THE WHO
INVENTIVE. FOCUSED. LONELY. Alex Montgomery Kent
AGE. Fifty
BIRTHDAY. December Seventh
OCCUPATION. Managing Architect at Heaton Inc.
BIRTH PLACE. Chicago, Illinois
NATIONALITY. English and Irish
ORIENTATION. Heterosexual
PREMADE TITLE. His momma never saw fit to give him a title. Poor child.
PLAYBY. Gerard Butler
THE WHAT
INVENTIVE. Since he was young, Alex has been inventing and drawing things from his imagination. Structured courses seemed to hinder him, rather than help, in the beginning, and so he went at it alone. Most of the time, his inventive nature stops at the drawing board. He generally uses his creativity for the job and then, once he’s home, his entire mind has been shot to hell. Over the years, it’s caused many problems in his marriage and everyday life. Although he loves his job and his family, he devotes more time to making sure his drawings are correct than he has to make sure his marriage is running smoothly and correctly. Problem solving is something that takes more thought than he wants to use once he’s home. He prefers to spend his problem solving thoughts when he’s at work and dealing with different areas of the building.
FOCUSED. Once again, most of his focus is on things that aren’t necessarily beneficial. While he is attentive to detail and knows how to objectively view things, Alex tends to focus on all the good things in his personal life and ignore anything that’s going wrong until it becomes too big to ignore. When motivated, he can focus on just about anything without many issues. Once again, the problem-solving comes up and he’s able to do whatever he sets himself to. He could be right in the middle of a circus and still be able to devote his attention to one thing, without being distracted by anything else. Some view that as a strength, though at times, it tends to become more than him becoming focused on things he means to and more him becoming focused without meaning too and then neglecting everything else. And, in the same way, he tends to block out anything that he views as negative (in his personal life) and allow none of his attention of mind to make their way back to those.
OBSESSIVE. Alex does not do things half way. Nor does he let a lot of things slide. He like his things in order, in their place, and clean. A mild case of obsessive-compulsive mixed in with determination and an unwillingness to let things go. When his focus wavers and he actually lets his mind wander to the faults of his, he tends to dwell on them and obsess over them until it becomes all he can think about. It also works in the opposite way. If he starts dwelling on the faults of
others, he finds it hard to place himself around them because he doesn’t separate things too well. Just ignoring one thing and focusing on others once he’s already let some thoughts about them slip in is something he can’t do, unless he does it from the beginning.
LIKES. architecture, art, his job, his daughters, his wife, being distracted, bourbon, dogs, silence, and cool weather.
DISLIKES. winter, having lost his wife, making mistakes, redoing his work, dealing with idiots, compromises, thinking on the future, being alone, cats, and cockiness.
THE WHY
BEST MEMORY. “If you’re not a parent, it won’t make much sense to you. But there was a point where I thought I loved my wife more than anything else in the world. Where I was concerned and scared to death that we’d be having a baby. But the first time I held my baby girl in my hands and I looked down at her... I understood why other fathers have said that their love grew at that point. If you’ve never held your child in your hands right after she had been born, then you won’t get it. But that moment, right then, is beyond description. It just
is, and I will never forget that.”
WORST MEMORY. “I have messed up a lot in my life. But never so bad as eighteen years ago, when I slept with my best friend’s wife... When I went to her rather than to my wife, who was pregnant with our first child at the time. Just like I’ll remember my daughter’s birth forever, I’ll live with and remember this forever too. Especially since it got me a son that I didn’t even know what mine until a few years back. You don’t forget things that like.”
Alex Kent’s life has not, through his fifty years of life, been very interesting. In fact, it wasn’t until just recently that his life has found itself in a bit of turmoil. More than twenty years ago, Alex Kent met the woman of his dreams and married her. Having a job already secured for him in the field of his choice, architecture, the two seemed well off. And, several years later, the two were expecting their first child. Though, like most marriages, it wasn’t perfect. After a fight between the two of them, Alex went looking for comfort in a family friend and ended up getting more than just a pep talk. The affair between himself and his best friend’s wife was kept under wraps. And, the fact that he had gotten her pregnant was too... even from him.
After welcoming two daughters into the world, life seemed normal. It’d fallen into a bit of a scripted routine and Alex seemed to enjoy his time at work almost more than he did at home. Though, through everything, he always loved the company of his daughters, especially the eldest. But, after so many years of keeping his one night affair under wraps, the family friend had let it slip during a dinner. Needless to say, Mr. Prescott was furious that his wife would’ve slept with another man, and it didn’t end well for Alex or his face. Worse than that, however, his wife decided that was all she could handle and moved out shortly after.
Now, with both of his daughters still at home, Alex is still having a difficult time adjusting to not having his wife around. Though he seems to accept what he did was wrong, he can’t help but want his wife back with him again. Like so many people say, it takes losing something for you to realize how much you really need it. This was no exception.
THE HOW
RP SAMPLE.Today could've gone better, in Lyle's mind. Then again, most of his days recently had fallen into a similar rut. At the moment, it seemed as though he was in the wrong place. The new job, although perfectly suited to his skill set, was not one that he found perfect for his... personality type. At least, not with most of the people he worked with. For some reason, they all seemed to think that just because they worked together they were going to be best buds and do everything together. The idea reminded him of high school, when all the girls seemed to group themselves together. It was almost like it didn't matter who was there. From his eyes, at least, it seemed as though every girl in the school was a part of an unmentioned bond. No doubt, if anything was to happen to one of them, the rest would be right there to pick up the pieces and execute any revenge that was necessary. Well, whether or not that was true, Lyle did know one thing for certain. He was not inviting any of the secret service agents over to his house for a sleepover and fingernail painting. It also didn't provide Lyle with very pretty mental images. (That, or they were just a bit to pretty for his tastes.) And besides, he wouldn't want the secret service agents to know where he lived. If he did, he'd invite them all for a Sunday barbecue and engage in small talk. No. Lyle stayed separated from them for a reason, and that was the way he wanted to keep it. Or so he thought.
As of late, he'd been increasingly bored. With life. With work. With the monotony of everything. There was nothing new to pique his interesting and no one that he really considered himself close enough too to actually talk to. He hated small talk. It was pointless. It had no place in a conversations. If you had something to say, you should say it and then shut up. Don't beat around the bush and pretend as though everyone else cares what you were thinking about this morning while laying in bed. They don't. Or, more specifically, Lyle didn't. If you wanted to talk about what colors your dreams where, find a shrink. If you wanted to discuss something real, than the man might've been more apt to listen. But, no. People never seemed to understand that. Lyle was fully confident in this belief that people simply continued small talk about him because they knew it grated on him. Either way, the affect was always the same. It made him leave or withdraw from the conversation a little more than he had before.
Everyone was out to get him. Which was, as Lyle fully acknowledged, a paranoid thing to say. He didn't really believe that, but it made him feel better. It gave him an excuse to ignore that fact that the problem was probably a bit closer to home. Really, no matter who talked to him, the reaction was almost always the same. And that wasn't because everyone else was acting the same way... it was because the man that they were talking too was the same. Actually paying attention to one's own faults isn't ever an overly... pleasing thing to do. Especially for a man as cocky as Lyle. It was almost physically painful. Which is why the man now found himself slumped down on his couch staring absentmindedly at the television screen. The Might Ducks was playing, though Lyle had all but missed the last forty minutes, having been consumed in his own thoughts. Even he found that concept to be a scary prospect. He may have been cocky, but he wasn't stupid. And he knew that if he stopped long enough to self evaluate himself, he wouldn't like what he saw. He never had. Probably never would. He blamed his father. The man and his pride. Lyle had spent years convincing others that he didn't need his father's pride to do well with himself. The only problem with that was that he never convinced himself. Despite keeping up the air of 'I don't give a crap what you think', Lyle spent more time working on the image he portrayed to others than he did working on the one that he saw in the mirror every morning.
Honesty was never really hard from Lyle, but when it came to being honest to himself, he found the task immensely difficult. There were very few times that he left his mind wander to his childhood, and this was apparently one of them. Normally, thinking about his family would cause him to just push himself harder and alienate himself further from those that he thought were beneath him. He wanted to prove--he needed to prove--that he would always be the best, regardless of what his father said or thought. But now, while watching the 'Ducks' make a game winning goal on his TV, he started to speculate about how his life would be if he had been born to someone else. Someone that actually did have pride in their son. Someone that would offer advice, rather than brush him off. His mother used to say that money could buy you anything, but Lyle had yet to find somewhere that you could buy a good father-son relationship. The sound of cheering filled the room as the man slowly leaned forward, resting his face in his hands and rubbing his eyes a bit in an attempt to sooth the burning sensation traveling through them. Just moving felt uncomfortable right now. Lyle was pretty sure he understood those commercials for anti-depression medication now, because he really did feel as though his body ached.
Sighing slowly, he managed to get himself to his feet and shut off the TV. Watching a congratulations speech wasn't really something that would help his mood at the moment. Only one thing would make him feel better. Alcohol. And, seeing as how he had yet to get any of his own, he went to grab his coat and car keys and drive to the nearest bar. Didn't matter where it was, how much it cost, or who was there. It could be a gay bar, for all he cared. Pulling on the leather jacket over his white button up, Lyle didn't bother to look back through the house before he disappeared out the side door and went to pull the car out of the garage. Right now, he was really wishing he had a different taste in cars, but he happened to have one very similar to his father. Which, obviously, was the reason that both of them owned Aston Martin's. If he could drive a beat up pick up right now, he would. But, the Aston was all he had. He half scowled to himself as he pulled away from the house, prepared to drive until he came to a bar. If it took all night, he would drive all night. As long as he got some whiskey at some point, he'd be fine... and so would anyone else that might have been around when he couldn't find any. Thankfully, however, he knew where to go. Which was surprising, even to himself, since he found that he could hardly concentrate on anything other then his own pitiful problems at the moment.
He was apparently thinking enough to park his car at least two spaces from anyone else before he got out, looking around the parking lot carefully and shoving his hands into his pockets. He had a feeling that this place was going to become like a second home to him, soon. Once he was inside, he joined a few other men at the bar and ordered a beer and some whiskey. As if god was laughing at him, a hockey game was playing on the televisions in the bar and doing nothing to help a headache that suddenly began to pound at the front of his head. Nothing that a shot of whiskey wouldn't cure. He was well into his third bottle of beer and sixth shot when he stopped thinking about any of his problems and just let the affect of the alcohol take over. At the moment, he was glad that he hadn't told anyone from the secret service where he lived. Though, in his slightly blurred thoughts, he figured that since they didn't know where he lived, no one that he knew would be at the bar. Which could quite possibly be true. Nevertheless, the man was a bit worse for wear at the moment, and it definitely showed.
He wasn't here to meet with his friends. He was here to get drunk.
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