Michael Rowan. It wasn't uncommon that he went by "Mike" and rarely "Mikey" - there were only a select few that he let call him that.
Age:
24.
Birthday:
October 5th, 1989.
Place of birth:
Boston, Massachusetts.
Parents:
Dominic and Kelly Rowan.
Siblings:
Shane and Abigail Rowan.
What was important to the people who raised him:
Growing up in a fairly large family that included blood relatives, non-blood relatives, and close family friends that were considered family, Michael and his siblings were taught the importance of family, friends, and loyalty to the people they care about.
Economic/social status growing up:
Throughout his life, the economic status of Michael and his siblings fluctuated. While in Boston, they were fairly well off, due to their father's position in the mob. When they moved to Dublin, they were slightly less well off, but still lived in a stable home. Finally, in London, without the overall support structure, he and his siblings fell into the lower middle class.
Ethnic background:
Both of his parents originated from the Emerald Isle, having met in Dublin. As such, he is of complete Irish descent.
Places lived:
Michael was born in Boston and, for the first thirteen years of his life, lived there as well. After an incident that led to the deaths of both of his parents, he and his siblings moved to Dublin to live with their grandparents. After his younger sister finished high school, he moved to London, living with both of his siblings.
Education:
Michael graduated high school, mostly at the insistence of his grandparents, since he had little interest in school at large.
Favorite subject in school:
In school, he always seemed to do well with geometry. It helped when he took up construction jobs after graduating. Physical education too, since it was easy and fun.
Special training:
While he was still in Boston, his parents decided to take him to boxing lessons, which were, in part, intended to help keep him away from the criminal life. Through observation as well as some more hands-on training, Michael also learned how to fight using weapons and his own body. It wasn't any kind of formal training, though, but instead a more pragmatic style (which some might call dirty fighting), considering that boxing wasn't all that useful in the real world.
Jobs:
After graduating high school in Dublin, he was a construction worker. When he and his siblings moved to London, he continued to work construction primarily, but he was also hired on the side to work at a bar that was owned by someone from the Irish mafia, which meant that those were many of the people he saw and interacted with, including his own brother. This was mainly so Shane could keep an eye on his younger brother.
Travel:
Moved from Boston to Dublin when he was an adolescent, and then from Dublin to London as a young adult, but never traveled anywhere beyond that until the outbreak.
Friends:
Most of Michael's friends growing up were children of people who worked for and worked with his father in Boston. Likewise in London, most of his friends were people who either worked at the bar or were frequent patrons, which usually meant they were connected to the Irish mafia in some manner. The only respite he got was in Dublin, where his friends primarily came from school and his job working construction.
How do people view this character:
Before everything that happened, other people usually saw Michael as sometimes too emotional and potentially volatile. Either that, or a devoted friend.
Lived with:
His parents, his grandparents, his siblings, and then himself.
Fights with:
He's fought with just about everybody he's come into contact with at some point or another, though it doesn't always come to a physical confrontation. But, sometimes it does. When they were first living in London, Michael got into a fight with his brother because he'd called him "Little Mikey". The confrontation ended up a full-blown fist fight that had to be broken up by Abigail.
Spends time with:
Not many people these days.
Wishes to spend time with:
His family, even if that's all but impossible now.
Who depends on him and why:
Nobody right now.
What people does he most admire:
In some ways, he admires his father and his brother the most for their dedication to their families. Moreso, he admires his sister the most, who he saw as a better person, even being in the middle of people associated with the mafia as she was.
Enemies:
Growing up in an Irish mafia family, he had many enemies just by association. This includes the people responsible for the deaths of his parents.
Dating, marriage:
None at the moment.
Children:
None.
Religious Beliefs:
Michael grew up in a heavily Catholic family, which was particularly exemplified by his grandparents. He finds it exceedingly hard to believe as time passes on, but he still keeps a crucifix necklace around his neck at most times, just as a reminder of his old life.
Overall outlook on life:
Not very good. He often struggles with finding purpose, but he keeps going despite it.
Does this character like himself:
Only sometimes.
What, if anything, would he like to change about his life:
Being in a family associated with the Irish mafia. He does love his family, but if they hadn't been that way, he would have been spared many deaths.
What personal demons haunt him:
Having not been able to do more to keep his sister alive. Part of him feels guilty over her death. Part of him also regrets what happened as a result of her death.
Is he lying to himself about something:
Probably.
Optimistic/pessimistic:
Pessimistic, for the most part.
Real/feigned:
His emotions are real, but he doesn't often share certain things about himself, usually regarding his past.
Morality level:
In general, pretty pragmatic. There are exceptions, such as if someone he cares about is in danger. But, he can be pretty ruthless, particularly to people who hurt those he cares for.
Confidence level:
Headstrong and sometimes reckless, he's pretty confident in his own abilities. From 1-10, he would probably rate around a 7, maybe an 8.
Typical day:
Pre-apocalypse: Get up. Shower. Breakfast. Go to work. Haul around heavy objects and get yelled at by his asshole boss. Lunch. More hauling around heavy objects. Get home late. Dinner. Bed. Rinse, repeat.
Post-apocalypse: Wake up. Contemplate going back to sleep. Get up. Go out and look for anything to salvage. Kill Zeds. Get back. Lie around, contemplating suicide. Go to sleep. Rinse, repeat.
Physical appearance:
Height: 6' (approximately 183 cm)
Weight: 170 lbs. (approximately 77 kg)
Body type:
Working in manual labor and with heavy objects basically from the time he graduated until the time of the outbreak has left him with a fairly strong build. Running and fighting since then has only helped matters in that regard. Though strong, he's not going to be mistaken for someone who was an athlete before the outbreak.
Posture:
He positions himself mostly straight, but with a slight bend to his back.
Head shape, Eyes, Nose, Mouth, Hair, Skin:
Tattoos/piercings/scars:
Nothing discernable except a Celtic knot with the words 'Familia Supra Omnia' encircling it tattooed on his left shoulder/upper arm area.
This is what the Celtic knot looks like:
Voice:
Strong and forceful with a slight but noticeable Bostonian and Irish tinge to it.
What people notice first:
People have often commented that he has striking eyes, but failing that, they usually notice his accent when he speaks.
Clothing:
He's always believed in function over fashion, and that's no different now. It just happens that function is even more important. In general, he doesn't wear anything special, just the regular t-shirts, jeans, boots, jackets, sweatshirts, etc.
How would he describe himself:
"I'm a guy who might take a little while to trust you, and God help you if you betray that trust. But, if you don't, you're stuck with me. For better or worse."
Health/disabilities/handicaps:
Mike has suffered some injuries throughout his time boxing, and from getting into fights with people, though none of them have had particularly lingering effects, save for a slight limp that acts up occasionally. It's a result of getting a particularly bad sprain in his ankle that he received while doing some training. He smoked occasionally.
Personality type:
Choleric primarily.
Strongest/weakest character traits:
Michael is loyal, prideful, protective, stubborn, and headstrong.
How can the flip side of his strong point be a weakness:
If exploited, one can turn his loyalty and his honesty back on him, same goes for his protective nature. His pride and his stubbornness, and his headstrong nature can also easily lead to recklessness, putting him in situations he cannot get out of on his own.
How much self-control and self-discipline does he have:
Below average. On a scale of 1-10, probably a 3. Maybe a 4 max. He has a tendency to get emotional and to sometimes let his emotions get the better of him.
What makes him irrationally angry:
Insults to his pride, his family, his friends, whether stated outright or implied or by action. Saying (or implying) he's a liar when he's not lying.
What makes him cry:
Losing loved ones. When his sister died, he spent more than a day crying, drinking, and taking out his anger on the dead.
Fears:
Most of his fears have taken a back-seat to the fear of dying alone, and the fear of turning into one of the walking dead.
Talents/Skills:
Michael is particularly good at building and maintaining structures - quite a potentially useful skill in the world now. He has also demonstrated to himself a few times that he knows how to get in and out of somewhere without attracting the attention of everyone and everything around him. He first found this out when he was still in high school, and he snuck broke into a house of an acquaintance and stole some CDs. He was never caught.
What people like best about him:
For people he used to know, it was his determination and his loyalty to the people he cares for. If he cares enough for you, he'll go to the ends of the earth for you.
Interests and favorites:
Michael is particularly interested in knowing how things work and how they're built, which is how he became to work in construction, but to become an engineer or an architect, it normally required a more extensive education than he had and was willing to put forth. He's also a fan of movies, music, and football - particularly Shamrock Rovers F.C.
Political leaning:
Somewhere in the middle.
Collections:
Back where he lived, he had a pretty sizeable record collection that he would play from time to time on his record player, which he received as a gift from his parents when he was young.
Favorite Food, drink:
Bacon (he prefers the American variety) and most kinds of hard alcohol.
Music:
Punk and rock music were Michael's favorites. Similar to his interests in movies (see below), he really enjoyed some of the classic rock and punk music, in addition to some newer things.
Books:
He didn't often read. While living with his grandparents, he often read the Bible, mostly because he was forced to. More recently, he had some interest in sci-fi books.
Movies:
To him, movies were an escape from work and life. Most of the time, he preferred to watch action movies with plot as merely an obligatory addition and not necessarily good. He also had a particular fondness for older movies starring Clint Eastwood and Steve McQueen. Dirty Harry and Bullitt were his favorites from each respective actor.
Sports, recreation:
He started boxing while living in Boston and continued to box throughout his life, up until the outbreak. It helped him get out some of his aggression.
Did he play in school:
Boxing wasn't offered in school, and he pursued boxing outside of it, but he enjoyed playing football (both the American variety and otherwise), and participated in both in school (the American variety not outside of America, obviously), but wasn't interested or good enough to continue afterwards.
Color:
Blue.
Best way to spend a weekend:
Wake up late. Watch TV. Get drunk. Maybe go out drinking or out fighting (
A great gift for this person:
New boxing gloves, or some new music.
Pets:
None.
Vehicles:
Working in construction, he often had to carry various tools and other large objects, so he had a pickup truck to haul things, which his brother had helped him buy.
What large possessions did he own and which did he like best:
He didn't have many large possessions, save for his truck, a vehicle he would really like to have access to now. Other than that, he definitely misses his record player, which he had to leave behind for the sake of convenience.
Typical expressions:
His most neutral expression is just that - neutral, though there is a definite downturn of his lips, hinting at slight, ever-present anger. One may describe it more as a serious look. But, he generally wears his emotions on his sleeves, so you'll know it if he's actually angry.
When happy:
Smiles. Grins. What else does anybody do when they're happy?
When angry:
It depends on how angry and what the context is. He may yell, throw something, hit something, or he may even get physically violent with someone. But, he also may have a more controlled reaction, such as a simple scolding, or maybe storm out to stew. The latter is more likely to happen with people he knows and cares about than with people he doesn't, unless under more extreme circumstances. He might also do some posturing, get right in someone's face, puff out his chest, maybe give them a little shove.
When frustrated:
Growls, grunts, mutters to himself. If there's someone around at the time, he may vocalize his frustrations to them.
When sad:
Goes off, maybe on his own, to pout. Unless it's a heavy loss, then he might cry, but he doesn't often cry.
Idiosyncrasies:
When he's angry about something, but is deciding whether or not to say anything, he usually puts the palm of one of his hands over his mouth and moves it downwards over his chin. The longer he takes deciding, the more he times he repeats the process.
Laughs or jeers at:
People who get what they deserve.
Ways to cheer up this person:
Share a drink with him, talk music, talk football - especially if those last two are combined with the first one. Sometimes the best way to let him cheer up is to let him do it on his own.
Ways to annoy this person:
Calling him Mikey, wallowing and acting like everything is hopeless, instead of actually doing something about it.
Hopes and dreams:
To find somewhere stable and safe where he can find structure and direction, maybe a family.
How does he see himself accomplishing these dreams:
Killing threats, living or dead.
What’s the worst thing he’s ever done to someone and why:
Pre-apocalypse: He once got suspended (and nearly expelled) for beating a kid unconscious for calling his sister a whore.
Post-apocalypse: He tortured and killed the man he saw as responsible for Abigail's death.
Greatest success:
Winning a boxing tournament while in high school, living with his grandparents in Ireland.
Biggest trauma:
Having to euthanize his sister after she'd been bitten.
Most embarrassing thing that ever happened to him:
While he was working a construction job in London, he lost his balance and nearly fell to the ground, but his pant leg caught on a screw that was protruding from the woodwork. Although the screw probably saved his life, it ripped a massive hole in his pants, which he had to use duct tape to mend, at least until the day was over. Needless to say, he didn't hear the end of it, not for more than two weeks after that.
What does he care about most in the world:
Family and friends. But, since he's scarce on both at the moment, he cares most about finding direction in a world that seems to offer no clear direction.
Does he have a secret:
Yes. More than one. He doesn't like to talk much about his life before he arrived.
If he could do one thing and succeed at it, what would it be:
Kill every last dead bastard that was roaming around out there (and some living bastards too)
He is the kind of person who:
You definitely want in your corner when push comes to shove. His fighting ability, strength, and raw tenacity (especially if you've gotten his trust and respect) make him an invaluable asset.
How is the character ordinary or extraordinary:
An Irishman who's good at fighting? Can you say cliche?
Core Need:
Love and respect.
Anecdote:
The chatter and the clatter of the bar that served as the location of Michael's side job was all too familiar. Except now, he wasn't working. He was just there for a few drinks. As he approached the bar, he gave a nod to the bartender, a man in his mid-forties, whose dark hair and goatee were just beginning to show signs of gray.
"Hey Tom."
"Hey Mike. What can I get'cha?"
"Gimme a pint, would you? Thanks. I don't care what, just as long as it ain't shit."
Tom nodded and got a pint glass and began to fill it up. "Jim says it's getting worse out there."
"What a load of shit," Michael scoffed, "Jim doesn't know what the hell he's talking about."
"I don't know..." Tom said, his voice lilting upwards slightly as he set the pint of beer in front of Michael.
"You watch. In a week or two, it'll be like none of this ever happened." Michael took a drink from it almost immediately.
"People are dying."
Michael scoffed again, and took another drink, "People die everyday."
Tom shook his head and went back to work silently, cleaning glasses and wiping off the counter-top. Michael turned around in his seat to look at the modest crowd that had gathered. Most of them were people he recognized; people who were either in with the owners of the place or they knew someone who was or they were just regulars. It was an open secret amongst the people who worked here that it was owned by someone who was in with the Adams Family. Even though Shane was no longer around, Mike still hung around the place. They paid him and protected him, and besides, he felt like he had some kind of attachment to them because of their past relationship with his brother.
It was then that Al, a light-haired man in his thirties with a beard - and another bartender, walked into the bar, holding his left arm. He looked around conspicuously before approaching the bar, giving Michael a nod and addressing Tom.
"Tom, you got some bandages or something? Some bastard attacked me a couple blocks back. He bit me." With a nod, Tom went to the back room to fetch some bandages.
"Bit you?" Michael asked, looking over to Al, an eyebrow raised incredulously.
"Yeah." Al moved his hand from his arm slightly, allowing Mike to get a look at the wound. It was swollen and bleeding.
"Jesus. He bit you hard."
"I know. But, it's not that bad. I just need to wrap it up and let it heal on its own." He put his hand back over the wound and nodded his thanks to Tom when the latter returned with some of those large bandages with sticky edges. Al took one and wrapped up the bite. "There's a cot in the back, right? Feels like it's been ages since I slept."
"Yeah. Go ahead." Tom motioned over his shoulder with his head.
"Thanks. If I'm not up in half an hour, come wake me up. I have to be back home soon."
"Will do." Tom replied, watching Al leave. Once Al was out of earshot, he turned towards Mike. "Looked like a pretty bad bite. What happened?"
"I got no fucking idea. All he said was some asshole attacked him."
"By biting him?"
Michael shrugged, "I hope he kicked the guy's ass."
"You don't think that's a little weird?"
"For fuck's sake, Tom. He was an asshole who doesn't know how to fight, so he bit Al."
"Something's up." Tom said, shaking his head, a frown crossing his features.
"Jesus. Shut the fuck up about it already!" Michael retorted, raising his voice.
It was clear that the whole thing was bothering Tom, a distant look in his eyes as he began to clean up around the bar without saying anything else. Once again, Michael turned around to see that a few of the bar patrons had turned their attention to the two at the bar when Mike raised his voice, but they were quick to avert their gaze once he'd turned around.
A little over half an hour later, Tom spoke up again, "I'm going to get Al up," he announced.
"Fine," Michael answered, waving a dismissive hand in the bartender's direction.
A minute or two, a commotion rose from the back room, and he heard Tom shout. The bar then went quiet. Reacting quickly, Michael jumped up from his seat and bolted to the back room. He shoved the door open just in time to see Al, who looked much worse than he did half an hour previous, leap onto Tom, take him down, and sink his teeth into the older bartender's neck. Blood sprayed everywhere as Tom gurgled out his last breath.
"Fucking Christ!" Mike shouted, causing the deathly-looking Al to raise his eyes to him. Al's pupils were clouded and the whites of his eyes were blood-shot. Distracted from Tom's body, Al stood up and began to make his way towards Mike, a snarl escaping his curled lips as he did.
Having seen what he'd just done to Tom, who had probably ben Al's best friend, Michael wasn't going to stick around. He bolted back out the door and pressed his weight against it to keep Al from coming through. By now, the attention of the entire bar was now on him and the door. Some of the had even stood up and had moved closer to the door to hear better. Behind him, Al began to pound on the door, earning a surprised yelp from some of the female patrons at the bar.
Michael looked to the man nearest the bar, a man he'd seen around several times before, though he figured the man was just a regular. His name was Nathan. "Hey!" he called to Nathan, "There's an axe under the bar. I need it!" Nathan nodded and moved towards the bar. "The rest of you!" Mike shouted, directing his attention to the rest of the patrons at the bar, "We're closed!" Everyone continued to stare, as the pounding on the door behind him continued, "You think I'm fucking joking? Get the fuck out!" The eyes of the patrons went wide as if they'd only just registered what he said and they stood up and, within another minute, they were all gone. Except for Nathan, who was holding out the fire axe to Mike, which he took.
"Stand back!" Mike ordered, stepping away from the door and turning around at the same time. The suddenness of his movement knocked Nathan off-balance for a moment. The door swung open and Al fell to the floor. "Son of a bitch!" Mike growled, raising the weapon up above his head. With a slight bit of hesitation, he finally brought the weapon down into the back of Al's skull. Afterwards, he turned towards Nathan.
Nathan watched, his eyes wide in horror, "What happened?"
"Jesus, I don't fucking know. He went back to take a nap, and then Tom went back to wake him up. I hear sounds of a fight or something coming from the room. The next thing I see, Al's jumping on top of Tom, tearing out his neck."
"He's dead?" Nathan asked, horror still etched on his features.
Michael had seen it happen a few times in his life. There was no way that Tom could have lost that much blood and still lived. He simply nodded.
Nathan sat down, shaking his head in disbelief. "God. It all happened so fast."
At that moment, a growl came from the room he'd just come out of. the back room. Michael turned back around in time to see Tom shambling out of the room, a grievous wound on his neck where Al had taken a chunk out of him. The surrounding area around the wound was still wet with blood.
"What the fuck is going on around here?" This time, it was Michael's job to be incredulous. He was sure that he'd seen Tom die. There was no way he could have survived. But, there he was, walking towards them, and snarling. Now, he noticed, there was a definite resemblance between Tom's current appearance and Al's, including clouded irises and blood-shot eyes.
Something was definitely going on here. Tom had been right.
Michael raised the weapon up again and prepared to swing...
History:
The rest of it, you'll just have to wait and find out.