Oliver Banks
The Basics
Name: Oliver Banks
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Race: Human
The Physical
Physical Description: Oliver is tall, six foot five to be exact, and exceptionally thin. Clothes wear him, rather than the other way around. At least, that's how he looks to passerby. But, that's just how he's built. Oliver finds it difficult to gain weight, even when he's socked away enough cash to eat well. Under the clothes, however, he is physically fit, boasting an athletic build.
Having managed to secure a job working for a friend of his, on occasion, Oliver has upgraded his daily wear. While he used to wear whatever he could manage to scavenge from the dumpsters behind clothes outlets, he now wears clothes that he purchases himself, from local thrift shops. Generally, he doesn't have much of a fashion sense, and tends to dress for utility or warmth, depending on the time of year.
Talents & Weaknesses
Skills: Oliver doesn't really have many marketable skills, but he's a talented artist, having spent a large portion of his free time making sketches of life in New York. His works aren't always pleasant to look at, but the detail is impressive. To this day, he's not sure why, but one night he was transfixed, in a fit of morbid curiosity, on an elderly woman who had been unlucky enough to be caught out in the cold, and ended up dead in an alley, leaning against the backdoor of a club.
Other than that, he's scrappy, having learned to fight and protect himself over the years. He's tall and has long legs and arms, which he uses to his advantage.
Powers: Unbeknownst to Oliver, there were several Wizards in his family line. On his mother's side, for the most part, though there were a few Minor Talents on his father's as well. Not that he's ever met any of them, even if they're still kicking.
Oliver's not sure how or why he acquired what he refers to as the 'Sight'. Not to anyone else, of course, just to himself. If he spoke of what he saw, he was sure he'd finally have a warm room all to himself. But, he thought the white jackets were tacky.
Technically speaking, Oliver has the inherent talent of a potential Wizard, but it has remained largely untapped. He's currently unaware that he has such powers, and doesn't know any spells for that matter. Oliver is a natural talent, but he's unrefined, untrained and has no idea what he could be capable of if he applied himself.
Oliver has managed to unlock one aspect of his latent powers. Opening his third eye, tapping into his sixth sense, magically speaking. He doesn't have a physical third eye, just a metaphysical one.
Vulnerabilities: Oliver is aware of the supernatural, but he's not knowledgeable on the subject. Which, for the most part, has caused him to become increasingly paranoid over the years.
Under The Hood
Personality: Generally speaking, Oliver is clever enough to avoid the prying eyes of the public when he wants to, and has enough street smarts to stay out of trouble. Having spent the better part of his life learning to blend into the background, he's not terribly outgoing, and he certainly wouldn't be considered an extrovert. Oliver can put on that mask when he needs to, but he much prefers a more laid back approach to life. Not quite an introvert, not quite an extrovert, but somewhere in the middle. He has no issues speaking with those who approach him, but he chooses his words carefully.
Backstory: Oliver is just another disadvantaged youth, just attractive enough for those with money and status to sympathize with or, rather, pity for a split second if he were to get caught on camera or in some video that made its way to their feed, before they continued scrolling. They may care enough to leave a reaction or a comment, or even make a donation to some charity or another, fleeting as such things were. But, most would forget when the next meme or article discussing the current hot topic came across their screen, whether it be politics, Hollywood, some new artist or musician, or whatever.
While it wasn't necessarily pleasant, Oliver's childhood was nothing special for a penniless orphan growing up in the streets of New York City. Nothing to write home about, if he had one, certainly. Oliver had been jumped once or twice for walking down the wrong block, and mugged once when he'd let his guard down around a middle-aged man who seemed worse off than himself. Or, perhaps, Oliver's first impression of the man had been wrong. The mugger could've simply had a better sense of self-preservation. Although, he wasn't convinced of that. The guy hadn't even worn a mask, and he had the shakes. Even in the middle of winter, he could tell the guy was fiending. In the end, it didn't really matter why it happened, it just mattered that it had. Oliver could never bring himself to take from others, no matter how bad things got, especially after having it happen to him.
For the most part, Oliver kept to himself when he could, doing odd jobs here and there to provide for himself when a shopkeep he'd befriended didn't mind paying him under the table.
It wasn't always like that. Oliver had a family, a mother and a father, at one point. But, sometimes fate is cruel. If you believe in such things. Oliver certainly doesn't. Not that he doesn't believe in the Fates, capital F. He just doesn't believe that things are set in stone. Oliver doesn't believe that anything is preordained. Especially not for someone as insignificant as himself. Why would some god or another care to pick and choose his fate, of all people?
Oliver wasn't surprised when news made its way to New York, regarding the events in Chicago. He had long since been aware of the supernatural. What kid on the street wasn't? Those without family ties or homes of their own, that spent their nights deep in the back alleys or bouncing around homeless shelters when they were lucky enough to claim a spot? They were the ones who could tell you a story or two about things they'd seen. Shady deals that had ended in bloodshed, restless nights where wolves howled in the middle of New York City of all places. Most wouldn't admit to it, if you weren't of the same cloth, but, Oliver had seen some things and heard even more.
Not that he believed it all, of course. Some people were simply high out of their mind, trying to scare anyone that would listen with whatever ghost stories they'd cooked up in the moment. Oliver was savvy enough to tell the difference. He had seen the real thing.
Connections: TBD
Writing Sample
"That's not promising," Oliver mumbled under his breath, as he peered out the window of the shop. A pair of suits were walking along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. They appeared to be following Benji, a close friend of Oliver's. A friend he hadn't seen in a while, but a friend nonetheless.
"What was that?" The assistant manager asked, as she looked up from counting the till. Oliver didn't care much for her, she was a little stuck up, but not so much that he felt the need to mention it. But, he'd once overheard her complaining about how he was a delinquent or something to that effect to the owner of the shop. She didn't know him, and that was a blatant lie- Oliver had a spotless record. But, people would be people, and people liked to judge others without knowing them in the slightest. There was nothing he could do about that.
"Huh?" Oliver asked as he turned to look at the acting boss, which earned him a glare. "Oh, I said I'm finished cleaning up. So, I'm gonna take off, if that's cool?" It was a simple courtesy, notifying her of his intention to leave, but he didn't care much for her opinion on the matter. From what he could tell, Benji was about to be in some serious trouble. He didn't like the way those suits were looking at the kid. Oliver knew what it looked like, when someone was carrying a gun, and they were trying to hide it. The stiff movements, the shifting eyes. These guys weren't feds, or pros for that matter. But, they were tailing Benji, and that was a problem.
"Yeah, fine. Don't forget to- Oliver?" He was gone, before she could finish, his apron left in the clothes bin in the back. "Oliver, don't forget to clock out!" He hadn't bothered.
Oliver bolted down the alleyway behind the shop, moving to cut them off. He knew the neighborhood like the back of his hand, and so did Benji. There was an old, abandoned warehouse a few blocks over that they had used as a hideout when they were kids. Benji would be heading there, Oliver was sure of it. But first? He would have to help his friend shake the tail. Pun intended, in Benji's case. He was a weredog. No, not a werewolf. Nothing so fancy or intimidating. Benji was able to shift into a Border Collie, and not a big one. Not so useful in a fight, unless he could get a decent bite or scratch in, but Oliver knew there wasn't a better companion to have when you were unlucky enough to spend the night out in the cold. He wouldn't willingly admit it to another soul, but Benji gave the best cuddles.
Moving ahead and cutting across the street when he knew their focus was fully on Benji, Oliver ducked into yet another alley off to the side of a secondhand furniture store. It was a solid choice. There were a few busted up chairs and a couch that had seen better days, all of which were beyond repair and had been put out near a dumpster. He looked around, trying to find a weapon or some kind of distraction, and his eyes fell on the chairs.
The sound of breaking wood echoed out of the alleyway a second before Oliver dashed out and yelled, "Duck!" Seeing Oliver with his shirt pulled up over his nose in an attempt to hide his face and hood up over his head hiding his hair, Benji did just that, and two chair legs flew over his head at the suits who had managed to close the distance, and were just five feet or so behind.
One of the suits was struck in the head and let out a yelp of pain, stumbling backward. The other managed to dodge, but tripped on the curb in the process, falling onto his ass in the street. "Hurry," he insisted as he moved forward and grabbed Benji's hand. It wouldn't take the suits long to recover. They needed to move.
Oliver and Benji bolted around the corner, at which point the latter shifted fluidly into his dog form and joined the former as he put his hand on the back of the couch he'd moved into the center of the alley, and hopped over. It was always best to have a backup plan, if the original didn't pan out.
The two boys sprinted down the narrow alley and around the corner at the other end, disappearing just as they heard the suits skid and crash into the cushioned obstacle. Wouldn't hurt as much as the chair legs, but it'd take them a second to climb over, having already lost their momentum. By that point, Oliver and Benji were long gone.
~O~
"Again? Really? This is the third time," Oliver complained through ragged breaths, just inside the abandoned warehouse. "Another one? One of these days, I'm not gonna be around to save your ass," Oliver warned with a scowl, though it faded shortly, turning into a grin. He thought of Benji as his kid brother, even though Benji was six months older.
Benji, back in his human body, let out a laugh. "Can't help myself, Ollie. And honestly, it's been a lot of fun. The thrill of the danger, ya know?" Ollie rolled his eyes and punched Benji in the arm. Benji had made a sport of bedding the children of politicians, foreign diplomats, mafiosos and the like. All the high powered types. Or, what passed for them in New York. Hide your daughters, hide your sons, Benji didn't have a particular preference, and he was damn good looking.
Oliver didn't see the appeal, but he couldn't fault Benji for looking for some joy in his life. It had been a tough one. The only thing that worried Oliver was the repercussions. 'I won't always be here to watch your back,' he thought, his mood sinking a bit.