Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2014 20:56:39 GMT
SITTING AROUND, NO WORK TODAY,
TRY PACING TO KEEP AWAKE.
______________________________________________________
FULL NAME: hamlet harry rutherford.
NICKNAMES: harry.
AGE: twenty-four.
BIRTHDAY: 12-11-1989.
CURRENT CITY: chicago, USA.
HOMETOWN: london, UK.
EDUCATION: graduated from Central St. Martin's, class of 2010.
OCCUPATION: penciller for Marvel comics.
FACEBOOK NAME: H.H. Rutherford
TWITTER HANDLE: harryrutherford
INSTAGRAM: harrynothamlet
TUMBLR URL: harryrutherford.tumblr.com
FATHER: terry rutherford, deceased.
MOTHER: bridget ingersson, estranged.
SIBLINGS: hippolyta and helena rutherford, twenty-four.
CHILDREN: india and poppy mackintosh, four.
PETS: betsy franco, chinchilla.______________________________________________________"Harry, it's Harriet. I'm not sure quite what's convinced me to call you right now, as I don't really think it's massively any of your business, but... I'm moving. To Sydney. ...With the girls. I don't suppose it makes any difference to you, but this is my chance at happiness and I'm not going to let you ruin it for me. We'll be moving early next month, so if you'd like to see them before we go then you know where we'll be.
I hope you can be happy for us, Harry."______________________________________________________When I first met Cat North, I was fifteen. I was a dick-- even more of a dick than I am now. She came into the classroom, this pale skinny girl, eyeliner smudged around these sad blue eyes... I closed the space between us in about twelve seconds, uttering what can only be described as the smoothest of killer lines: "alright Avril?" Alright Avril. Alright... Avril. I can still hear the echoes of Jerome and Tom laughing, but more than that I can remember the look she gave me. These piercing blue eyes looking at me, looking right into mine with this utter contempt. Me being me, I decided I was well in there.
Cat became almost allegorical to me, like a figure from myth. Though she's tried of the comparison now it's as true to me as it was back then - she was pure Wonder Woman in all her glory. She just looked so fucking much like her, and her disdain of my clumsy advances was all the more Diana Prince of her. I was pretty obsessed. It's worth remembering that two of my closest friends at the time - and at this time, as a matter of fact - were the Westerveldt twins, these two painfully, I mean really achingly, beautiful supermodel socialites. But they weren't Cat. No one was, except for, y'know, Cat.
Somewhere along the line my persistence paid off, because by sixth form we were an item. Look, I want to say that I was pleased. Of course I was pleased. But I mean, I want to say that I made the most of this dream scenario, and I can't, because I really didn't. Jesus, I really fucking didn't. It's tempting to blame my bullshit on the coldness of her manner, but back then she was showing me occasional glimpses of warmth, and by any means I knew that I was closer to her than the vast majority of others. But I when I say that I was a dick, I mean that I was a serious fucking dick. There was this house party that she'd refused to go to, with this girl dressed up as Poison Ivy... I fucked up.
It's alright, though. She hit me with her car for it.
Something about hard impact with a giant metal force really makes you realize how much you love a girl. Unfortunately, I'd blown it, and Cat didn't even speak to me after that. We graduated - silence. We got into the respective art schools of our choice - silence. She left - surprise surprise, silence. Even when the whole... thing with Harriet happened, she wouldn't throw me a text. But I never forgot about her. I couldn't have been older than seventeen, not even out of my fucking teens, and I knew that she'd be the one I'd think about on my death bed. The one who got away.
By some miracle, we crossed paths again, all the way across the Atlantic. When I saw her again in New York she was better than I remembered, even more Amazonian having grown into her features. She's seriously the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in the flesh. How many people get to say that about their girlfriend? She's everything. Beautiful, witty, clever, terrifying... she can cut right through me with a few choice words, or even just a look. She makes me a better artist. Fuck, she makes me a better person. Cat thinks of herself as this fluid person, living a creative life full of spontaneity and colour. That's true, I guess. But she's actually pretty rigid. Her moral compass is fucking dead on, and she doesn't deviate from what's Good and what's Bad. As cold as she can be, she doesn't play hard and fast with other people's feelings. I think she cuts people off because she's got this tremendous capacity to feel things the way those around her do, and no one could cope with that 24/7, so she keeps them at arms length.
Which isn't to say that she isn't fucking selfish, because she is. She'll swipe the last spring roll from my very chopsticks, and she likes to use two thirds of the duvet to make sure she's nice and snug. When we're lying in bed first thing in the morning, having barely said hello, she'll part my hair to the wrong side and cackle as I bat her hands away to fix it. She's got the worst temper, she ruins the apartment every time she goes to paint something, and she always swaps the hardback graphic novel collections I leave on the coffee table with her preferred books whenever I leave for more than two hours. We bicker, and we sometimes all out fight... she sometimes says sorry first.
I love her so much it fucking scares me.____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
HANNAH: So you're in London, then?
HARRY: Yep. Just 'til Monday. Super Con.
HANNAH: Right. And you're going to stop by?
HARRY: If that's no problem..
HANNAH: Of course not! I just wondered if you'd have time. What with, you know, visiting... others.
HARRY: I'm not visiting them, Han.
HANNAH: Harry. You can't not visit them when you're in the city. They're your chi--
HARRY: Hannah. I'm not visiting them.
HANNAH: [a sigh] Right, well I suppose that's that. Are you straight back to Chicago after that?
HARRY: No, actually. Scotland's next, then maybe Germany...
HANNAH: And Catherine doesn't miss you?
HARRY: It's work. She understands.
HANNAH: Is it contractual, all this traveling? I thought you just sat around drawing monsters and muscles.
HARRY: It's part of the job. Cat understands.
HANNAH: I'm glad to hear that, Harry. You're a lot like your father, you know. Whenever there's a problem, you somehow miraculously have to be somewhere, and that somewhere is usually a good twelve hour flight away.
HARRY: ...I have to go, love you, bye!____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
ALIAS: lex.
AGE: 22.
PLAY-BY: tom barreau.
MEMBER GROUP: chicago.
INSPIRATION: every comic i've ever read, probs.
