Horatio Mercier
One little homestead goes up in flames and you're suddenly a "threat" to the Estate.
Obituary: Suffered a crushing defeat to a trap in the catacombs, flatly ending his brilliant career.
Description: With a nondescript build and height, and often plain or practical attire, it's remarkable just how easy Horatio stands out in a crowd; his perpetually tousled hair, left that way from combing his fingers time and time again through the bangs, which is normally the cause. It's the lustrous shade of shimmering silver on one so young that draws the eye long before his eyes dare to drown the one looking. Stormy cobalt eyes detract from an otherwise youthful countenance, shifting maelstroms study the world around him with contempt matched to the scowl oft etching years into his brow. Despite that though, thanks to a fine bone structure and a squared jaw, the rest of his angular features could go so far as being handsome-- if 'brooding genius' is to taste. The dappled scars of his lips and brow hardly distract from it, missing a line of hair in one brow, and his lower lip has a few faint lines through the thick of it, even the twice-broken nose looks too out of place. All the scars from previous fights contradict his lean build, he is in no way a natural athlete or even a trained one, and from the look would make a better sprinter than a fighter.
Personality: Horatio is a man devoted to the pursuit of knowledge. Devoted to the point that the lad sometimes needs to be physically dragged away from his work for mundane necessities like food or water, and will forget them for days if not checked in on. In saying that though, Horatio is in no way a mild-mannered or meek scholarly type, his opinions are varied and rarely held back in conversation. Unfortunately, he lacks any sort of tact that his opinions might be expressed without insult, and often comes across as insolent at best, or downright belligerent at worse. And his short temper doesn't help much either.
Unlike people (except perhaps his family) the plants, herbs and flowers he keeps are treated with kind words and meticulous care, and he speaks more comfortably in the company of his unique 'pets' then he would with any human acquaintance. Never purposely malicious or intentionally rude, the lad's heart is in the right place; it's just that it cannot get a word in edgewise with that overbearing mind of his.
Horatio does indulge in some frivolity outside of his experiments. He regularly enjoys a drink or two, and has a particularly rich palate when it comes to food and there is little he will not try at least once. The lad is adventurous in his own odd way. And while he certainly won't jump at the chance of discovering new lands, because 'living rough' brings him to shudder, his sense of adventure is geared towards the weird, wonderful, and often off-putting leaps of science and medicine.
Background: Not being understood by family, peers and society in general is simply a cross many geniuses must bear, and Horatio Mercier makes an example of the rule, rather than an exception. Born the youngest son of Benedict Mercier Horatio grew up on the family estate in Clemenstone Vale with his three immediate siblings, his aunts and uncles and a number of cousins. Having been born during the boon of the family's wealth Horatio wanted for nothing, and has no concept of hardship beyond having to deal with the constant disappointment of tutors that did not meet his high standards even as a small boy.
Horatio had always been a little 'different' compared to his siblings, or cousins, or any child really. As a boy he rolled his eyes when asked by the other children if he wanted to play pretend or chase through the vineyards, and while they did that without him he collected spiders, garden lizards, and frogs. He tended to follow the grounds keepers while they tended to the herb gardens, or the flowers of the estate, and would be far more interested in the books and conversation between adults rather than anyone his own age. For the most part his eccentricity was overlooked as a phase or just that he 'did not play well with others', and after all he never did any harm with his silly 'potions' he brewed in the empty rooms of unoccupied homesteads.
It was a little later in life that those quaint little mixing of herbs started to become less charming, and a whole lot harder to ignore. His father could overlook the obnoxious smells from the makeshift laboratory, he could even ignore the unsettling collection of pet snakes, tarantulas and brightly coloured frogs. The boy had strange habits, yes, but it did not affect the household. When Horatio accidently sedated his aunt for a day however, was when his parents had to try and control a child that had never had a breath of discipline in his life. The incidents grew in extravagance and Horatio's social inadequacies never did get any better. The last straw for the boy was when just a month back the homestead he'd been keeping himself to was swallowed in flames. Thankfully there were no casualties and nothing else in the estate was damaged, but it was decided then and there it was time Horatio went into the world-- and away from Clemenstone.
The family can only hope they've made the right, and safest choice. Perhaps a life in the city will be enough to curb Horatio's behaviour to something acceptable, and help guide him towards a vocation that might do the Mercier name proud. Why, why couldn't he just make wine?
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