Post by Harrison on Aug 15, 2010 16:50:18 GMT
NAME: Harrison Montgomery Charles.
NICKNAMES: He isn’t so uptight that he won’t allow people to abbreviate his given name, and to be honest he is more than accustomed to it by now. As such, he will gladly permit people to call him Harris or Harry, depending on their personal preference. Outside of that, he doesn’t really have any nicknames that he is aware of, though there are several people he works with who call him Charmer.
RACE: Werewolf; bitten.
OCCUPATION: Rogue; Lawyer, specifically a Defence Attorney with the firm Green & Associates.
GENDER: Male.
SKIN COLOUR: Caucasian; tanned.
NATIONALITY: English.
AGE: 284, though he looks to be in his thirties, physically.
CLOTHING: Harrison is a male who always manages to look rather stylish, even though he would just smile and tell you he doesn’t spend a long time figuring out what to wear on any given day. Whether or not that’s true is a secret he guards well. He is rarely seen in a t-shirt or sweatshirt, the type to wear a button-down and simple but tidy and presentable pants, usually with a belt and a pair of shoes that have always been well looked after. Harrison isn’t the type to “dress down” and even when he’s lazing about the apartment he would much rather wear a shirt and pants than a t-shirt and jeans. He owns a rather ridiculous amount of ties, as well as shoes; in fact, his whole wardrobe is rather substantial, but then, given his occupation and the fact that he is quite often judged based on his appearance and how he chooses to present himself, it’s no surprise he takes a certain amount of pride in his appearance. When it comes to coats, he has a few that go over the tops of his suits, though as a werewolf he obviously rarely needs to wear them, instead does so because it might be expected at one point or another. When it comes to colours, he wears a range, but tends to steer clear of bright, loud shades of any colour, finding them garish and over the top. On his left wrist he wears a gold watch, but he also carries a pocket watch with him almost constantly; old habits die hard, after all.
HEIGHT: 5’10.
WEIGHT: 189lbs.
TATTOOS: None. Harrison tends not to like tattoos, though he has seen a few tasteful exceptions over the years.
PIERCINGS: None.
JEWELLERY: His watch and his pocket watch; he wears no rings and has never worn a necklace of any kind.
BODY MODIFICATIONS: Given that he is a werewolf, Harrison obviously has his fair share of scars, though his fair share seems to be less than that of most of his kind. Around the back of his left calf and stretching up towards his knee -- but not actually touching the joint, thankfully -- and inching around the front of his leg, he has the telltale scarring of a bitten wolf, jagged tears from sharp teeth that have long since healed over. He has been explaining them away as bites from a dog for several years now.
WOLF FORM.
BUILD: Harrison, when in wolf form, is a large male with obvious muscle mass and strength, not only through his upper torso but throughout his entire body. He has a very wolfen head, so strikingly similar to that of a wild, common wolf that if it weren’t for his size, if you were to catch him on all fours in a quick glance, it would be so very easy to mistake him for one of these animals instead of what he actually is. He is very broad and powerful through the shoulders and chest, and tapers down somewhat towards his waist, which is the slimmest point of his body. His hind legs are muscular through the thighs and leaner down towards his paws, all of which are large and strong, possessing enough power to break bones and even land a killing blow if his aim is true. His forelegs -- or arms, depending on when you catch him -- are slimmer than his hind, but no less powerful; his hind are built more for strength in kicking off against the ground or applying speed in movements while his fore are for combat and manoeuvrability, his paws possessing a digit not unlike a thumb which allows him enough dexterity to grasp objects for whatever reason. His ears are rather short and very rounded, very much like a real wolf’s, and his hind legs are built with the necessary joint to facilitate movement as both a quadruped and biped alike. A thick, full tail that reaches halfway down his hind legs when he stands erect completes his wolf form.
HEIGHT: 8’6; bipedal. 5’2; quadruped.
WEIGHT: 389lbs.
HAIR: His pelt is thick and fully-covering from head to tail, thicker across his back and down his chest, and obviously around his neck to protect his throat in combat, with a sweeping, almost graceful mane that reaches down his back and over his shoulders to his chest in lengths. It is white in colour for the majority with subtle tones of various greys running throughout, most noticeable through the thicker fur down his back and chest and around his neck, and also through his tail.
EYES: A pale golden yellow with black pupils.
DEFINING MARKS: His wolfen head, large paws, long mane and thick tail.
PACK.
PACK: None.
POSITION: None.
TERRITORY: None.
HAIR.
LENGTH: Harrison’s hair is actually a few inches long over the top and along the sides, what some might consider longer than average for a man, especially one in his age bracket. It is shorter down the back and around his ears, obviously, to keep it from irritating him or getting in the way.
STYLE: His hair is more often than not found swept over to the right from the left in a generous parting and kept in place with product that keeps it from shifting and falling around his face. It is very rare to see Harrison with his hair any other way, honestly, and given that he showers every morning after he gets up and styles it directly after, he doesn’t really let it become a problem. On the -- extremely -- rare occasions when he does leave it to its own devices, it tends to hang down around his temples and shadow over his brow somewhat; he looks surprisingly different with his hair untidy, to the point where some people might not even recognise him.
COLOUR: Dark brown.
FACIAL HAIR.
LENGTH: A matter of a centimetre or two at most, and when it gets any longer, it is trimmed down to something more manageable and presentable.
STYLE: Minimal at best, and more as neat, tidy stubble for definition than anything else, around his jaw, chin and mouth, leading up towards his short sideburns.
EYES.
COLOUR: Green.
ODDITIES: Like all werewolves, Harrison can shift the colour of his eyes at will from the human shade of green to the pale golden yellow of his wolf; he can call this change to the surface for any number of reasons, either to tease or taunt, to display aggression or displeasure, to intimidate or even in a show of play. Alternatively, there are certain emotional responses that will trigger the change, including but not limited to shock, pain, fear and anger.
PERSONALITY: First and foremost, Harrison is charming. He’s a charmer, and it cannot be denied. Quite often nowadays Harrison doesn’t realise that what he’s saying could be taken as such, that how he behaves and projects and presents himself in any situation could be considered charming, but he has quite a few years under his belt and as a result certain things are just habitual for him, as they are for any mortal beyond a certain age. He is actually something of a creature of habit, he has certain routines and rituals that he follows through on day after day, from his morning preparation before work to how he tackles his workload both at home and in the office. Harrison has very clear lines between work and play and the two rarely blur in the middle; he isn’t above ending one to focus on the other, but he doesn’t really believe in combining them. They should be kept separate, and that has been his philosophy for a good long while. He takes his work seriously, as anyone involved in the cutthroat world of lawyers and courtrooms should, really, and he tries not to take his work home with him as a general rule, another attempt to keep his business and social lives separate as much as he possibly can.
In the courtroom and on the job, whatever aspect, Harrison can be rather ruthless, though honestly it depends on the case. He isn’t cold or heartless, but he is old and experienced enough to understand that a certain degree of hardness can go a long way towards reaching one’s final goal. That charm of his quite often comes into play when working a jury, and he has worked up something of a reputation for himself -- whether or not it was intentional has never been made clear -- when it comes to female judges, to the point where he will often be assigned cases where the firm knows there will be a woman presiding. It isn’t really something he’s proud of, that general effect he has, but it isn’t something he denies either; it’s just something he can work with, something useful, and besides, it’s never outright flirting and it’s never tasteless or crude. Ultimately, Harrison can’t control how people react to him, and he is well aware of that fact. He can be just as harsh and aggressive as he is charming, however, and there have been countless cases in the past where an opposing attorney or even a whole firm has underestimated him based solely on his reputation. Harrison gets the job done, and doesn’t believe in cutting corners or doing things by halves when it comes to business. He follows through and does what needs to be done in order to win a case, without sacrificing all trace of morals or personal beliefs. There are certain lengths he will never go to, and his colleagues and employers, thankfully, know that much by now. He would much rather leave that kind of merciless thirst for victory at whatever cost to those who don’t care about who they trample on to win a case.
All that charm and businesslike precision aside, Harrison can actually be quite spontaneous when the urge takes hold, even playful in certain situations. He is a wolf, after all, and wolves love to play. He isn’t the most mischievous werewolf in the world, but he has his moments like any member of his species. As well as being surprisingly spontaneous, he can be rather sweet as well, a trait that most probably don’t expect in him, especially not if they see him in the courtroom working the jury or cross examining a witness, but at the end of the day he was raised in a time when men courted women and small acts of affection were commonplace. For the longest time there was little meaning behind it, he went from woman to woman, restless and investing little; it was a means to an end, and he is one of those werewolves who has never taken to the idea of mating for life. Such was the appeal behind dating a human, and he has never once had a problem with it during the numerous relationships over the years.
Gwen Roberts, however, proved to be different; Harrison honestly isn’t sure what it is about the woman that has held his interest. She is a beautiful woman, to be sure, but it’s never as simple as all that, not to a wolf. The women he has dated in the past have all been attractive, certainly, but there has always had to be something else to them. Either they make him laugh or they can keep up with him in conversation, that sort of thing; it’s no one thing with Gwen, and that much he knows. Whether the wolf within finds her much more fascinating than the other women he’s dated or if it’s something deeper and harder to explain than that, even, he can’t say, and he has long since given up trying to put his finger on it. They live together, which is indicative of his feelings for her, that they go beyond what he has felt for any other human in the past; he has never lived with one before, not even briefly. It is Gwen who sees that spontaneous, sweet side of him, the sort of affection and attachment that leads him to present her with gifts without warning, whether they be a single stem rose, a brooch or an evening out to her favourite restaurant or a production of some sort. Harrison has strong feelings for her, which on one level troubles him more than he knows what to do with, but he is attached now, there’s no denying it. Simply put, both sides of Harrison have come to rely on Gwen, in a way; she is a pleasant, warm constant in his life that he was otherwise lacking.
WEAKNESSES: Given that he is a werewolf, Harrison is vulnerable to the metal silver, which can have any number of effects on him physically, from nausea and dizziness at proximity, burns upon contact, and infection and even death if it were to get into his bloodstream through a wound or any other means. This means that he cannot wear silver or abide it being close to him in any way, though given the applications of the metal in the modern world, he has learned just how to adjust like any werewolf. When it comes to the women he dates, if he sees them for a while, he tends to tell them he has an allergy to silver, which is perfectly believable even in humans. He isn’t much of a fighter beyond what instinct and his wolf side lend him, not the sort to use a gun or a knife and certainly not frequently enough to have built up any kind of passable level of experience with them; he wouldn’t be able to wield one in a fight against a trained and practised opponent, at least. Basically, if he can’t talk or charm his way out of a situation, then odds are it will evolve into a conflict where he would be at a disadvantage against another supernatural. His attachment to Gwen, the human woman that he lives with and has been in a relationship with for some time now, is a weakness that could be easily exploited; he would go to lengths for her that he would not for anyone or anything else, and there is a certain, wolfen level of possessiveness -- as well as protectiveness -- to it that cannot be denied.
ABILITIES: Harrison has all the standard advantages that come from being a werewolf; enhanced speed, strength, endurance, reflexes, agility, grace, balance, heightened senses, a powerful healing factor, pain tolerance far beyond the norm for any mortal, the ability to jump to, from and across great distances without penalty and of course the ability to transform into a feral form at will. He is old and practised enough to be able to choose whether or not he transforms during the full moon, and the changes themselves are no longer as painful or troublesome as they once were. Obviously, as a fully qualified and recognised Defence Attorney, he has had all the necessary training and degrees, passed all the standard tests and acquired all the expected qualifications in order to practise law. Harrison has actually taken the bar exam several times during his career, which, understandably, has lasted a good few years longer than what is actually listed on his current record; he has, in the past, used aliases in order to practise law over a long stretch, but in recent years he came back to his birth name to reacquire all the necessary degrees and so forth. He can cook, certainly well enough for both himself and Gwen, and actually rather enjoys preparing meals. Another rather mundane -- at least in the eyes of supernaturals -- skill he has acquired in his time is the ability to drive, much preferring automatic so that he doesn’t have to split his focus too much, but he can and will drive stick if he has to. Over the years he has picked up a small number of other languages that he considers himself passable with, namely French, Italian and Spanish.
WEAPONS: Some might count his charm as a weapon, but other than that and what he has naturally in terms of lycanthropic fangs and claws, Harrison carries nothing that could traditionally be classed as a weapon.
PRIZED POSSESSIONS: His pocket watch obviously has a great deal of sentimental value, given that he is rarely seen without it, and Harrison actually owns a fair number of pieces of art, being something of a collector and certainly something of a patron of the arts in general. Gwen herself is considered prized, though he obviously doesn’t consider her a possession, even if his wolf might occasionally feel differently on the subject.
HOME(S): A loft apartment in The Colony in the suburbs of Los Angeles, outside of pack territory altogether. He shares the apartment with his human girlfriend, Gwen, who has her own studio space.
HISTORY: Born in 1722 on the outskirts of London, England, Harrison Montgomery Charles was the first and only child of Montgomery and Rebecca Charles, an upper-class couple both considered “old money” in their social circles. As a result of his bloodline, Harrison never wanted for anything as a child, though his father was someone who believed that children should not be spoiled and should instead begin learning early how to behave and how they were expected to present themselves to the world. Simply put, his parents -- his father in particular -- had expectations. This was a constant throughout his early life, his time split between studies and social interaction that was all planned well in advance, time spent getting to know other children close to his age from the other families in the same circle as his parents. Truthfully Harrison liked few of them; the boys were arrogant and grating and the girls all distant and rather stupid, something even he could recognise at a young age. That wasn’t to say Harrison wasn’t arrogant in his own way, but it was understated and undeniably tame compared to that of the other boys.
Life was monotonous and routine for several years and Harrison’s youth passed without interest or any real event of note. It was only when the time came that he would be expected to choose a wife that anything of real impact occurred. Harrison had never been taken by the idea of marriage, the example set by his parents far from appealing; Montgomery and Rebecca had married for money and reputation more than anything else, and while their son wasn’t exactly a wild and compulsive romantic, he believed romance ought to at least play a part in a union between a man and a woman. A marriage built completely on standing didn’t appeal to him in the least, but therein lay the problem. The young women from which he was expected to make his selection were all vapid and, to be blunt, rather stupid; none of them were particularly appealing. That didn’t mean anything to his parents, though, and any hint of distaste was written off as his bucking against the rules and therefore frowned upon by his father especially, and so Harrison made a point of not mentioning it, dragging out the selection process itself intentionally in the hopes of either finding someone else of the right standing that he could actually tolerate or finding a way out of the whole thing.
In the end the matter was taken out of his hands altogether, though not in a way he would have chosen for himself let alone considered. During one of the many social functions he and his parents were expected to attend, he realised his mother and father were pushing one young woman on him in particular, a remarkably brainless girl, Sarah Thompson, who had the tendency to giggle at everything, regardless of whether or not she understood what was going on; evidently her tactic was to laugh and hopefully come across as endearing so that she would be accepted and not looked upon as dull in any way. At least by laughing she could draw attention onto herself. Why exactly his parents thought he would find the girl appealing was beyond Harrison completely. So it was that in an attempt to escape the night and the dreadful company it had produced, he excused himself to go out into the gardens that rolled out beyond the back of the house to meet with the edge of a scattered stretch of trees where the men of the family often went to hunt small game. Wandering beyond the garden into the shadows of the trees themselves wasn’t exactly the smartest thing to do at night by himself, but at least it was quiet; there was no hollow laughter or inane chatter. It was quiet.
Too quiet, he realised, albeit a little too late. The faintest rustle of dry leaves over the ground off to his right was the first and only warning that something wasn’t right, drawing his attention off into the gloom before something glinted and then lunged, exploding out of the shadow with fangs bared and fur bristled like spines. Harrison didn’t waste any time in turning to run; he had always been rather fast on his feet, but the creature was faster, and soon caught up with him, catching his leg between its teeth and tugging him down to the ground, knocking the wind out of him and clamping down, so hard that it felt like the bone would shatter. The sounds of the attack, the creature’s roars and snarls and Harrison’s shouts, brought some of the men from the party out from the house, running into the trees. It took four shots from different guns to drive the creature off, and by that point Harrison had lost a good deal of blood and gone into shock, blacking out not long after the wild animal went crashing into the trees wailing and howling.
For days Harrison was lost to an inexplicable fever, one that no physician could explain, much to the exasperation of his father and the worry of his mother. Five days after the attack, when he came around from the fever and sat up in bed all by himself, no one could believe their eyes. His mother was convinced he was going to keel over dead at any moment and his father was beside himself with surprise, baffled by the turn of events. Harrison couldn’t explain it either, and while his parents left him alone to rest and call for the doctor, he took it upon himself to investigate his wounds. What he found hardly put him at ease. Quite the opposite, in fact. The wounds that should have been ugly and reddened, far from repair, were actually already well on their way towards repairing themselves. Alarmed and confused, Harrison didn’t know what to do, only that it wasn’t normal. Something strange was happening and not knowing what it was frightened him more than he cared to admit. Thankfully he knew just how to mislead his parents and he talked them down from bringing the doctor back, coming out of his room with a cane, making sure to limp more than his body told him was necessary but otherwise acting as he felt, which was healthy and able-bodied, something else that wasn’t exactly normal.
What followed was a curious time, as well as a wary one; Harrison was very conscious of just how unnatural his recovery was, though much to his relief his parents had already come to write it off as “one of those things”, an attack that had looked worse than it was at the time, and their friends were reassured by personal interactions with Harrison that showed them he was healthy and back to his usual self. Time spent alone was time spent reading as many books as he could get his hands on, but none of them were helpful, all myth and mystery and no real substance. He learned enough, however, to send him out into those woods again, this time in broad daylight and with a gun. He was not only feeling healthy, he was feeling better than he ever had, something that only drove him to find the truth by any means necessary. The tiny house -- a cabin, really -- on the other side of the trees didn’t quite seem to fit in, and he approached it cautiously, only for the occupant to step out and stare at him, a scruffy man who looked to be in his thirties wearing dark clothes. Harrison didn’t aim the gun, but he kept it in plain sight, and he told the man he wished to speak with him.
The conversation they shared would have terrified most, but Harrison instead found himself being reassured by the words they exchanged. The man hadn’t recognised him, exactly, but had showed signs of knowing him somehow, and finally he revealed that he smelled familiar. The man, Thomas, was not a man at all, but a werewolf. He admitted he must have been the one to attack Harrison that night in the trees, and after an emphatic, sincere apology, he went on to tell the young man all about what he should expect in the near future; he told him all about the full moon, silver, the animal within, and that he shouldn’t expect to be able to live anything like a normal life for many years to come. It took decades to control the wolf, he told Harrison.
Strangely enough, Harrison wasn’t scared. If anything, he was relieved. It probably should have concerned him that he much preferred the idea of being a werewolf to the idea of marriage, but there was no denying it. Harrison considered it the perfect excuse to do what he had been wanting to do for months. Leave.
He didn’t leave straight away, but as the days wore away and he carried out his preparations, he realised something inside felt more and more different as time wore on. It became not only advantageous to leave, but sensible, he came to think, and by the time he had everything in place, he realised he had never been more certain of anything in his life. It was right to leave. It was safer for his parents this way. He would miss them in his own way, they had never been unkind or unloving, but they had different ideas of what a life should be. Now that his life had changed forever, he felt he didn’t belong anymore, certainly not in their neat and tidy world of expectations and wealth and standing.
In the middle of the night almost three whole weeks after his attack, Harrison left. For a time he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, and honestly it took some serious adjusting on his part; he might not have meant to let the upper-class life soften him, but in a manner of speaking, that was what had happened. It wasn’t until his first full moon that Harrison realised what he needed to do in order to get by and survive. He had to trust the wolf inside of him, the feral side of who -- and what -- he was. That first night of transformation came in the middle of travel from one small town to another, dropping him to his knees and the last thing he remembered was unbelievable pain. When he woke again the next morning, he had no recollection of what had happened during the night; all he knew was that he was in a completely different place from where he had started out and unlike the night before, he was no longer hungry. Harrison decided not to over think it, just found his way back to where he had collapsed the night before, but as expected, everything he had left behind was no longer there. Someone must have stumbled across them in the night and picked them up. Harrison actually found he wasn’t overly distressed or disappointed by the revelation, even though it meant he had only the clothes on his back, what little money he had in his pockets, and his pocket watch. Everything he had been wearing and carrying in his pockets had survived the change, and therefore the night. It was better than nothing.
Over the years that followed, Harrison made a point of heading out of whatever town or village he had settled in to avoid causing any undue harm to the residents, but also to avoid detection. He started a routine, moving from one place to another every six months or so, long enough to build up a little trust and familiarity and earn himself some money doing odd jobs -- it was a first for him, having never worked a day in his life before his change into a werewolf -- before moving on and starting all over again. Strangely, he found that it suited him. In his own, strange way, he enjoyed it, and it was a system that worked for him for many years. Every now and then he would use an alias, not only to cover his trail and disrupt anyone who might be trying to follow him, but also to keep people from one town to the next connecting the dots as years went by and he ceased aging.
Harrison managed to avoid other werewolves and conflicts with them for decades, and it wasn’t until he was almost a century old, an age he had -- naturally -- never expected to reach, that he ran into another one of his own kind directly, the first since Thomas, his sire. Unlike Thomas, this new wolf, another male, was far from welcoming or tolerant. Having another male wolf in what he considered his territory quickly provoked him, and he wasted no time in presenting himself to Harrison and issuing a very serious warning. Harrison had until that night to leave.
Leaving was exactly what he planned to do, though by this point in his life Harrison really should have realised that nothing is ever as simple as it seems at first glance. Night was fast approaching and he was making preparations to head out of town when there was a knock at his door. It wasn’t until he opened it and got a good look at the redheaded woman standing there on the other side with a smile on her face that Harrison realised there was another werewolf in town. A female. His encounters with females of the species had been even more scarce than males, and it didn’t take him long to realise just why that was a good thing. The female invited herself inside, investigated his room with all the casual ease of someone who felt like they belonged there, and showed the same kind of disregard for propriety and personal space when it came to Harrison himself, touching his arm and smiling at him in a way that was far from innocent, even going so far as to show her wolfen side with a flash, perhaps in the hopes of enticing him. Even when he told her he really had to go, she told him there was no rush. As it turned out, she and the male who had threatened Harrison were related by blood, brother and sister; they had been born into the life, not bitten and changed from humans. She told him she was older than her impulsive, territorial brother, and she would keep him from doing anything rash.
She was toying with him, Harrison knew. It was a game to her, but one she seemed fully invested in. She finally introduced herself, saying that she could call him Siobhan, asking his name in return. Sensing that she wouldn’t take kindly to refusal, he gave it, but only the name Harrison, holding back his surname just as she had. She told him to relax, unpack his things, and stay the night; she would speak with Doran, her brother. Everything would be fine.
Harrison was far from convinced, and in fact he strongly considered leaving anyway, but something kept him from taking his bags and heading out of town. When morning came after an uneventful night, he wondered if perhaps he had been hasty in his assessment of Siobhan. Maybe she didn’t have any ulterior motives and she was simply that little bit more feral than other werewolves he had met because she was born and not bitten. In the end that optimism -- or perhaps naiveté -- didn’t help him in the least. Siobhan returned later that day with a smile on her face and once again invited herself inside. Her second visit was much more forward and downright flirtatious, and Harrison didn’t even try to hide his discomfort, something that she ultimately found amusing, perhaps even endearing. Wanting to be polite, he thanked her for speaking with her brother and for allowing him to stay another night, but he really should be going, he had made plans to travel.
Siobhan was offended, and didn’t hide it. Standing close with the wolf in her eyes and a trace of a growl in her words, she told him he was doing a poor job of showing his gratitude, but then, suddenly, her mood seemed to change and she was smiling again, telling him to sleep on it, think it over. It really was a lovely town, and he was welcome to stay if he wanted to; she would make sure he had what he needed, he had her word. Harrison was smart enough to recognise that her word came with strings attached. The wolf inside, at the very least, recognised the weight of her advances; she wasn’t human and didn’t do things the traditional way. Siobhan was used to getting her way, getting what she wanted. Harrison, however, had no intention of giving her what she wanted.
He stayed two more days before things took a turn for the worse. Siobhan came to his residence as the light was fading and he was preparing his things to leave; she recognised his intentions, but instead of attacking or threatening him, she asked him to run with her. There was no harm in it, she told him, it was just a run. He could show his gratitude by keeping her company. Warily he consented and headed out to the local woods with her. At first it seemed harmless enough despite her close proximity and how she made as much contact with him as possible. Harrison avoided giving her the wrong impression as much as possible, but she made it more and more of a challenge, pushing and nudging and nipping at him playfully, until finally his patience expired and without thinking he snapped at her. Siobhan reacted immediately, snarling and ploughing into him, the pair of them tumbling over and over, growling and struggling, but her age and experience landed her on top, slamming him down so hard that he struck his head and the pain had his wolf form dropping away, leaving him on his back underneath a provoked, angry werewolf. She changed back herself quickly enough and took him by the throat, pinning him down and holding his gaze; she had kept him safe, she told him, kept her brother from attacking and killing him, and now he was disrespecting her, pushing her away when he had no right to do any such thing. In her eyes, he was as good as hers, like property; she had laid a claim on him in sparing his life the way she had. If he didn’t come to his senses and do what was best, she wouldn’t be responsible for what happened to him.
She released him then, let him up off the ground, and told him she would come see him in the morning, when she hoped he had had time to think about what was best. With that, she left, turning and walking away without another word and without even glancing back. Harrison didn’t waste any time; he ran back to town and grabbed his things and left immediately, managing to catch a ride with a wagon that was heading west in the hopes that it would hide his trail from Siobhan.
It wasn’t until several months had passed without any sign of the possessive female that Harrison believed he had lost her. He started to go through his routine again, only staying in one place for a matter of months before moving on. Again years passed in this fashion before he realised he had traversed much of the British Isles and it was perhaps time to really move on. There was no going back, he knew that; he couldn’t return to any of the towns where he had lived before, no matter how briefly, just in case someone recognised him. When he finally achieved control of his wolf, when he no longer had to change during the peak of the moon’s cycle, he found passage across the Atlantic to America.
He felt more comfortable in America, though he couldn’t say why. There was just something about the country that seemed to placate him, and he found himself less concerned with moving on so frequently in this new place with so much to learn and experience. He managed to blend in well enough for an Englishman, even with his unmistakeable and unwavering accent, and he began spending years in one place at a time rather than months. Harrison watched the world change around him, tried new things as they rose up, and at some point along the way he realised that charm of his had never really faded; he had just been moving around so much that it had been less prominent, but now that he was comfortable again it came back to the fore and people responded. He had a way with people, knew just how to talk to them and make them see his point of view, or at least sway enough people to his side to win an argument.
It was this ability -- if it could even be called an ability -- that finally saw him stepping into the world of law, and once he investigated it he found he had a passion for it; his free time was spent studying one text or another, this case or that practise, and he committed himself to the field. It was the first thing he had really been passionate about and that was exciting and new for him; it was enough to tell him that it was meant to be, and before long he found himself qualified and working his way through the system, going from learning from the best to being recognised as a capable and confident lawyer in his own right.
Over the years he had to resort to the use of aliases again, understandably; he couldn’t run the risk of someone connecting the dots, and between each cycle, as it were, he took a number of years off and away from the practise so as not to draw too much attention. Along the way he built up contacts, the odd werewolf here and there who proved themselves useful when it came to re-entering the legal world, and so Harrison made himself a career that stretched decades beyond what it would have for any mortal man, and all without being discovered.
His most recent cycle saw him landing a placement with Green & Associates in Los Angeles, a city Harrison quickly acclimatised to, even with such a large number of wolves already calling the place home. Harrison moved into a building outside of pack territory, The Colony, actually outright buying the large loft apartment for himself to cut out the mess of rent; he planned to stay for a long time, and it made more sense to buy than rent, and outside of pack territory he was free to settle as he wished, at least in his eyes. He worked on building his reputation at the firm, making a name for himself, climbing up the proverbial ladder to a point where he was recognised as one of the most successful defence attorneys the firm had on payroll.
Events and functions and parties were all second nature to Harrison, even after so many years away from his upper-class upbringing; he was a natural at that sort of mindless socialisation, able to smile and, to be honest, charm his way through the evening without any kind of true involvement beyond what was expected. It was at one such event, a fundraiser, that he met a woman by the name of Gwen Roberts. He had taken to dating human women over recent years, not necessarily to blend in better with the mortal world around him but because it was so much simpler and therefore more comfortable; there were no dangerous strings attached, no ulterior motives, no territoriality or possessiveness that could endanger lives. When the conversation became too dull for him to keep up with any longer, Harrison excused himself from the group and headed out of the main gallery, taking it upon himself to wander the rooms close by. It was in one of those rooms that he met Gwen; she found him looking around and they soon got to talking. He found himself attracted to her, intrigued by her more importantly, and after they parted ways and he headed home, he left it a few days before going back to the Skirball Centre, and her gallery inside of it. He had made a few calls and found out about the classes she taught, and it was during one of these that he made his second appearance, apologising for interrupting after she wandered over to speak with him, before he boldly asked if he could have her number.
That was eighteen months ago, a relationship record for Harrison and, unbeknownst to him, Gwen as well. A year passed before he asked her to move in with him, and now that they live together, everything seems simple enough. He told her she was welcome to convert some of the loft space to a studio where she could work, and they fell into a comfortable, pleasant routine, the kind that would seem perfectly normal for any long-term couple. Nothing is ever that simple, though, something that Harrison should have learned a long time ago.