[dohtml]<div class="forumtable" style="width:95%; padding:5px; border:3px solid white;"><div class="maintitle" style="text-align:center; font-weight:bold; text-transform:uppercase; font-size:12px; letter-spacing:5px; padding:3px 0px 3px 0px;">In Character</div><div style="text-align:justify; font-size:10px; padding:3px 0px 3px 0px;">
<b>Full Name:</b> Owen Peter Sunday<br>
<b>Birthdate:</b> 22 May 1853<br>
<b>Current Age:</b> Twenty-Nine Years<br>
<b>Occupation:</b> Art Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry<br>
<b>Hogwarts House:</b> Hufflepuff<br>
<b>Wand:</b> Arran Whitebeam, 11", Springy, Core of Sphinx mane hair<br>
<b>Social Class:</b> Middle Class <br>
<br>● Rev. Jonathan Charles Sunday - Father - Muggle-born Wizard, Ayrshire Scotland (deceased)<br><br>
● Mrs. Augustina Cybele Lyuba Sunday, nee Kupka - Mother - Pureblood Witch, Kiev Ukraine (unknown status)<br><br>
<br>Owen Sunday takes after his father: a fair-haired, smooth-skinned, and extremely tall man. However, the largest difference between the two are the eyes Owen inherited from his mother, and the pureblooded witches and wizards preceding her-- tumultuous and ever-changing, the one characteristic his eyes hold consistently are their dark color and the way which they sit in his skull. Even with the brightest smile and the heartiest laugh, the brooding look never fades. He has been told before that the look is haunting, that it is mysterious, that it is unsettling, and once that it is romantic.<p>
Aside from his look, however, Owen Sunday has only his towering height (a solid six feet, three inches) to make him noteworthy. His overall manner can be plain at times, especially as he prefers to sit when speaking, even in class, and he has little to offer in terms of aesthetic pleasantry. Attractive to some, and boring to others, Owen wouldn't count himself a looker, nor to be too hideous. However, he has yet to marry-- which he attributes to his face because, honestly, who wouldn't care for a relatively well-off art professor?<p>
Typically, Owen cares only to dress modestly and hold himself the same. While he paints, etches, and draws with hand-held utensils primarily with his right hand, he utilizes his wand with the left. This ambidextrous element of himself has often been the source of interesting fantasy: should he ever take up sword-fighting, he could really get the edge of surprise. <p>
<br> As most children are, Owen was born without consequence-- save, perhaps, that he was the only child of three birthed by his mother to live through the first day of life. The other two, both girls, were killed by their father (a man who was not Jonathan Sunday) for the crime of being female. This happened in a time well before Owen was born, a time before Augustina fled Ukraine, before she had even contemplated moving west or leaving her brute and emotionless husband.<br><br>
So little of his mother is known to Owen: she left him with a kiss upon his cheek the day after he received his acceptance letter to Hogwarts. Of course, he didn't know she was leaving when she did, but his father explained to him that Augustina was a "Gypsy Witch", she felt the call of the world beckoning to her, she had seen success in one son, and would carry on. None of it had ever made too much sense to Owen, and when his father died during his sixth year, leaving him a modest estate in Scotland and enough money to keep him going through his education, he gave up trying to make sense of it and pushed it into the recesses of his mind.<br><br>
During his time at Hogwarts, he very rarely took to any one subject. He was an average student, a fine friend, and a dabbling artist. Having Muggle grandparents and a father still steeping in Muggle culture, to the point of representing God within their township's church, Owen took to more classic means of artistic creation, often inspired by paintings, mosaics, and stained-glass work within his father's building. Adding magical elements (such as the portrait he painted of his father who still stands at his alter, giving brief sermons) was less his style, though he became more proficient with those techniques after a fair amount of bullying due to his apparent Muggle-like inclinations. <p>
After finishing his seventh year, Owen went back to Ayr to handle his father's estate and to oversee the church. His father's protégé, a man by the name of Vernon McElroy, had taken over as Reverend Deacon, which suited his thoughts well, and so he sold the estate for much less than it was worth to him to enable McElroy to live comfortably and see to the congregation. With the business settled, he moved to London as a freelance artist, an emphasis and portraits, and lived in a studio where he could work and live as he pleased.
In romancing his first love, a girl named Rosalie Campbell, he showed her some of his more magical pieces in an attempt to woo her further. The plan backfired, and as others were being exiled from social London, so too was he. Hogsmeade took him, at the age of twenty-five, and when the position for an Arts instructor at his former school opened, Owen jumped at the opportunity. The rest, as they say, is history. He now lives comfortably, though sometimes a little beyond his means, and remains in the refuge of Hogsmeade.<p>
Owen is a simple man with little interest in adventure. He's a keen observer, and a romantic, as it seems most artists must be. While his father held strongly to the concepts of God, despite his magical blood, Owen has strayed from the ideals of the Lord in mentality alone. He is a moral man, to most ends, but he puts little emphasis on Heaven and can hardly be bothered with the mandates of the Good Book, save those which are most sensical to abide by. The gypsy in him comes out only when crossed-- should a friendship be forsaken, Owen is entirely capable of holding a grudge, and his thoughts could lead him to do worse, though he has yet to act on it. For the most part, no one left knows enough about Owen, having not seen him in a personal or intimate sense, to judge his character.<br><br>
<b>Sample Roleplay Post:</b> <p>
He felt as though he could destroy the world. And for some reason, it was a beautiful feeling.
Behind the boy were sixty-some footfalls on gravel echoing into the crisp autumn night, a door slammed shut, and a girl still poised silently, dumbstruck, behind it. Above him, the pinprick lights of infinite stars, all of them dying, and some already dead. Below him was the Hell he was certainly condemned to. And ahead of him-- well, that was unknown. His fists were clutched closed, now, and the tears that stung the back of his eyes finally hit a drainage clog and began welling at his lids. The silence in his head was deafening, so he cleared his throat to fill the vacant pockets swelling to pop in his mind.
What was done, was done. That was all that mattered: a fact he needed to remember.
His eyes scanned the black and blue canvas before him and he wondered whether or not his demons were already lurking in the shadows between trees, stalking him, hunting him like the animal he had become, but he shook the thought into submission and tucked the pistol gripped painfully in his left hand securely into his coat pocket. Blood rushed back to his stark-white knuckles, filling them red and stinging in the evening chill.
Down the drive, he approached the car still sitting in the grit and mud, unmoved and uncorrupted by the intentions it had been driven there with. He sighed when his hand touched the cold door handle, and then his breath hitched again when he pulled it open to sit inside.<p>
</div><div class="maintitle" style="text-align:center; font-weight:bold; text-transform:uppercase; font-size:12px; letter-spacing:5px; padding:3px 0px 3px 0px;">Out of Character</div><div style="text-align:justify; font-size:10px; padding:3px 0px 3px 0px;">
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<b>Other Characters:</b> None yet!<br>
<b>How did you hear about us?:</b> A recommendation in a RP search on Caution 2.0</div></div>[/dohtml]
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