Woody.
New Member
fc:cillian murphy
Monty
Nicknames:
- none
- The Butcher is what media calls him
Gender: male
Age: 28| Twenty-Eight
Birthday | October 13th
Sexual Orientation | well, it's hard to describe. He doesn't care for people, but he is going to learn
Relationship Status: single
Looks | Even though he looks lanky, he has muscle from having to stab someone several times. He is around 5 foot 11 with black hair trimmed short on the sides and his eyes are a rather icy blue. Sometimes people call him dead eyes because it just holds no emotions and is just an icy pool of nothing. His lips are thin with a sharp nose but chiseled jaw. There is a scar just under his jaw that runs down to his shoulder where he got from when he was a kid.
Personality| Among people he is the most charming fellow, he is optimistic and reassures others that they mean something in life. The only real human interaction he gets is either at work or small meetings passed streets, but every time he is introduced to someone he makes a good first impression. The public eye sees him as a sweet doctor trying his best to the save the lives of his peer. No one ever sees him without a smile on his face, and when he catches your eye he gives that charismatic smile and makes his way to you. He'll introduce himself, ask a little about yourself and then he'll say a few things about him and then that is it. His motto is if you'll see them more than once, make it count. Then there are those who won't know him ever again, and those are the poor victims that he chooses.
He is also very intelligent. Often times he can correct a person on their facts on many subjects. He tends to make it obvious that he is smarter than everyone in the room. Often times, the conversation with people is usually on topics no one knows about. He prides himself in his education, and keeps the collection of books up to date.
Food seems to be the only way you can see genuine joy. He had to cook for himself at a young age, and it turned rather serious when he was in college. He had participated in many competition and proved victorious. Not many get to experience his cooking because to him that is the most intimate form of affection. To cook for someone was to help them survive this world, so not many know that he is skilled in cooking.
When he is alone he is just cold and seems inhuman. He doesn't seem to show an ounce of emotion when he is in the privacy of his home. If someone were to see him through the window, you'd find him simply staring at wall or have a book in hand. If you're the unlucky fellow who is in the killing room, then you will not see an ounce of kindness or regret in his eyes. It's like staring at the eyes of a monster who simply doesn't care for human life. People will scream, fight, and cry out, but he will simply say the coldest words like, 'you probably deserve this' or 'quiet down, no point in screaming to the air' . However, after a kill there is an emotion that not even the public eye sees. It's that loneliness that haunts him. The moment he is the only living thing in the room there is that fear that he can't stop from showing on his face, the idea of being alone for the rest of his life is evident in his eyes. But as fast as it comes, it is gone. He's back to that cold Monty he has come to know and love.
The snow had been falling for 2 days straight, well at least whenever Monty looked outside he would see it snowing. He had just gotten back in from town with some of the supplies. The news warned citizens of possible snow ins, and he didn't want to be stuck in this cabin bored. HE would stay in his apartment in the city, but he would get too antsy being stuffed in a small apartment. Besides, he was on vacation, why not enjoy it in his cabin out in the woods. It was near nature and especially other humans. It was the perfect area for hunting, yet with all the snow he doubt he would come by anyone hiking. The snow was already up to his calves, and it was hard for him to even make it to the small convenient store.
Walking into the wooden two story cabin, it wasn't really a ... cabin. It had windows all over the sides of the house, privacy didn't matter to him unless he was ripping out organs from someone, in which he would of course just close the curtains. It was modern style and rather empty. The only decorations were some plants he took care of. There was a large bookcase that he had a pride for. All books from medical, non-fiction and fiction. Romances, Sci-fy, Historical, and political were just some of the genre's he had. Then his kitchen was filled with stainless steel, and granite counter tops. There was an island with a stove top where he would cook up the most delicious meats. No, he wasn't Hannibal, even Monty had standards.
Then finally the two bedrooms, one was his work office. Had his desk, laptop, with a smaller bookshelf with more medical books than fictional. You would think he would use this as his killing room, no he had something entirely different set up for that.
It was his bedroom. He despised sleeping in his bedroom and usually chose the couch in his office to sleep on it, and though it proved to be uncomfortable, he enjoyed using what would have been his bedroom as his killing zone. Sure there was a bed, but was just a mattress. It was usually spotless due to his compulsion to keep things clean. He wasn't OCD, but it was something in his brain that told him he had to clean everything up. Being a surgeon he had to make sure everything was sterilized before he performed his work was probably the reason behind his own killing room being so clean. The room was just plain white with a window that covered the whole right side of the wall, and that was it. Were you expecting a drawer full of knives or torturing devices? He didn't believe in keeping the humans alive for too long. Killing them was the only thing that he needed to do so why not keep it simple? Sure, he enjoyed a bit of exploration of a human body, but being a surgeon he already got to explore humans bodies. So the question was, why did he kill if he wasn't curious? He couldn't say he was angry at humans, they were just simply animals in his head.
The only thing that Monty didn't know about himself was his emotions. He felt happy, he felt sad, and he felt lonely. What made people believe he was a monster or psychopath? When it came to empathy he was able to mimic it so well that maybe he really was feeling empathy. Yet, he could never test that theory because whenever he saw someone that want to kill them was too great. As if their existence just needed to be wiped from this earth for no good reason. Which was why Monty hated what he was, but wouldn't change himself for the better. The idea of watching their eyes drain of life was just too sweet. The number of lives he has saved could be numbered quite easily, but when it came to kill? He probably couldn't remember all of them because there were too many. Those he was unable to save didn't count, those he had tried but their bodies were too weak. Even now, as he stared at his bookshelf in wonder the question still was pinned in his head, Why am I like this?
Then he heard it, shuffling of snow outside. A plea for help. Who could possibly be out there at this time of day? It was getting dark, and snow was coming down hard. It was almost like a blizzard. He wondered if he should just leave them there and let them die on their own. After all he wasn't in the mood to kill, he was exhausted from the walking he had done earlier to get back home. Yet, another cry was heard and he actually grew more annoyed than worried. Whoever was out there probably didn't think about the consequences of their actions. But as he went to enter his office to sleep, something made him stop. He had saved lives performing surgery, yet, he had never saved a life on his own. This could possibly be a way to test why he had the need to kill. After all, it wouldn't matter if he ended up killing the person in a day or two if he got too tired of their presence. So, like any "good" citizen, he pulled his coat back on, his scarf pulled up to his face and he opened the door. He didn't know if he could actually see them out there, but he would sure try.
The person was actually quite a bit away from the house, their screaming was fucking loud if he could hear them from his house. "Hello?" He called out, trying to be loud enough for them to hear over the wind. When he got no response he wondered if they had actually died. Well, that would have been a bummer, he didn't want his test subject to actually be dead. A sigh escaped his lips, as he shuddered from the cold and was about to turn away when just to the left of him was a body. Well, here they were, were they dead? He trudged through thew snow to the body laying in the snow and when he saw their leg he knew the reason behind it all. It was twisted in such a way that probably wasn't normal. They were unconscious by the looks of it, and when he crouched down he felt their face. They were freezing, and probably on death's door out in the cold. He didn't want to carry an unconscious body, it was like carrying a dead body with all that dead weight.
"If any god is out there, give me somesort of strength." He muttered sarcastically, and he grabbed their arm and wrapped the arm around his shoulders and put his arm around their hip and began the climb back to his cottage on the hill.
--
He had no where else to put them though, he had his office where he slept, and then the bedroom that was certainly not ready for any guests or living guests at least. "If you're dead before I can even do a thing, I'm going to be rather upset." He warned to the unconscious body, but decided the living room couch would simply have to do. He laid them out on it and looked down on the snow drenched person. Well, what now? He technically 'saved' them. Did he have to actually make sure they were conscious before he discarded them.
So like any good doctor he began removing their clothes till they were down to their underwear and simply just put the clothes in the washer. Was that what normal people did? He didn't have a living person in his own home before. Then when he had done that task he went back to their body, they looked cold and that leg didn't look good at all. They wouldn't survive out there if he just told them to walk home. But how was he suppose to successfully save someone if he didn't send them home right away? Wouldn't the temptation to kill be too much? If only his self control was just a little better. The tv that was mounted on the wall would probably keep them from being bored right? So he turned it on.
Yet, they were still unconscious, and though he was an intelligent man, he never had to care for someone other than themselves. Perhaps a blanket? He wondered, then check for frost bite? That was the doctor side of him talking, so he went to the closet by the kitchen and found a table cloth. The only blanket he had in this house was the one in his office. The table cloth was white and probably not very warm, but he put it over them. Now they looked like a dead body ready to be buried. Just get the blanket you idiot. But that was his blanket, what would he do for bedding? The table cloth would do for now. The fire place was on so they would at least get a little warmer and the heat in the house was set to 75. Then an idea came to him. Dinner! If they were to wake up they would certainly love food right?
Good thing he had gone to the store because he had a steak and some asparagus he had all ready to be cooked. So like any good doctor and professional chef he got to work. If they were to wake, he hoped they would let Monty know.
