LIFE - Begins! (M)
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Name: Nathan Rowden
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Occupation: Writer - fiction and poetry
Address: The apartment next door to Jessica Weaver's
Appearance: Nathan has always thought of himself as looking 'average'. His hair is brown and sits on his head without doing anything that could be considered a 'style'. His eyes are blue. He is five feet and eight inches tall. His build is inbetween athletic and thin. He wears black jeans because he finds them more comfortable than blue ones. For reasons beyond even him, he always wears a shirt. Rarely a tie, though.
Personality: When people often describe Nathan, the word they tend to use is 'nice', which bothers him. Yes, he is a very nice guy. He's the kind of guy who will lend you a cup of sugar or fix your bookshelf or babysit your cat or dog when you're out of town but he's complex too. What most people see is the nice, friendly, social Nathan. Few people see the depth to him, the voice of his writing, the part that questions the goodness of mankind and the solidarity of its beliefs. This is the overtly intellectual part of him and the part that often surprises people. What nobody has seen, is the side of him that only appears when he drinks. The side that is vulnerable and insecure. So yeah, 'nice' guy.
Skills: It sounds corny but Nathan likes to take long walks. He likes to explore things the way no one else would, to find its soul and peer into it. People often find it odd when they come across him staring at some insignificant thing but he doesn't mind that. He plays bass and guitar in his free time and will have two acoustics set out in his apartment. He owns an electric version of each but has put them into storage to avoid any risk of disturbing the neighbours. He's very modest about his musical abilities. He's not great but there is talent there if he chose to focus on it. For some reason though, he appears to have given up on pursuing what was once his greatest passion and plays for his own amusement as opposed to personal development. If the weather's nice he will occassionally play in public but not for money, just to enjoy the scenery.
History: Born and raised in a small village to the North (Harrowshire). Two parents, no siblings. Graduated high school and attended college at Haverton (majoring in music) but dropped out two years into his studies. No one really knew why. He disappeared. Sent letters to his family swearing that he was safe but there was never a return address. Two years later he emerged in the underground poetry scene and was highlighted as a possible talent. A year later, his novel, A Grim Reality, was published. Despite being acclaimed by various critics, it didn't receive much fanfair with the public due to its explicit - and some were known to say, disturbing - content. He spent the next year touring and has seen a mix of nice hotels and disturbing motels. He is now settling down in Riverside to work on his next project.
Relationships: None of note other than his agent, George, who always knows the wrong time to call him and his parents who he only keeps in touch with via letter and probably the occassional phonecall in the future as they still live in Harrowshire. I guess he'll meet Jessica first when he moves in (aka in the first post).
Other: Nathan has developed an alcohol problem that he has managed to keep secret. He only drinks at night. It's not every night but when he does do it he generally just drinks until he passes out. On the road it was easy, in a town, maybe not so much. His fame as an author is also very limited. His readership tends to be very specific (the book is on male rape) and the majority of them know him by name only. Very few are able to match a face to it.
Nathan Rowden
Nathan hated cars. Not the idea of the cars themselves but the smell of them and the feel of them. It was a new hatred; one spawned from the months he had spent traversing the country in the back of one driver or another’s car. He peered out the window and watched the green fade to grey as they crossed into the city. He had practically jumped at the chance of settling down when George had mentioned it. The agent had presented it as a chance to set up a studio for future works; Nathan had seen it as a new lease of life. He’d spent three years in transition. Now it was time to start things going again.
They pulled up outside the apartment building and the moving truck squeaked to a stop behind them. It was about 10am. They’d deliberately timed to move to try and arrive at the rear-end of the morning rush. Better if the building was more empty than full, especially with all the stuff they were going to have to lug inside. Nathan stepped out of the car and George was there to greet him.
“Are you my agent or my mother?” Nathan asked with a chuckle.
“Both.” He turned back towards the building. “Wanna see the place?”
“Of course.”
The apartment itself was larger than he had anticipated, although he put that down to the lack of…well everything. He had bought space and walls and doors and little else. The bathroom and kitchen came equipped but everything else was being supplied from either his own collection or his newly acquired funds.
Getting the bed sorted is going to be fun, he mused.
“So what do you think?” asked George.
“It’ll do.” Nathan wandered over to the window and peered out into his little portion of the city. Get used to it. You’ll be here a while. He smirked. That’ll make a nice change.
He could hear the movers treading back and forth behind him. He left George to organise the dumping of boxes. He would deal with them when he was alone. He couldn’t think with so many people moving around. The silent agreement seemed to suit the agent perfectly. Nathan could already him directing the burlier men, his usual authoritative voice well settled in the unusual environment.
“You’re not gonna regret moving here are you?”
It took a moment for Nathan to realise he was being spoken to. “Why would I?”
George clicked his tongue. “Well…with those murders going on…”
“Hopefully it’ll be sorted long before I have the chance to regret anything.”
George stepped over and held up a set of keys. “Guess I better be giving these to you."
Nathan smiled as he took them. So it’s official. The place is mine.
It didn’t take as long as he had expected for the movers to deliver his boxes. He was almost sad to thank them and see them leave. It felt like some kind of abandonment. He’d been surrounded by people for so long, what was it going to be like to be alone again? This is what you wanted. You can’t start complaining now.
“My job for the day is done.” George stared at the boxes and then glanced at his charge. “Just leaves me to remind you that they would really appreciate some kind of outline or even an idea by the end of the month. They don’t want to think of you sitting here staring out of the window without putting anything on paper.”
“I’ll give them a story. Don’t worry so much George.”
The older man snorted. “Don’t worry? As if I could do anything but.” He made his way to the door then stopped and backtracked. “I forgot.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. The jagged top showed it had already been opened. “This showed up at the office about a week ago.”
Nathan took it and frowned at the logo stamped onto the letterhead. “A University?” He glanced up at George. “Don’t suppose they’re offering me an honorary degree for my outstanding work?”
George waved away the comment as if he was trying to dissuade a fly. “It’s local. Apparently the book made it onto their reading list and they want you to come in and talk about it.”
“That’ll be interesting,” Nathan put the letter down on the windowsill and found his thoughts slipping quickly away from it. “I’ll look into it.”
“See that you do. It’s good publicity.”
Nathan laughed. “Glad to know you’re looking out for my best interests.”
“Always.” He nodded. “I’m off then.”
“See ya.”
“Bye.”
With the door closed, Nathan was finally free to examine his castle. It didn’t look as spacious now that his belonging sat in boxes across the floor. He almost found it disheartening. Where did he begin? He’d spent twelve months living out of a suitcase. The thought of having to open up all those boxes, to find space for all those things, it was a little…terrifying. But it’s exciting too. He told himself. It’s an adventure.
His first mission was to map out the apartment. There were four rooms in total; bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room. The living room would double as his office, he decided. The idea of writing in the bedroom always depressed him. He liked open spaces and views. Bedrooms were just too cluttered. “Yes,” he said quietly, “I think that’ll do just nicely.”
The movers had brought in the desk he had bought before leaving Kettinberg, the last stop on the book tour, and he pulled it into place in front of the window. Then he grabbed his bag, pulled out his MacBook, and typed in a few sentences:
Years from now, when someone tells the story of my life, they won’t recite an epic or a fairy tale. In truth, it will be a wonder if anyone recites it at all. But I am writing it anyway. Not for fame or wealth or even my own amusement, I am writing this in the simple hope that someday, somewhere, it will mean something to someone.
The words had been swimming in his head for almost two weeks but he’d struggled to structure them. It was the very thing he had wanted to put in the first book; the message he wanted to convey above all others, but he could never find how to express the feeling. Now that he had a place to settle, they had fallen neatly into place for him. He almost laughed at the irony.
He stepped back, took a breath, and turned to examine the mountains of unopened boxes stretched out before him. He let the air out slowly and undid the first two buttons of his shirt. “Right then, let’s get started.”
~~~~~~
Sorry, no tags yet as I figured everyone in the building would be at work. Tags coming soon though, I promise!
