Post by ritz on Oct 12, 2010 5:18:04 GMT 10
OLIVER CAILEAN WOOD
NAME ;; Oliver Cailean Wood
NICKNAMES ;; Wood, Ollie
AGE ;; 23
DATE OF BIRTH ;; August 20
BLOOD STATUS AND RACE ;; Pureblooded human wizard man thing
YEAR ;; N/A
HOUSE ;; Former Gryffindor
OCCUPATION ;; Keeper, Puddlemere United
SEXUAL ORIENTATION ;; Straight as an arrow
PLAY-BY ;; kayne lawton (australian footballer)
OLIVER is ;;
--- DETERMINED ;; “Every accomplishment starts with the decision to try.” Oliver, when he wants something, puts his whole self into accomplishing whatever that might be. In school, he was determined to make captain, something he accomplished earlier than most. Since then, his goal has been becoming a professional quidditch player; something he tunnel visioned until he managed it. He never does anything halfway. If he is going to do something, he does it with 100% of his being. This applies to every aspect of his life - not just quidditch (though quidditch is most of his life).
--- INNOVATIVE ;; “Innovation is the ability to see change as an opportunity - not a threat” While Oliver is determined, he knows that that alone is not enough to accomplish the things he sets to. In addition to wanting something, he has the ability to see different ways of getting there; and implementing them successfully is part of who he is. His ability to innovate is something that is embedded in his very being; since childhood, he has been able to combine and change things to make the best of nearly any situation.
--- WITTY ;; "Wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line."1 While Oliver may not be the smartest bloke on the team, he is really quite sharp tongued. He has the uncanny ability to think up a response to nearly anything and can usually leave the person he's talking to gobsmacked, if he really wants to.
OLIVER'S patronus is a ;; gazelle
OLIVER'S boggart takes the form of ;; monkeys.
OLIVER adores ;; QUIDDITCH. hot cocoa. summer rain. autumn. his broom. his mum. old pirate stories. bonfires. a good laugh. meat. reading. long naps.
OLIVER abhors ;; brussel sprouts. hot, humid, sunny days. slytherins. lager. fancy shoes. shopping. publicity. gossip. waiting in line. tight schedules. his father.
He'd always wanted a son. And in Oliver, that was what Cailean Wood got. Some would say that Oliver was spoiled as a child, for being exactly what his parents wanted. However, those people would be wrong.
Quidditch, for Oliver and for his father, had never been a pass-time. It was a way of life - something to win, something to play, but nothing to joke about. When Oliver was six, this began to make sense to him. His parents, for his birthday, had bought him a toy broom. Living in the north of Scotland on a farm, Oliver was allowed to fly it as he pleased - there were no neighbors even close by to see. But he learned quickly that falling was not an option - and that mistakes weren't either. Every time he leaned to far, fell to fast, or really moved at all, Oliver was reprimanded with a swift fall of his father's hand. Nothing to the point of abuse, but enough that Oliver knew mistakes weren't okay, especially when it came to flying.
As he grew, Oliver came to understand that it was not just flying he was meant to be good at - but quidditch in general. While he loved (and still loves) the sport, he was more forced to play than anything. While other children were being given toys and playing games, Oliver was practicing. Practice, for the Woods, was what was most important.
This mindset came with him to Hogwarts. At eleven, he was burlier than most of his classmates - if not all of them. His father told him not to try out for the team in his first year, as he wouldn't make it anyway and the disappointment was an unnecessary set back. So he continued to train, and in his second year made the team without question. The celebration of his father was short lived - because failure was punished more than accomplishment was celebrated. They lost that year, and the year subsequent. Because Oliver wasn't captain, he wasn't punished as severely as he had expected. It was surprising, to say the least, for the young Gryffindor. However, over the summer between his third and fourth year, Oliver was made captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
He knew that Gryffindor stood little chance. But it didn't matter. with intense practices and extra training, they did much better than anyone thought they would. His father was impressed, but by no means proud. The years went on, and Oliver finally procured the quidditch cup in 1994. Again, his father was impressed, but not proud, asking why it had taken so long.
He graduated from Hogwarts that year, and hoped that his father would let up. He didn't, and when Oliver was brought on to the Puddlemere reserves, his father once again informed Oliver that he was nothing but a disappointment for not being able to actually make a team, but rather just the reserves of one.
It was that day that he stopped speaking to his father. Oliver's mother was dismayed at the outburst at the kitchen table and her eighteen-year-old's vulgar words, but agreed, for the most part, with Oliver. He was gone that night, off to stay with a teammate until his first pay check and subsequent beginning of the rest of his life.
His family celebration when he was made a permanent Keeper for the Puddlemere United team consisted of just his mother, with whom his relationship had become strained because of his lack of communication with his father. She often begged Oliver to make amends, but the stubborn Scotsman he'd grown up calling father wouldn't apologize, and Oliver felt he'd done nothing wrong, so while his father finally had reason to be proud, Oliver's own pride stopped him from going back to his father's house.
In his second year as a permanent team member, Oliver wrote his father a letter, but received no response. This sealed the fate of the relationship, and for three years he's heard nothing from the older man nor made any effort, himself. He still, occasionally, hears his father's voice in the back of his mind, pushing him to play harder, to make something of himself.
Oliver has been independent since his father's rudeness, and fully intends to continue as such. He's vowed to never treat his own children the way his father did, and hopes that one day children will be a possibility for him.
While his family life has faltered, his social life has as well. His friends from school, most notably George Weasley and the three female chasers from his winning team, have all changed tremendously since the Battle of Hogwarts, and so he finds that he, himself, has changed as well. He doesn't tend to get close to people, preferring to just let things happen in an attempt to stop himself from getting hurt the way they all seem to be; the way his father hurt him.Some people found Hogwarts to be a second home, the castle and their common room serving as a constant source of comfort throughout the year. Even more considered their house mates to be their family during the school year. Lars didn't. His home away from home was the Quidditch pitch. His surrogate family was his team. While everyone else was chatting and enjoying the welcome feast, the Gryffindor was trying to still his knee, which was bouncing with anticipation. His mind had been out on the pitch where his body should have been through the speeches, the sorting, and the meal.
When he finally got outside, Lars' heaved sigh of relief was the only sound disturbing the night. He couldn't help but notice how lovely and outright serene the pitch was at this time of day. It was like a whole separate world from the Great Hall, and he was grateful for it. He loved solitude, he loved being alone. This was his niche, his place in the world, and he knew it. Now, clothed in his training gear, the tall boy – no, man – stood and said a silent prayer. Not to God, or to Merlin, or to Gryffindor, but to himself.
He believed in only himself, knowing that his saviours would be his body and his broom. His mind was clear, the way he needed it to be when playing. He mounted his broom. The wood was smooth and welcoming in his hands as he languidly floated up into the sky, flying around slowly, calmly.
The air was cool, crisp. It was autumn, after all, and he was chilly. To warm himself, Lars began doing laps, his pace slowly increasing as he went until he was positively zooming around the pitch, his chest pressed to the wood of his broom. When he slowed again, he leisurely floated back to the ground.
He made his way to the change rooms, sitting himself down on the bench, breathing deeply. He didn't know how long he'd been in the air, but he could guess about three hours. His body was coated in a thin layer of sweat as he pulled off his shirt, moving towards the showers, and his muscles were sore from being out of practice, but his mind was racing. He needed new plays, new players and new ideas. This year would be Gryffindor's year, he decided, right then and there. Fiddling and adjusting the temperature on the trick shower, Lars stripped down completely, moving into the shower and letting the hot water run over his body, soothing his aching body.
Hey there! I'm RITZ. I'm 20, and I've been been role playing for LONGER THAN I'D LIKE TO ADMIT. I found LMCI through PROBOARDS SUPPORT. My favorite Harry Potter is HBP.
1Author: John Dryden-Source: To the Memory of Mr. Oldham
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