HOWL, Nathaniel Oxford

[NATHANIEL OXFORD HOWL]

NATHANIEL OXFORD HOWL

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Name: Nathaniel Oxford Howl
Nickname: Howl is what he goes by, mostly because he changed his surname from Howell about thirty years ago as a Lycan joke that no one else thinks is funny.
Age: 234
Gender: male
Orientation: straight..for the most part, anyway.
Occupation: owner of Kippling’s Books
Species: vampire
Play By: Ben Barnes
Ability and Talent: touch cognitive

Howl’s features lend to his personality well, as they are not particularly intimidating nor over-bearing. Instead, his face is general soft and round with few protruding bones and sharp lines to interrupt it. To look more his age (he was turned at 23) and avoid looking so young he typically lets a five o’clock shadow linger on his face, something that he feels naked without. Having always been fond of his hair, he’s kept it long, chin- to shoulder-length at the most. It is a mousy brown color and is not particularly thick or thin, simply somewhere in between and irritatingly prone to looking greasy and very much cliché-vampire, so he’s prone to wash it twice a day. His hair also has a slight wave to it that he lets do what it pleases, so from day to day his look changes without however he lands when it dries.

With eyebrows that are quite bushy and dark like his hair, it’s easy for him to look as pensive as he typically is. They shade small, half-circle shaped eyes that are a sort of warm chocolate color that tends to blend in with his brows, his hair, and his rather sparse but long lashes. His nose is slightly crooked, set off to one side due to an unfortunate fall he took down the stairs as a boy, resulting in a bone that never grew back correctly. Aside from this, the appendage is rather small and slightly turned up on the end but overall unimpressive. Howl also has laugh lines punctuating his eyes from how funny he finds various things on his own time; in fact, he often will laugh for up to twenty minutes at a time if something is amusing enough. For this reason his eyes look wise and older than his body –but then again, he’s really almost a full two centuries older than his body, anyway.

Having always been rather gangly and tall, it was a nice surprise for Howl to realize after becoming a vampire that he’d gained a bit of muscle to fill out his stringy frame. Now, he’s covered in lean muscle that’s kept from being bulky by the sheer fact that he does nothing to encourage it except take the occasional long walk in the late evenings when hunting or thinking. Standing at 6’3, Howl weighs in at 150 pounds and has large feet and hands to match (useful tools for carrying books, of course). Due to his frame, he is clumsy but surprisingly flexible when needed. He also has an ‘outie’ belly button, which for some reason embarrasses him to no end because it’s so dreadfully abnormal. As far as his style is concerned, he’s very geek but also chic in some ways, opting for nicely cut slacks, button-downs and vests, ties, the occasional suspenders, and loafers. He also likes wearing long-sleeved shirts with a scarf set about his neck and flat artist hats, as well as black-framed spectacles when reading something with particularly fine print -although they have no lenses, as he no longer needs them now that he’s a vampire.

Born to awkward parents, it seems destined that Howl himself was awkward from the beginning. As a child he was painfully shy and it took him some time to overcome this; however, as a boy he was still timid and rather anti-social, preferring books to human companionship. What friends he did have often teased him for his quirks, namely his habit of inserting random facts as a nervous habit into conversations in an attempt to stay involved. This is a trait that has never left him, and he’ll typically pick up on one word and obsess over it for a moment before blurting out something he’s read and then waiting to be drawn into the conversation, even if it’s about how strange he is. Obsession, of course, also runs in his family and as a result Howl has a touch of obsession compulsive disorder; his hand-writing is impeccably neat cursive, and his book shop is always dust free and well-organized according to an alphabetical, subject-based system. His counter must always be in order, as his room in the house, and he doesn’t tolerate lines that aren’t straight well; circular objects, as a result, disturb him to the point that he can’t look at them or touch them at times and this is apparent in the fact that he adamantly uses triangular drafting pencils to write instead of cylindrical, normal ones. This does not apply to nature or living things, oddly enough –simply manufactured, non-living objects. He also has a habit while visiting Diana’s shop next door of rearranging things while he’s talking, another attempt to be social without lending himself entirely to the conversation as he doesn’t have to make eye contact.

Despite his issues, being a vampire has in many ways been good for him. Howl has been forced to overcome many of his personal demons and has become much less shy and anti-social, although he’s still a bit timid and does prefer to be alone as opposed to large groups. He trusts his coven, a large step for him to have taken, and trusts Diana, after having never trusted anyone except his parents in his life. He’s also less concerned after over two centuries what anyone thinks of him, being quite comfortable as a book-loving dork, and so doesn’t need as often to force himself into awkward positions in conversation and socialization. Much of this recovery has been helped by his intelligence and the research he’s done on his own into his problems, and while he doesn’t think he’ll ever be 100% better, he is proud that he’s made such strides over the years.

Caring to a fault, Howl is a very strange vampire in many ways. He will go out of his way to help those in his coven but only those that return the respect and favor. He’s obedient to Rosemary without question as he was to Julian, displaying strong loyalty. Howl has a soft spot for animals and often takes strays he finds to the local shelter as well as displaying available adoptees in the front window of his store. One particular kitten he took for his own –her name is Jane, after his beloved Jane Austen, and she lives in his book shop as a friendly, fuzzy companion to greet patrons and friends, now an adult cat. By the same token, however, he does get frisky from time to time, particularly when hunting, and tends to do the deed quickly so that his remaining conscience doesn’t catch up with him. He also spares no favors for those that irritate him or tease him, seeing no reason to be nice to others who aren’t in return.

Hidden beneath the timid exterior is a grand sense of humor that friends often enjoy seeing in action. While some of his jokes (his name change, for instance) don’t always seem funny, the sheer awkward delivery of most of them is enough to amuse anyone. His silly habits and oddities are also entertaining, from his love of the smell of book mold to his lengthy discussions with texts (particularly those he receives touch information from) to his exuberance over a good story. A light-hearted character for the most part, Howl is happy for the first time in his relatively short life by vampire standards in Mercy, and hopes fervently to stay that way.

Nathaniel Oxford Howell was born to Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Astor Howell on July 21, 1776 in, predictably, Oxford, England. He was so named because his father was not only a professor at the university, but an alumnus and supposedly an ancestor of the founders, and had obsessively demanded the moniker. Baby Nate was born into a family of obsessions –his mother was an avid butterfly collector and kept them in cases all over the walls, while his father worked tirelessly to further his work as a philosopher of his time, not only teaching the subject but writing and studying it to a ridiculous degree. When his parents, who both believed in ideas of rebirth, reincarnation, and fate, discovered that their son had been born hours after the death of a respected local poet, they had something new to obsess about, being that they believed whole-heartedly Nathaniel was their friend born again.

These certain oddities in his family undoubtedly affected his life. From the time he could babble he was given not trinkets but books, and thus learned to read before he entered school. His parents also tested his intellect by encouraging him to write, and even without coursework he had scheduled periods of writing and thought development at home. The Howells wanted to be certain that they were putting their best effort forth to awaken the inner brilliant poet in their boy, and so they worked hard to instill a love of words and literature in Nate. As an eager and willful child, he was all too happy to put forth the effort and before long, they did not have to ask him to read or write at all –he merely did it for fun, and constantly. While other children played together on stoops or the school playground, the Howell’s son much preferred staying in or under a tree, alone. As such, while he developed a great mind for the written word, he did not and to this day has not really developed exceptional social skills.

While he was not particularly fond of people, Nathaniel’s fondness of books only grew. By the time he was a teenager, he had read hundreds and seemed to catalogue information like a human encyclopedia. This only served to make him more awkward, as conversations with the youth were full of useless information and incredible facts that he would insert in order to fill gaps or silences. The Howells knew, of course, that their boy was not normal by many standards, but still carried on as though he was, which only seemed to make it worse –with each failed marriage arrangement and Nate’s own lack of interest in society, the two were beginning to wonder what, exactly, to do with him. He thankfully answered this question for them (at least for the time being) by earning through his grammar school as exposition at Cambridge and, soon after, gaining acceptance there as a student of history and literature. His father was not at first entirely pleased, having named his son after the rival Oxford, but could not protest the opportunity and thus the conflict was dropped.

As a student, Nate spent his free time and eventually gained employment at the library owned by the university and could usually be found buried in ancient texts owned by Cambridge. While in contact with these older books which had been thumbed through many times before him, he became aware that a nuisance he’d suffered a child was perhaps much more than that –when in close proximity or contact with various texts he would often receive images and sounds associated with them from the past, things he could not explain and had never seen before. Growing up, it had happened infrequently and been easily attributed to a wild imagination, and too there was little in his house on such a caliber for him to have such visions of different places and things. After extensive research he came to the conclusion that he was touch cognitive, a realization that made him both giddy with the history he learned from merely touching a book and anxious –because his beloved books weren’t the only things offering him information. He quickly learned to loathe his ability when it wasn’t associated with texts merely because he had no interest in seeing why a doorknob was so spectacular or why a window held such meaning. None of them held a candle to a good, thick volume of William Shakespeare touched by someone spectacular.

Nathaniel graduated (reluctantly) from Cambridge in 1798 with two degrees and no desire to join the real world, merely a want to spend the rest of his life surrounded by books and not the people he couldn’t seem to understand. After some consideration, he decided he would open a book shop with the texts others didn’t want, and spent several months going door-to-door to collect said inventory and storing it in boxes in his room at his parent’s small house. Before it became too unbearable, he managed to scrape through odd jobs enough money to buy a small store near Oxford, where he built his own shelves (and suffered a few injuries from it) and eventually opened his business. To sound more professional, he asked patrons to call him Mr. Howell, and made his very best effort to be friendly and kind although his odd sense of humor and awkward handshakes typically kept him behind the counter unless someone was looking for something in particular. For the next year, ‘Mr. Howell’ spent his days huddle on his stool with a book in his lap or in hand, reading glasses on the end of his nose, listening for the sound of the little bell to tell him someone had arrived to share in his passion.

Late one evening in 1799, his bell rang. He had forgotten to lock the door at closing in the midst of a very, very good book and being too shy and simultaneously excited to tell his guest to return when the store was opened in the morning, welcomed him to look around. After some minor small talk, the mysterious gentleman picked up a work of non-fictional research and theory on the supernatural –ghosts, demons, witches, and vampires. Being the awkward know-it-all and interested in continuing the conversation, Nathaniel launched into a minor explanation as to why he found the idea of the latter three quite silly, of course unable to dispute the first due to his cognitive abilities and visions of the spirits that lingered on objects. His guest promptly disagreed and so they began to debate civilly, the man insisting that such things did exist, and that he knew of vampires personally, and Nate insisting that he must be mistaken. Between not realizing the extent of the buttons he was pushing and being socially unaware enough to keep at it, the gentleman eventually became quite irritated, and it was only after he put the book back and cornered the hapless store clerk in the corner that Nathaniel knew he had perhaps pushed it too far.

He stuttered an apology, shrugging it off as his own experience and admitting that perhaps he had more to see, but the man would not take the driveling as an answer. James chose that evening to make Nathaniel not only see just how wrong he was by revealing himself as a vampire, but to make him incapable of arguing the point again by turning him. Despite having been a vampire for over two centuries, this night ranks as the most frightening one Howl has ever experienced; it was terrifying and painful not only physically but emotionally, and left him if possible even more of a mess than he already was. Of course, James quickly realized this. While he remained with his new fledgling to make certain he didn’t kill himself and ruin the purpose of the punishment he’d been given, he couldn’t bear to stay for longer than a few months, as Nate’s constant questions, fears, and anxiety was taxing even for an older vampire. The night his sire left him, Nathaniel thought for certain he was finished, as he was far from a fighter and still suffered bloodlust and then guilt after the fact. To complete what he considers the worst chapter of his life, he watched his family clear out and vacate his store, convinced after his lengthy disappearance that their only son and reincarnated poet had been killed in some devious manner.

Of course, Nate thought, in one sense he most certainly had. Life, as he’d known it, was over, and it was time to choose to either fight for survival in this new, treacherous form he’d been forced into or give up and lay down in the street as the sun rose. Death fortunately scared him more than attempting to live, so he set out on his own and managed to stumble through the next sixty years alone.

While in London, Howl often frequented book shops late in the evening when the sun had gone down as his sire had visited his, missing very much the atmosphere and how comfortable it was to him. Having been left by his sire a small basement apartment in a shabbier part of town, he had little room for all of the books he would have liked, and so found one or two stores who he convinced to loan him novels in exchange for something valuable, such as the pocket watch he’d been given upon his graduation. Via this arrangement he came upon the novel Sense and Sensibility, published by ‘A Lady’ in 1811; when her second novel, Pride and Prejudice, he realized he was enamored –with not simply the works themselves, but the brilliant mind behind them. Showing an obsession not unlike those his parents exhibited, he began to search for information as to who the author was, and spent the next several years trying to find her, convinced that if he could turn her he would never want for happiness and be content for the rest of his days in the company of a kindred spirit. Unfortunately information was not all that available to him considering his nocturnal life style and it was only with the publication of her posthumous novels and note from her brother that Howl discovered the identify of his unrequited love –Jane Austen, and that she had escaped him in death before he had any chance at reaching her.

This was a realization that brought Howl’s loneliness to a crushing height. His unrealistic pursuit of a woman who he didn’t even know seemed increasingly stupid the more he thought of it, and he wandered about a bit more forlorn than even before his obsession, pondering the idea of change. Starting fresh appealed to him –and with the ships sailing regularly between the Americas and England, he decided his best option was perhaps a new country entirely. He immigrated in 1818 and landed in New York, one of the first passengers to cross via the now regularly scheduled trans-Atlantic service. Shortly thereafter he began to travel west, having grown tire of the city while living in London and interested in what life would be like in an unsettled country. In fact, it was easier. Without having to worry about being seen or caught, hunting became more natural to Howl and much less stressful as well. His abilities as a solitary vampire were improved as he was forced to be more resourceful and natural, often digging a hole for himself and sleeping in the ground to avoid death from the sunlight streaming through the thickly wooded lands leading to the Mississippi River.

Upon crossing it, he simply continued moving, figuring that he would stop when he found a place to call home. As his confidence as a vampire increased, so did his maturity and skill, which while giving him more to work with did not improve his social awkwardness. Still, by the time he arrived in Mercy in 1850, he was a far cry from the scared, paranoid, and rather useless vampire he’d been back in London, having developed an appreciation for effort and hard work outside of the studying that ruled his human life as well as an independence that served his confidence despite his certain faults. Only hours after meeting Julian on an evening walk and hearing about the coven, Howl offered his blood. A community was what he had always been searching for, he realized, and finally, he had found one. It wasn’t long after that Julian gave him permission and even encouraged him to open his own book shop once again, and even provided him funds for which to purchase a decent stock of texts. Kippling’s was opened in 1855 and has been ever since, gaining a relatively respectable patronage and growing to the point that Howl has to rearrange and hold a street sale regularly. While he is not and never has been a fighter, he held his place in the coven merely with his clever tactical schemes, an ability he picked up by reading voraciously everything including war and history books.

After growing comfortable he began to settle in the social atmosphere, still shy and awkward but somehow managing to make friends with the local librarian, Devan Harper, and a newer member of the coven, Diana Ambrose, who owns the shop next door. The latter he considers the only person who has ever completely understood him, and he suspects that has something to do with a shared ability and an accidental sexual encounter that took place when a much younger Diana practically attacked him. Around thirty years ago, after the more serious conflicts had subsided but while tensions were still high, he officially changed the spelling of his last name from Howell to Howl, a running joke on the Lycans that so populated the city of Mercy that no one else really found funny. Still, it stuck, and now, it’s rare to hear anyone call him anything else as it just seems to fit his quirky personality. Howl is finally content, or, at least, as content as possible, with his dream back in tact, a few people to call friends, and even a new ‘Jane Austen’ for which to obsess –one Dianthe Delacroix, a pretty girl that he can’t seem to find any words around. Not that such behavior is the least bit surprising in his case.

Your Name: Kayla
Age: 21
How Did you Find us: Rae and Jeanna are my CG homies!
A little bit about you: um…I’m bubbly and I usually start in your toes and work my way up. :]

In the near year since she had last seen Prince Aidan Seraphin, Lady Rosalia Istatio had experienced quite an upheaval that had resulted in a significant change in the young, imaginative woman she had been before. First, of course, was the marriage of her brother to Beatriz Mendoza, a woman who Rosalia frankly felt belonged in a nunnery and caused her much grief in worry for the first several months of their union as a family. The girl often found herself asking for forgiveness, as she had regularly resisted the urge to slap the new lady of the manor; impressively, she had not, and these feelings were beginning to fade even if the two still tended to irritate one another. No –the new Duchess Istatio was not too terribly unbearable, and was in fact, becoming much more amiable and less snobbish. The second change which had prompted Rosalia to grow as an individual was the birth of her beautiful and blessed niece, now a healthy and happy four months old. Little Evita was a brilliant addition to the family, and although she had spoken to Lysander soon after he realized he couldn’t be her father and he expressed some concern, all was now right. Her ever honorable brother treated Evie as his own, and of course they were all thankful that she was indeed a girl child and not therefore an illegitimate male heir. Rosalia had taken to her so well that it was rare for them to require the full services of a governess at all; the new aunt quite enjoyed carrying her baby niece in her arms on tours of her home, the gardens, and even Bello had grown beyond his jealousy to enjoy snuggling the infant whilst she and Rosalia sat upon the floor and played together. It was in the lady’s opinion that Evita was not to blame for her mother’s past indiscretions, and with proper raising and copious love, the little girl would grow to be a fine and upstanding young woman (much like her aunt, of course). There was nothing better than running a soft brush through her downy, dark curls and tickling her toes, the latter of which Lysander himself had become professional at.

These two changes had brought, perhaps, the biggest change of all to the household, and that was reluctant realization of her brother Lysander that he could no longer keep and protect his sister from the world, as she was nearly twenty-three and well past the age of which she could marry. Rosalia, of course, always knew that was her duty to one day be a wife, but she mostly ignored it on account of her brother’s insistence that they should remain together forever. God would provide in time, she thought, and besides –what would become of her under the thumb of another if her husband were a tyrant? That simply wouldn’t do. She would march straight into Revillo herself before leaving her home without her dog, her books, and her dignity. It was an indignation stemming from fear in knowing that such arrangement for her betrothal and subsequent marriage were more and more inevitable the longer her brother worked at such things. Frankly, she didn’t wish to remain here as a burden to him while his family grew, as much as she loved caring for Evita –and while the girl in her dreamed of fairytales and weddings and children of her own, the intelligent woman she had become was quick to keep her feet on the ground. Still, what option did she have if she didn’t wish to stay at Islana but marriage? Rosalia often pondered this late into the night, scribbling away in her little leather-bound journals fantastic escape plans among snippets of poetry, novels, plays, and thoughts. Her mind was developing in an interesting manner, one that had in fact dictated the subject of the specific play she would be opening this very weekend at the Rose Theatre –Foolish Practicalities.

It had been Aidan himself who had first inspired her idea for the work, one that could surely cause quite a stir among those more closed-minded. Her stomach had been absolutely full of butterflies since she’d turned the script in to be published for the theatre, not simply because she was excited (although she was, quite so, in fact), but because new ideas unless from the King himself were dangerous business. What she had written was a satire of shameless proportions in which all of the follies of court were exposed at laughable expense, namely the hypocrisy caused by wealth, power, and religion. The latter had become a particular interest to Rosalia the longer she wrote the play, and thus she had continued her musings on it in various notes she intended to perhaps piece together in the future. God knew her to be devout and faithful, but her heart was discontent in how the church was used against the very people it was meant to protect. Much of this was scattered throughout her work and it caused her some anxiety to see what sort of reaction such ideas would receive; too much negative reviews would end her career as a playwright and perhaps as an author period. She had spent many nights nibbling nervously on the end of her various quills between penning her various considerations on the subject. In the end, she had decided it was worth the risk. It was a blessing to be in her position, a woman who was published regularly (even though no one knew that William Denning was, in fact, a woman). Even her brother remained unaware –she trusted no one but herself with her little secret.

She had been pondering all this and fidgeting with the elegant lace trim of her thin, muted blue cloak when Aidan had arrived to escort her to the play that afternoon. Lysander had made her more aware than usual the consequences of being seen in public on the arm of a gentleman, and on top of that a Seraphin prince. She had insisted quite adamantly that it meant little to nothing and even showed him the curt letter in return from said prince to prove it, but her brother remained convinced that this could and would appear as a step at courtship to the eyes of the public, and that thought alone made Rosalia pale in anxiety. She found Aidan to be attractive, certainly, but moreso was she attracted to his company and conversation –his manners, while not traditional, were fascinating, and his wit spoke for itself. He was an intelligent man worth speaking to, and one who clearly did not just want to play and toy with women as Rosalia was under the impression many others at court tended to do. Aidan was truly a different sort of man than many, and while her practical mind had never once assumed that she could marry him, her brother’s worries had her mind working tirelessly. ‘Stand up straight, Rosalia, watch your manners and mind your tongue, be pleasant company, blah blah…’ She’d eventually chased him back into the house and not a moment too soon, for the sight of the carriage coming up the driveway had caused all of his hard work to be forgotten for a moment. Rosalia had to keep herself from spinning in glee. They were going to Sundri to see a play –her very own. How could she possibly keep her joy a secret?

It had been difficult, but she certainly had. Of course Aidan couldn’t know of her authorship! She couldn’t even imagine what he would think, and that was the truth of it –part of her wondered if he’d approve, but it wasn’t worth the risk of upsetting him. He had been quite gracious to agree to join her, seeing as her brother was busy at home, and so she didn’t want to risk her company’s regret. Still, she couldn’t keep a smile from her face as they travelled the rather short distance between Islana and the capital, making the usual appropriate small talk of how his journey had been and thanking him for coming all the while. They were both otherwise seemingly content to sit in silence for the majority of the ride, and it remained as such when the vehicle stopped at the gates to the Rose and the footman helped Rosalia down. She found it impressive that she didn’t trip over her heavy skirts in excitement, the dark violet contrasting her pale skin and blue cloak quite nicely but also a death trap for a clumsy girl due to the heavy, folded trim that created such an elegant line at her feet. Thanking the servant kindly for his assistance, she looked up to see Aidan offering an arm (and looking amusingly uncomfortable in doing so –had they not been in public, she was certain he would have just expected her to follow him without such a gesture). Raising a brow pleasantly at him, she settled her hand daintily on the inside of his forearm and set off into the beautiful space in which they had first met under such funny circumstances, immediately heading to the boxes reserved for the nobility. The sight of the simple set was enough to make Rosalia was to leap with excitement but she merely opened the fan on her wrist instead and waved it over her flushed face to calm herself. As she and her company settled into their seats, she slowed the pace of her wrist and smirked slightly, glancing at Aidan. “Do you still wonder at Denning’s abilities as a playwright based on your dislike of poetry?”

[BLACK PAraeDE]