Juan Cruz Navarro | Elswhere Adult

[Juan Cruz Navarro]

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Juan Cruz Navarro
Gender: Male
Age: Thirty-three
Blood Status: Pureblood

Education: 
Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

Residence:
On the top floor of his shop in Diagon Alley

Occupation:
Fashion designer/Tailor

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?
No

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: 8
• Divination: 10
• Transfiguration: 9
• Summoning: 5

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Felicia Navarro

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

Youngest son of the second Navarro generation that brought no daughters to the world, Juan Cruz seemed like the perfect son: impeccable grades, impeccable clothing, impeccable manners that allowed enough of an opening for a poisonous tongue here and there. The only apparent drawback of his character appeared to be his temper- inherited from his father, no doubt, but not a particularly worrying trait, since every born Navarro tends to be intense in one way or another.

The easy way in which he glided to through life stopped abruptly at seventeen when he was informed- never asked- that he was to marry a carefully selected witch from an appropriate family, since another generation of only sons was unacceptable. Tensions escalated- from vaguely irritated bargaining to an all-out screaming match that lasted most of the night until he informed his parents that he was to marry no witch, since his inclinations lied elsewhere.

This was not taken kindly.

That same night he said goodbye to his ancestral home and most of his family- a few other black sheep existed here and there, but no one had been kicked out until him- with only the clothes on his back, the bitterness on his tongue, and the skills he had acquired.

Starting out as a seamstress’ assistant on a small shop, he worked for hours and hours on end, proving to be not only more than a competent tailor, but also a bright designer and the worlds’ harshest fashion critic, whether his advice was asked for or not. After years of hard work he managed to open his own shop and gain enough recognition in Spain, where he found his own sense of happiness for some years, until a chance encounter with his mother made him impulsively move his craft as far away as possible- or better yet, far enough to escape his parents’ eyes yet close enough to keep an eye on his niece, who to this day he considers lacks a responsible parental figure with at least the littlest amount of common sense.

Setting up a new shop in Diagon Alley and naming it with his family name in an act of defiance- because whatever they said, he was still of the same blood- he spends his day working on beautiful garments and passing judgement on humanity.
 

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.



Roleplay Response:
It had been a busy day- then again, all of his days were busy. In the warmth of his shop he had sketched designs after designs all day for a particularly fussy client, and yet, none of them satisfied him. One was too bright, the other one too dark, too short, too long, too tight, too too too too that transformed into a high pitched scream inside his head.

He forced himself to go out. Walk around, find some new inspiration. Or the source of a migraine, if he looked at the people around him for too long- one man’s pants were a fifth of an inch too short, some woman’s jewelry clashed horribly with the dress she was wearing. The frown that had taken a permanent residence on his face deepened.

His eyes were drawn to the ground when he felt himself kicking a hard item- a broken shoe, he realized with confusion. He picked it up to dispose of it properly- terrible people, throwing their trash on the streets- when he heard a cry for help.

The woman’s hair color didn’t go with her complexion- at all. But her height reminded him of his niece, and even if that didn’t make him smile, it did coerce him into a version gentler of his frown.

He walked towards her.

“Your shoe, I presume?”

OTHER
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[Calypso Ross]

Accepted!