendan. From a young age it was clear that neither brother was like the other. Brendan was quiet, cautious and cunning; David was funny, impulsive and ambitious.

As far as O’Hairs went, Brendan had been given the worst of what the name meant: Malicious intent, a knack for ruining anything and everything and the occasional burning desire to wreak havoc on everybody around him. David, however, had gotten the best.

Ever since they were kids, David’s charm and charisma had people telling him, “You’ll be going places.”  He had wanted to believe it, of course, but truly – what hope was there for a boy with his kind of heritage?

And then the news came to Scotland.

There was a girl, they said, a very strange girl – with blue hair and the like, who had come to England from some politicly unstable country and called herself Fitzwalter. That, in itself, was no great news, but the underlying rumour that had accompanied it had kept him up for nights on end.

She had the blood.

David didn’t know how or why, but out there was a girl (from what he could gather: a cousin) living with the same curse he had – and living well.

As easily as that, it was settled. Within a month, David and Brendan had said their goodbyes, packed their bags and boarded a train out of Scotland.

London was the destination: the last place they had heard of this fabled family member, the daughter of the only O’Hair man to ever escape Scotland and the stigma of the curse. The only person who would be able to help him break away from the rut that was the O’Hair name.

“Don’t go, David.” His mother had told him. “Please, I’m begging you. You don’t know what your uncle was like.”

The woman had had tears in her eyes when she warned him at the train station, “If this girl is even half of what he was - she is the worst of us all.”

David had simply smirked (as was his custom) and told her softly, “Don’t worry, Ma. Haven’t you heard?”

A reassuring smile.

“I’m going places.”

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.

Roleplay Response:
Diagon Alley was... amazing.

Where David was from, there were no streets lined with shops and stores, they were scattered and scarce - going from the bookstore the the grocery shop could take anything from 10 minutes to half an hour, depending in what area you were in. So far, London seemed to be his hometown's superior in every way.

Though perhaps he was being biased. David had dreamed of leaving home and seeing England since he was a little boy and his grandmother told him stories about the stories her grandmother had told her.

Obviously everything was a lot different now, but still - it certainly lived up to the legend.


The sudden shout startled David out of his sight-seeing trance and he glanced around, immediately moving into action.

A damsal in destress? He couldn't help it - it was his forte'.

"Hallo? Lady?" David called out, trying to locate the origin of the distressed call over the hustle and bustle of countless pedestrians moving past him. Perhaps the city did have it's downsides after all.

Finally, he glimpsed a figure lying in the middle of a particularly populated part of road.

"I'm coming" he called as he pushed one after another out of his way to reach  the woman.

Finally having made his way to her, he made his stance as threatening as he could manage and blostered himself against the waves of people who were still trying to move around -or rather- throuh them.

Holding out his hand, he put on his most charming and flirtatious smile and said, "Here you go, Miss."

David was about to lay down all the moves and even offer her a drink, when he spotted the discarded notebook and pen.

'A reporter.' he realized.

"Oh, sorry." he said as casually as he could manage. " I have to go. Somewhere to be, you understand? "

Turning on his heel, David mad a beeline for the room he and his brother were renting, all the while wondering what would have happened, had the woman known who he was.

'Too close.'

How did you find us? Google | TopSites | Recommendation | Facebook | Tumblr | Other

* Anneka Ivanova

    (13/02/2018 at 02:48)
  • ***
  • Hogwarts Headmistress
  • [Winner!] HSNet 30-Day Challenge
    • View Profile
and if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free
to those who ground me, take a message back from me
tell them how I am defying gravity