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Montgomery James Clyde

POSTED: 19 Oct 2010

Montgomery James Clyde

Scholar


http://img269.imageshack.us/img269/9946/monty4.jpg
Age: 38
Gender: Male
Nationality: English
Religion: (Rubbish) Protestant
Sexuality: Biromantic/Homosexual
Occupation: Professor of Egyptian Religion
Social Class: Upper Middle Class
Languages Spoken: French, Italian, Arabic, Ancient Egyptian, Latin
Alignment: True Neutral
Personal Belongings:

Personality
Positive Traits Negative Traits
Precise
Reserved
Courteous
Calm
Intelligent
Focused
Pedantic
Cold
Prone to jealousy
Insecure
Aloof
Stubborn
Promiscuous
Addictive/obsessive personality
Lack of communication skills


History


Montgomery was born in 1896 to Rebekka and James Clyde, their second son and youngest of three. The Clydes, whilst being a working middle class family, were not without some wealth- generations past were moderately big players in the industrial revolution, and one leftover from this was Hickling Hall, their ancestral home in the heart of rural Norfolk.

It was because of these funds that their three children were able to attend Gresham's School, one of the best private schools in the county. It was there that Monty learned Latin, French and Italian, as well as continued nurturing a love of music he’d had since he was small when his brother Douglas would patiently teach him songs on the piano note by note. Douglas was ten years older than Monty, and learning the piano from his brother became one of Monty’s most cherished memories. Douglas first introduced Monty to the fascinating world of Ancient Egypt, but it was clearly the older of the brothers whose imagination it had caught; whilst Monty was happy to sit and listen to his brother talk about the wonders and mystery of the Ancient world, he would much prefer to sit and play piano.

School was a fairly enjoyable time for Monty, though quiet and fairly shy, he was affable and made friends fairly easily. He spent most of his free time with them in the music room with his friends and, often, his sister Charlotte and her friends. Charlotte, at only two years older, was close enough in age that they either fought like cats or got along very well. Charlotte was a great singer, and Monty loved accompanying her on piano, although before long it became apparent that Monty had a natural ability that extended beyond simple accompaniment. It was because of this that by the age of fourteen Monty was already expected to become a concert or orchestral pianist- his teachers, while impressed by his obvious talent, were more so by his obvious dedication and love of music.

As Monty hit puberty he became embroiled in the dormitory romances that characterised the relationships between so many older schoolboys and their younger peers in English public schools. In romantic dealings with the boys at school Monty remained chaste, furtive kisses and the holding of hands being daring enough, with the exchanging of terribly written love notes and photographs to boys with whom he was truly smitten. Monty's school, as others, feared that the close proximity of teenage boys with no teenage girls would give way to "immoral practices"; there were no toilet cubicle doors, and nobody was allowed to visit the dormitories without being accompanied by a teacher during the day. Even so throughout his teens Monty indulged in many affairs and crushes with the older boys in his school.

When Monty was fifteen, he fell in love for the first time. He wrote simple but sincere music and excited letters to his friends about his beloved, a boy twenty year old poet and student lawyer who had attended Gresham's and lived close to the school. When the boy wrote Monty a letter detailing his impending marriage, explaining that he did not wish to be thought of as a "confirmed homsexual", Monty was inconsolable.

In 1913- at just seventeen- Montgomery declared himself engaged (much to the bemusement and surprise of his family) to Suzanne Clover, a sweet girl with American parents who boarded at a local all-women's boarding school and only went home on holidays. They had agreed on a long engagement. They had been ‘stepping out’ together for over a year, and whilst his parents dismissed it as a childish game the two felt themselves very much in love; he wrote her songs and she wrote him poems, and often they would become so wrapped up in each other they would forget the world even existed.

Then the war came. Both Douglas and James volunteered immediately- Montgomery, who wasn’t yet eighteen couldn’t have signed up even if he wanted to. Late in 1914, the family received word that James had died in hospital after sustaining a gunshot wound to the thigh which had then gone gangrenous.

Rebekka had never been completely mentally healthy; she was prone to bouts of severe depression and migraines that meant her children had, at best, lukewarm relationships with her. However, after the loss of James, Rebekka forbade Montgomery from even thinking of signing up. Her behaviour became steadily more erratic and Montgomery would often sit and play softly for hours to keep her calm. Often she would doze into a fitful sleep, and upon waking and seeing Montgomery would exclaim with surprise and delight, mistaking him for his father.

In 1916 Montgomery was informed that he was ‘deemed to have listed for general service’ under the Military Service Act of 27th January 1916; as of his nineteenth birthday, he would be called up and required to present himself to be eventually sent to war.

Charlotte dropped her burgeoning career as a chorus girl and actress immediately to take care of her mother. She was aided by Suzanne, who although was not yet officially part of the family she had been living with (in her own rooms) for nearly two years as she carved out a living as a clerk and writer for a small newspaper and had become very close to the Clyde women.

It was early 1917 before Montgomery left training and entered the fighting proper; he wasn’t officially discharged until 1919, but he was able to return to his civilian life almost as soon as the war ended in 1918.

Montgomery returned home to a family in renewed mourning; Douglas had been reported as missing, presumed dead.

At the end of the war, the entire country was left stunned. Bereavement had become an almost universal reality; everybody had lost a friend, a brother, a father or a son in the war. Each family’s sorrow was a private affair, but Britain as a whole had yet to grasp the disaster that had befallen her. The world had turned on it’s axis and nothing would be the same again. Rebekka fell apart completely and had to be institutionalised and kept sedated; Charlotte fled to America where she became a jazz singer and married a man from Chicago. And Montgomery, well. Montgomery stopped playing music.

By the time Douglas’ body was recovered in early 1919, Montgomery was already on his journey to Egypt, a journey he wouldn’t complete until 1928.

Ever since childhood Egyptology was something he’d had a vaugue interest in, but it was Douglas who had the passion for it; after the news of his death Montgomery became increasingly introverted, locking himself away with his brother’s studies for hours, weeks at a time. He announced that he was prolonging his engagement indefinitely and switched his course from Classical Piano and Composition to a joint degree in Ancient Religion and Anthropology, specializing in Ancient Egypt.

Montgomery fell apart; whilst during term time he threw himself into his studies with the kind of zeal usually reserved for the extremely religious, he was simultaneously spending weekends and holidays in London with the supposed Bright Young Things of their generation; the glittering young women and men for whom their raison d’être in post-war life was to be outrageous, their parties, drinking, drug taking and other antics providing thrills of amusement or disapproval from the rest of the nation. The feeling was to forget unpleasant things and get as much fun out of life as possible. There was scarcely a night without some impromptu gathering; fancy dress and dressing up was de rigueur and a newer style of ‘stunt’ party came about, where guests would be asked to do anything from storming Selfidges en masse and dancing on the tables (taking morphine and cocaine as readily as they were drinking alcohol and smoking) to pouring gallons of petrol into the Thames and setting it alight. It was all incredibly fast and desperately urgent, the BYTs swinging quickly from one jape to another in an effort to hide the barely disguised shallowness, emptiness and brittle vanity in the aimless pursuit of pleasure at any cost.

It was here that he met open homosexuals, finally having peers with which to discuss his sexual "fever" that so tormented him. He fell into unhappy affair after unhappy affair, usually not bothering to put an end to one before the next began. He set about cold-bloodedly seducing half of London, seeking little more than the next high of the next conquest.

It all crashed for Monty in 1922 when he was arrested during a police raid in one of the louche nightclubs where you could dance and drink- illegally- out of hours. His court appearance was a shambles; the judge could hardly understand a word that came out of his coked-up, slurring mouth.

He returned to Cambridge a disgrace; if it weren’t for his exemplary grades and family connections they would have thrown him out. As it were, his 'exemplary' grades had started to slip; his years of drug abuse had gotten him addicted to cocaine, and he only survived his first few months of cold turkey because Suzanne attended to him and helped him extensively with his studies. They were married in a simple, elegant ceremony at the end of 1922. At their party Montgomery played on the piano he hadn’t touched in four years, a song that he had composed for Suzanne. He had discovered that his studies- once fueled by an obsessive need to feel close to his brother, held his attention for thier own merits and fascinated him completely; and whats more, he had a talent for research and a flair for writing that his professors remarked upon. He began his Ph.D. with pride.

As Montgomery continued in his studies he travelled often between Egypt and England, particularly Cairo, and would often bring Suzanne with him. She insisted he buy another home there and the two would happily spend months at a time, Montgomery throwing himself into research, Suzanne free to enjoy Cairo the city. She began to write for newspapers less and less, and instead turned to writing novels, one of which she succeeded in getting published in 1924.

In 1927, when Montgomery was twenty nine, Suzanne fell pregnant. Seven months later she was dead; she died giving birth prematurely to a daughter who died shortly after her mother, too young to yet survive on her own. Monty closed the lid on his piano forever, sold the soulless pile of bricks that had been an ancestral home and bought an apartment building in London.

After being accepted as (assistant) Professor of Egyptian Religion at Cambridge in 1928, he fled to Egypt. There he continued his research and wrote the dissertation that would become his first book, and there he met Nicolas Janowitz.

Still reeling from the death of his wife and child, Montgomery found himself at first comforted by his burgeoning friendship with Nicolas, and then comforted by the unspoken, thoughtless way they approached their desires. He didn’t bother with confusion or self-doubt; he did what felt right.

So, after two years, when Montgomery moved back to England, it was only natural- the only thing to do- for Nicolas (or Nicolo, as Montgomery called him, after the fashion of his family) to come with him. Any raised eyebrows there might have been in other circumstances couldn’t apply here; a widower and a divorcee, two friends living as confirmed bachelors with each other for company. And if only one of the bedrooms looked slept in, well, what of it? Nicolas was simply far less neat than Montgomery.

Things were going well again; Montgomery was settled in his role as Professor, Nicolas was making some small headway in his haphazard and relaxed studies. Nicolas fitted in well with Montgomery’s friends- from his fellow professors to the few students that transcended the teacher/pupil relationship and made it to friends. Truly, there was only one student who really managed that- the languid, rude Vincent Eugene Hightower. Montgomery saw something of himself in the younger boy- albeit a younger self who had pushed his body almost beyond the limit of endurance. Vincent was, thankfully, too young to be any great tragedy of the twenties- had he been five or ten years older his personality and background would have made him one of the brightest of the young things- one of the ones who shone so bright to look at them almost hurt- but who quickly burnt out.

As such, Monty -in a manner of speaking, anyway- took Vincent under his wing, discovering that he actually enjoyed the boy’s company. He knew that Vincent’s almost impossible nature made him intimidating to the other students- and not just his nature, but the fact that the boy was bloody good at what he did. Criminals the world over should be thankful that Vincent hadn’t embarked upon a career as a detective; the boy was sharp, and noticed things most people missed.

Things started to go wrong between Nicolas and himself around two and a half years after they moved back to England. By 1933 Monty had had enough; he arranged for a sabbatical and left for Egypt. Alone.

Writing Sample
“Please, make that face some more.” Suhad muttered sourly at the warrior who sat in front of her, wincing and hissing every time she stitched another stitch. It was his own damn fault; this one was so obstinate he’d refused to be healed until infection had set in. Suhad had spent most of the last few hours scraping out infected tissue, her mood getting steadily more foul as time wore on.

She’d spent the hours since Sutekh had been seen carrying some dead, foreign floozy back to his tent- the same slut her husband had had to drag him off of only a short while later- in a state of impotent fury. How dare Sutekh bring that.. that foreign witch into the camp? Wasn’t it bad enough he had brought those two undead monstrosities into their lives? It was all very well that he’d decided she was his and Tuya’s reincarnated daughter, but she was of the same opinion as Akhom on this one. It was Gods-damned unnatural, fiddling around with death. She’d said as much to Akhom, and he’d agreed. Of course, he was unfailingly loyal, and there was no way he would refuse Sutekh. So in a few hours her husband would be partaking in the ritual that would awaken Nefitiri in that damnable Cleo. Suhad wanted no part of it, and it was with relief that she’d discovered she would have to divide her time between the healer’s tent and Anhur. With a young child, unfortunately there was just no time to go attending creepy rituals presided over by a long-dead priest.

She pursed her lips as the warrior she was attending to uttered a particularly disgusting curse. She’d heard it all and worse before, of course. Usually from women in the sweaty, screaming grip of childbirth. She herself had turned the air an interesting shade of blue while birthing Anhur.

“Drink this.” She passed him a cup consisting mostly of wine, honey and coriander. Only the coriander would help with the pain, and even then, not much. Still. She finished the last stitch, tied it off, and pulled on it gently to check that it was secure. The man swore again, and she ignored him, smearing coriander and honey paste on the stitches.

She knew someone had entered the tent before Tuya spoke because the warrior sat up straighter, ceased swearing and affected a very over the top scowl, doing everything he could to convey that he thought her ministrations completely unnecessary. Suhad gave his stitches another tug spitefully. She was in no mood for male egos.

“I’m so sorry, Tuy, I’ll be a minute.” Suahd bit her lip worridly. Tuya sounded so tired. She finished smearing the paste and eyed her handiwork critically. Good enough. He would be wanted at the ceremony tonight. She forced a smile and motioned for him to stand. “Come back tomorrow,” she murmured “and don't forget- if you let it get that bad again we’ll just chop it off.”

She moved to Tuya and gripped her friend’s forearm. “Of course I have a minute.” She glanced over at the other healers, who were all either dealing with patients or catching up on sleep. She had asked them all to stay in the tent tonight; she just didn’t trust that the ritual would go off completely smoothly. She just had a feeling. Perhaps it was stupid, perhaps it was over cautious, but, just perhaps it was a nudge from the Gods.

She caught another healer’s eye and motioned towards the door. I’m taking a break. The other woman smiled tiredly, nodded, and went back to listening to a patient complain.

Suhad turned back to Tuya and kissed her cheek hello. “I’m sorry about that. Here, come, we’ll get some privacy.” Suhad took Tuya to a separate tent, usually used for intimate examinations, surgeries and other private medical affairs that were kept separate from the main tent. She pulled cushions off of the low cot that dominated the tent and arranged them on the floor, indicating for Tuya to get comfortable.

Suhad eyed her friend worriedly. Everyone knew about the fight that had taken place only a few hours before; Akhom had come to her and explained in quiet tones what had happened. At the time she’d had her fingers plunged inside the same ungrateful warrior she’d just finished with widening the wound to let air in and washing it out with a scolding mix of water and honey; She couldn’t have sought out Tuya even if it would have been appropriate. Which, of course, being a marital dispute, it would not have been.

And of course, it was never really appropriate to stab one's chieftain.

She sat cross-legged and leant forward. “Tuya, Akhom told me what he saw,” she said, softly. "Are you okay?"


Puppeteer


Your Name: Charlie
Age: 17
How can we contact you?:
Time Zone: GMT
Do you play any other characters?: Suhad, Nicolas
Secret Phrase: -staff edit, you don't have to add it in again-
How'd you find us?:
Are you familiar with the Mummy trilogy?:
Any plans for your character?: A few.
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38 years old
English
English
Protestant

Professor

Charlie
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