Oliver Randolph

[traegics]

Dawson spotted his father across the bar and immediately regretted noticing.

Not because Oliver was doing anything wrong.

Because the second Dawson realized who he was talking to, every immature instinct he possessed woke up at once.

The fae woman was pretty. That much was obvious. Auburn hair, flowers woven through the vines tangled around it, bright eyes fixed on whatever conversation she'd been having before Dawson arrived.

Which meant there was still time to ruin it.

Perfect.

He drifted over without invitation, stopping beside the bar and taking a pull from his beer before speaking.

"Question."

His attention landed squarely on the fae.

"Has he gotten to the tragic werewolf backstory yet, or are you two still in the fun facts portion of the evening?"

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"If we're still early, you've probably got moon phases coming up next."

Dawson lifted his bottle slightly.

"Don't get me wrong. Love wolves. Big fan. Five stars. But we really overshare as a species."

His gaze flicked briefly toward Oliver before returning to her.

"I figured somebody should intervene before you accidentally left here knowing the entire history of Crescent territory."

A beat.

Then, with complete sincerity:

"Also, for the record, the flower thing is objectively cooler than anything we've got going on."

He leaned casually against the bar.

"So. Dawson. The old man here's son."

A small gesture toward himself.

"And before either of you continue whatever this was, I need to know if those flowers bloom when you're happy, angry, or if they're just making the rest of us look bad on purpose."

[ollieverrandolph]

Oliver saw the blonde male approaching before he could open his mouth and pulled the female out of the situation. "Daws- Dawson." He stated through grit teeth and forced himself to smile as the fae looked between them with increasing confusion. "Will you just--" He growled. "I'm sorry about him." He tried to apologize, but Dawson leaned himself against the bar and continued to inject himself into the conversation.

Then came those words. Old man here's son. Oliver felt a small knot twist in his gut and words failed him for a split-second. At the same moment, the female took a small step backwards and held her hands up. "I'm sorry. Maybe we'll catch one another some other time?" She offered, but the speed at which she shuffled away told Oliver that time would be very far off.

An irritated sigh escaped him and he folded his arms as he regarded the man. "What the hell?" He started and shoved at Dawson's shoulder. "You're supposed to be a wingman for your old man, not a cockblock.... seriously." He grumbled through the awkwardness of referring to himself so... paternally. "Seriously, what was that? Look, if you're acting out about me flirting with someone that isn't your mother you're about two decades too late for that." He stated sarcastically. And a few years more. The words went unspoken. Oliver hadn't exactly been close to the woman even back in 2011.

[traegics]

The café’s CLOSED sign flickered weakly in the window, buzzing every few seconds like it was reconsidering the commitment. Indi sat on the hood of an old sedan parked crooked near the alley, one boot planted on the bumper, the other dangling loose while she peeled the label off a bottle of orange soda in slow strips.

Rain earlier had left the streets slick and shining, the whole block reflecting neon like bruised watercolor. Somewhere down the road, someone laughed too loudly. Somewhere closer, a train horn groaned through the dark.

Indi looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, eyes sharp for half a second before they softened into recognition of “not immediately dangerous.”

“Before you ask,” she said, voice low and dry, “no, this isn’t my car. I just look emotionally attached to bad decisions.”

The corner of her mouth lifted faintly as she tipped the soda bottle in a lazy salute.

“You hiding from something,” she asked, “or just wandering around the city pretending insomnia counts as a personality trait?”

[ollieverrandolph]

"Hey now, bad decisions are often the most interesting ones to make. No one's ever had a badass story to tell at the bonfire because they made the safe choice in life." Oliver remarked, a smirk playing at his lips. "The ones you want to avoid are the ones that get you into a mess you can't talk your way out of or call in favors from people." He added.

"Me? Nah, ain't got nothing to hide here." He said smoothly, even if it wasn't entirely the truth these days. "I was on my way to go roam the Spring Court, but decided it was a little too late and just kept my prowling closer to home." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm Oliver." He added and nodded in her direction. "You?"

[traegics]

The wind came in low off the water, carrying salt, smoke, and something faintly magical—like the world couldn’t decide what era it was supposed to be in.

Hayley stood at the edge of the old dock with her hands in her jacket pockets, boots planted like she was keeping herself from drifting too far with the tide. The boards creaked under her weight when she shifted, but she didn’t move away. Didn’t flinch.

Somewhere behind her, the city kept pretending it was normal.

It wasn’t.

She exhaled slowly, watching the dark water catch fragments of distant light. For a moment, she let herself do nothing but listen—no pack reports, no whispered problems, no expectations pressing against her shoulders like they had somewhere to be.

Just… quiet.

It never lasted long.

Hayley tilted her head slightly when she heard footsteps approaching, not turning yet—just acknowledging they existed.

“Before you start,” she called over her shoulder, voice dry but steady, “if this is about anything that explodes, bleeds, or requires me to form an opinion before coffee, I’m going to need you to rethink your timing.”

A beat.

Then she finally looked back, green eyes sharp but not unkind.

“But,” she added, the corner of her mouth tugging faintly, “if you’re just here to stand around and pretend the world isn’t on fire for five minutes… I might be able to make room for that.”

[ollieverrandolph]

"Let's not pretend opinions don't get formed the moment you see my beautiful face." The wolf remarked sarcastically and chose a wooden post several yards from the woman as his resting point; leaning back against it and propping one foot up. "Ain't got anything to do with exploding or bleeding either. Just figure, you know, I might ought to check that one of our Alpha's wasn't considering taking a swim. Waters ain't been predictable since the fog." Oliver stated and tucked his hands into the pockets of his flannel-lined jacket.

[ollieverrandolph]

"I don't think I've been to that part of the Court before." Ollie spoke with just enough of a slur to his words that it emphasized the drawl in his voice. A light smirk played at his lips as he surveyed the Fae female that had caught his attention in the small dive bar that evening as the sun slowly began its descent. His eyes darted over her sun-kissed skin and generous dusting of freckles before lingering at her hair - a mess of auburn tangles and vines that bloomed with tiny scarlet flowers in numerous places. Her emerald eyes never left his as she chewed on her lip.

"And you say all of your friends have these vines in their hair too? Some sort of Fae gift?" He picked his words with a practiced ease and allowed his smirk to settle upon his features. "That's right. All of us have them, but the flowers that bloom are unique to each of us so it's still something we can call special and ours." The female explained with a purr. "And we've never seen a... what did you say you were again?" She questioned.

"Werewolf. We look the same as any other human, usually. Except on the full moon." He explained once more. And except for us Crescents. He thought to himself, but choose not to add.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

[ollieverrandolph]

[ Alexander Ludwig | He/Him] A new face takes refuge under Dark Skies. OLIVER RANDOLPH, a 21 year old WEREWOLF, is one of those from the PAST learning to navigate this changed world. People say behind their back that they’re IMPULSIVE AND STUBBORN but the truth is that they’re really PROTECTIVE AND DETERMINED. Their style can best be described as A CHARMING SMIRK; BONFIRES AND COLD BEER; AND BLOODIED KNUCKLES, and we’ll see how that helps them fit in.

Name: Oliver Randolph

Nickname(s): Ollie

Age: 21

Pronouns/Sexuality: He/Him, Heterosexual

Species: Werewolf

Affiliation: Crescent Pack

Family: 

Dawson Randolph (Eldest Son - A Child in 2011; Grown Man from Future)

Jackson "JJ" Randolph (Youngest Son - A Toddler in 2011; Young Man from Future)

Coraline Randolph (Future Granddaughter)

Olive Randolph (Future Granddaughter)

Background:

Oliver Randolph has been Jackson Kenner's ride-or-die best friend since they were children terrorizing the bayou and giving Mary Dumas and the other pack elders migraines with their rowdiness and antics. Closer than brothers, Oliver would do just about anything for Jackson without hesitating to think about whether he should be doing it. Pulled from 2011 alongside Jackson and many other wolves, Oliver adjusted as well as he could manage as everyone settled into their new lives in 2030. It wasn't long before his smart-mouthed attitude came to be directed at the confusing hierarchy the Crescent Pack had come to gather under - particularly Hayley Marshall. Or rather, Marshall-Kenner, as it came to be explained from her future timeline. 

It was after a particularly nasty confrontation with Hayley on the eve of one of New Orleans' many celebrations that the Alpha and Crescent Queen finally revealed to Oliver just how far his 'whatever it takes' attitude had led him astray in their future - how he had allied himself with the Mikaelson matriarch Esther and assisted in as well as orchestrated a number of betrayals against the Crescent Pack in the name of 'survival' and werewolf superiority after the years spent under the New Orleans vampires' thumb. Among the worst of which had been the coldblooded murder of Eve. Hayley revealed everything to him, leading up to his final moments as he lay cursed and bloodied with no one but Jackson and herself around as he passed. 

After learning about his future, Oliver couldn't come to terms with the idea that he would ever have committed such acts against the Pack - against his family. To make matters more difficult for him was the fact that his two sons - just a young child and toddler when he last remembered them - were now grown young men with an entire life lived without him because of his choices mere years from when he was plucked from 2011. Additionally, he had not just one, but two grandaughters that had arrived with the rest of the future denizens.  Slowly, he distanced himself from the Pack as he retreated into himself and even kept Jackson at arm's length up until the night the fog rolled in and the Broken City was created. 

In the months since, Oliver has struggled with accepting the truth of his future and somewhat relished in the fact that there were now unfamiliar places he could slip away to and avoid the Pack when his natural anger issues and desire to 'do whatever it takes for the Pack' started to become too much. A few of the Crescents have remarked seeing him come and go rather frequently from the Spring Court - where he had found a sort of kinship with the shapeshifting fae who dwelled there... as well as carnal distractions with those that found a mortal-adjacent supernatural to be something of intrigue and curiosity.