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Mister G. Harlowe

"Don't ask what the G. stands for. Nobody remembers. Not even me."

66 views · located in Calpin, New York

a character in “To Whom it May Concern”, as played by Cypher

Description

Image
Name: Mister G. Harlowe. Don't forget the Mister, it's practically his first name. Don't call him Mister Harlowe, either. Everyone who knows him, even his friends, apparently call him "Mister G. Harlowe".
Role: THE MENTOR. In the loosest sense possible, he's a rather shit mentor.
Sex: Male.
Age: 67
Description of Physical Looks: G. Harlowe is a shriveled old bastard who stands at about 5'8" fully upright and tips the scales at around 185 pounds. His hands are comically large in proportion to his arms, his knuckles swollen and fingers twisted with arthritis. His hair is curly and of middling length and his beard is meticulously, almost religiously, trimmed and maintained. Although the majority of its color has seeped away to the dull grey-white of old age, there are a scant few reminders of the brown that it probably was several years ago scattered throughout. His eyes are tiny and beady, sunken deep into their sockets, and so frequently covered by sunglasses that no-one is entirely sure what color they are (common consensus points at them being brown or grey, though). He's very out of shape, as evinced by his paunch and his general lethargy--he never seems to be standing on his own; always casually leaning against something or sitting down or lounging, never in any sort of hurried motion. His style of dress is eccentric and dated, but in an oddly charming sort of way; he likes corduroy and velvet, turtlenecks and wide-lapeled sport coats, and he is almost never seen, even at night, without his sunglasses.
Description of Personality: A man who deeply values his privacy, almost to the point of hermitage, G. Harlowe can come off as standoffish, curmudgeonly, rude and socially unacceptable. For the most part, this is an accurate perception. That said, he is also exceedingly clever and, though he can be rather brusque about his expressing it, the people he care about will rarely hear a dishonest word from him (although this can sometimes be a negative quality). He is easily annoyed but slowly angered, and woe to those who do manage to anger him, for he can hold a grudge longer than most people live. He is neutral about his Scriber abilities, finding them a useful but sometimes rather inconvenient ability. He tends to be a rather logical man, and doesn't usually allow emotions to force their way into his decisions (a side effect of his being a Scriber). He tends to mostly eschew human company, with the exception of his maid Clotilde and his parakeet, James.
Reasons for Alignment: Scribers need to learn how to control their abilities before they harm themselves or someone else. Otherwise the world would dissolve.
Relations?:
  • Clotilde: His live-in maid and the closest thing he has to family.
  • James: A clever little bird who shares G.'s disinclination towards people and incredible lexicon of insults and curse words.
  • Aspen: The young Scriber girl. She'll have to learn rather quickly, won't she?
History: Little is known of Mister G. Harlowe's life. It's known that he's a very well-off man, who has published several books and owns stocks in many successful but relatively small companies, with no known relatives. He emigrated to the United States at a very young age, although from where and with whom are both disputed facts. (This is my way of saying that all this is still in progress)
Writing Sample (REQUIRED):
Summer. What a dreadful time of year, honestly. For many months of the year, Vermont was a lovely state, but when summer finally rolled in, it became absolutely dreadful. It wasn't the heat, no--G. Harlowe had known heat before and found himself tolerant of it, in the same way that he was tolerant of the cold when it came. It was the choking, stifling humidity that always killed him. During the summer months, G. Harlowe sometimes found himself struggling to draw breath, as though he were being held underwater. This was not a sensation that he particularly enjoyed, and as such tended to spend the majority of the season curled up in his drawing room with his air conditioning turned to its lowest setting and a dehumidifier rattling and humming away on the opposite side of the room.

Today was one such day, with G. Harlowe in his study, reading the daily news. He did this mostly out of habit, having little stake in public affairs beyond his occasional venture to a restaurant or store (Clotilde was usually dispatched to do the shopping), but today seemed to be an exceptional day. G. Harlowe got premonitions sometimes when he looked over the news, knowing that a day was going to be exceptional because of the first few headlines he had turned up. His premonitions were usually correct, and sometimes led to surprising encounters or adventures, which G. Harlowe derived a peculiar sort of amusement from. Today, once again, his thinking was spot on.

Calpin. String of murders. No apparent pattern, and no identity. Normally he would have cited police incompetence on such an article, but something about this felt... Familiar. It felt like the mark of another Scriber.

With unusual speed, G. Harlowe moved out of his room and into the dining room, where Clotilde was clearing the remains of his small lunch. "Clotilde," he said in rushed tones, "Pack my things and charter a flight to Calpin, double-quick please. There are matters there that require my attention."

So begins...

Mister G. Harlowe's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mister G. Harlowe Character Portrait: Riley Mondegreen

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#, as written by Cypher
They drove through the night. An old man in a mauve crushed-velvet jacket and sunglasses, a woman in a simple blouse and slacks, and a rather talkative parrot. Were it any other person, it would have seemed the setup to a particularly humorous joke; however, the universe isn't so kind, and this situation, however comical it might seem from the outside, was in fact perfectly serious. The man was Mister G. Harlowe, and the woman was Clotilde, and the parrot's name was James, although he was presumed to have another name that only a select few actually spoke. Mister Harlowe was very strict about his secrets, though; and as such, nobody knew whether James the Parrot had any name other than James the Parrot, and to be honest - not too many were inclined to find out.

Mister G. Harlowe had nodded off several times during the rather long journey, despite the animated state in which the odd trio had begun it, no doubt a sign of his age. But when the group arrived at Calpin, at all-too-early in the morning, no less, Mister G. Harlowe was quick to rouse himself, retrieving his oaken cane from where it rested against his thigh.

"We have arrived," Clotilde and Mister Harlowe said, with eerie synchronization. Clotilde would have been startled by this when she had started her service under Mister G. Harlowe, but now, three years after her contract had been signed, she found her reaction dulled to just a blink. Mister Harlowe flashed his odd, thin-lipped smile at her and popped the door of the car open. James, stirred by the bing-bing-binging of the door's alarm, fluttered over from the back of the car to assume his position at Mister Harlowe's shoulder.

They were in a community parking lot in front of a mid-scale motel, Clotilde holding two sizable luggage bags and Mister Harlowe himself unloading a few more from the trunk of their car before hauling it to the lobby, where a half-asleep young man with scruffy hair and a farmer's build was scribbling busily over a set of worksheets on the front desk. Mister Harlowe cleared his throat audibly before walking up to the desk and prodding the young man in the shoulder. "Young man," He said in his oddly soothing voice, "I'd like to rent two rooms for an indefinite period of time. You will be paid very well for your services, I assure you."

The young man stared for a few moments. "... You got a parrot on your shoulder."

Mister Harlowe blinked, then turned to his left, where James rested at the crook of his neck. He appeared to blink behind his tiny sunglasses, then turned his attention back to the young man. "Yes, it would seem that I do. And I believe his name is James, and he's been unusually quiet this whole time." He adjusted his shoulder a few times, jostling the parrot. "James. James, introduce yourself."

"AWWWWWK MOTHERFUCKIN' HELL WHAT"

"This young man's taken notice of you, it would seem." Mister Harlowe grinned at James' outburst.

"FUCKER WOKE ME UP FROM MY FUCKIN NAP I AIN'T FUCKIN INTRODUCING SHIT"

"... Rude, James."

"FUCKIN' SCREW HIM"

Harlowe seemed taken aback. He looked to Clotilde, then to the young man. "... I apologize. My companion is quite ill-tempered at times. You would do best to see that we get our rooms arranged posthaste, sir, or he tends to... Peck." As if to amplify this last point, James the Parrot let out a loud SKWAWK and flailed his wings, as if he were about to take off. Perturbed, the young man went and got two room keys from the back wall of the reception desk and presented them to Mister Harlowe, who smiled his best sweet-old-man smile and nodded. "Thank you, young man." And then he strode off down the hallway towards his room.

'I'm going to have my work cut out for me in this town, it would seem...' Harlowe thought to himself as he walked away.

{~}


[RILEY IN PROCESS]