Realistic or Modern Down In Flames

[Cheerio]

Introduction to Main Characters:

Theme Songs: Forget Where We Were || Dirty
Name: Harrison J. Fox
Age: 32
Occupation: New York Chief Department Treasurer (DSBS)
Occupation on Island: Architect and Gatherer
Height: 5'11
Weight: 166 lbs.
Sexuality: Heterosexual
MBTI: EXTP
Disposition: Overly-Confident, Arrogant, Concerned, Absorbent​

Harrison James Fox is an alpha-male, a natural leader that oftentimes steps on people's toes to revile. Although he hurts people along the way of his life journey (especially his sensitive son, Wyatt), he is aware of his shortcomings and deep down, he wants to be a better man. His confident and arrogant demeanor is oftentimes a mask for the pain and fear buried deep within that has been drowned with years of unreleased tears and alcohol from hurts in his past. Women generally fall in love him for his outward display of confidence, gentlemanly appearance, and romantic game, swooping the door to their hearts in return. He currently does not believe that life is in favor of him; more or less his choices which he adamantly refuses to change.
Harrison knows what he wants in life and he goes for it. Nothing can stop him when he has his mind set on his desires. He is the ruler of his own kingdom. He is easily prone to depression after his recent divorce two years ago that he avoids the slightest mention of if brought up. He is generally carefree and is not at all afraid of dying for what he believes in. Now that he is on this island, will he have a change of perspective away from himself?​

Likes:

Architecture

Grunge Humor

Alcohol

Women

Meat/Beef/Fish

Sarcasm

Gambling

Collecting Items

70's/80's Rock, Pop

Comedy, Media+Television

Monkeys

Sunlight

Tobacco

Constructing Things

Dislikes:

Not Having Cigarettes

Insecurity in Males

Crazy Women

Fruit

Hidden Motives

Blaring Heat (Lack of A/C)

Reverse Psychology

Being Unproductive

Opening Up

Sharks

Not being at home

Not being in control​

Character Quote: "It doesn't matter how much we irritate each-other on this island and how many problems we have, we're going to find a way out, even if it means conquering death itself."

Equipment:
(Note: All other belongings have burned and sunk in the ocean upon crash)
Navy and Tan Field Canva NY Messenger bag
1 iPhone 5 with sim card (Nonfunctional from water impact)
1 Set of clothes with undergarments
1 Brown Leather Wallet with 7 credit cards and $312 Cash
5 Keys on a metal ring
2.5 Packs of cigarettes with lighter (1.5 ml lighter fluid)
1 Folded airline ticket (in pocket) with receipt
3 Quarters, 1 Penny
1 Fossil Grant Chronograph Wristwatch
1 Faux Leather Belt

Extended Personality:

Positive Traits: Observant || Confidential || Great Sense of Humor || Innovative || Mathematical

Quirks: Collects trash items (On island) || Does not bathe regularly (On island) || Spits Frequently || Quirky when bored
Negative Traits: Fear of Affection || Easily Angered || No Cooking Skill || Pretends to know what he's doing (Lies) || Will Not Admit Wrongs

Social: Harrison loves to socializes with all sorts of people and feels a need to have to be the center of attention to feel valued. He can easily turn into quite the party animal when the situation arises. Although he will not admit this, he secretly wishes he could be more compassionate and sensitive, like his son.

Family: Harrison grew up as the oldest of 2 brothers. His father was an abusive alcoholic while his mother was emotionally wrecked throughout his entire childhood. Harrison frequently fended for himself and deeply cared for his younger brothers no matter how much they fought. Harrison's brothers are the only family members whom Harrison continues to make contact with besides his son.

Philosophy and Goals: Harrison works hard to be at the top of the chain to provide for himself and his son to live, "the good life." Although Harrison has been through hell for most of his life (that he has a hard time being open with others), he enjoys teaching others the trick of the trade to eventually avoid heartache and pain that life can bring.

Religion: Non-Religious default. Atheist until proven otherwise. He has a tendency to turn agnostic when life gets intense.

Perspective: Realist by all means of the definition. The glass contains half the required amount for it to over-flow.

Physique: Very active and enjoys exercising.

Relationship: Single; He's flirted with almost every woman he's come in contact with. Including their mothers!

Temper: Harrison becomes very sharp-tounged, and pretty easily when things don't go as expected or when he believes that others are trying to control him. He can become hot and uncontrollable if he does not have his drug of choice to calm him.

Health: Harrison has liver problems unbeknownst to him due to excessive drinking. Harrison coughs more than usual due to this nicotine addiction. His mental state is not where it should be without his nicotine and alcohol which may make him very unpredictable and moody. He experiences frequent stomach pain and ocular migraines from prolonged nicotine withdrawl effects. Sometimes he just doesn't want to put up with his health and lack of hope... But he lives and loves his son, even though he doesn't show it, and has to take protect and care for him (and others) regardless of how bad he feels most times.

FC/PB: Ethan Hawke

TC: ll Dialogue:​

 

[Cheerio]

“Welcome to New York Kennedy International Airport. Flight 665 to Charles de Gaulle, France will be departing within fifteen minutes. Please have your boarding pass and luggage ready at your assigned gate,” a gentle, but authoritative female voice said soothingly over the intercom.

Wyatt rested his head on the black metal seat next to his father as he sat hugging his viridian Paul Frank backpack between his knees and arms.
For half an hour he observed the planes rise and fall on takeoff and landing in the distant runway outside the large skylight window behind him. He watched them speed down the runway and drive into their assigned parkways. He wondered how something so large, so forceful, so sturdy, could be controlled by two tiny people inside of it.
The aroma of french fries and hamburgers being grilled through the airport and distracted him from the white agile torpedos hovering in the sky. It was supper time and he still hadn’t eaten anything in the past 7 hours.

“Dad, do they have Five Guys in Cannes?”
Harrison looked up at the charging station directly across from him with an annoyed glare. He noticed the digital clock that displayed 5:34 PM in bright red numbers.
“I don’t know, quit asking me questions. We’ll see when we get there,” Harrison snarled at him, “...and get your feet off the damn chair,” lashing his hand under Wyatt’s legs to leave them dangling from the floor like jelly. Harrison’s full attention reverted back to the smartphone glued to his hand like an extra appendage. Wyatt pursed his lips and crossed his arms, directing his attention back at the runway outside. The sun was high but was beginning to set. It was unusual to see the sun so bright and the sky so gray at the same time.

Wyatt grew bored and slowly began to lose himself in the humming of the loud A/C unit in the airport, the smell of fast food, the distinguishable aroma from Cinnabon dough whifting through the air as people walked by, the female voice in the distance echoing over the intercom, the sounds of footsteps on the freshly waxed floors and people chattering around him… Harrison’s smartphone screen caught Wyatt’s eye as it reflected the light from a plane flying past the sun behind them.

His father was always on his phone and Wyatt hated it. Business meetings this, freelancing this, Sabrina, that. His fist autonomously clenched itself in frustration at the very thought of it. The only fun aspect of his dad’s new busy life were the cool traveling adventures. He would get to miss school for a week or two and join him on his international business trips to various locations, mostly in Europe.

Riiiiiiing… Riiiiiiiing… His dad’s thumb swiped the screen in an upward motion.
“Hello?..” Harrison said in a confident tone. “Oh hey, Sabrina!”
Harrison perked up from his seat and walked around. Wyatt surveyed his every movement, wincing at the word, “Sabrina.”
Sometimes he wished he could just burn the little electronic device that his father devoted much of his life to, or sell it on eBay in exchange for a Hatchimals penguin. He’d already begged his dad for a Hatchimal, only in exchange for, “Probably the creepiest thing since the Furby.’’ Wyatt had no idea what a Furby was, but based on a quick Google search, it seemed pretty cool. His dad also complained about not having enough money for pets or toys, even though Wyatt was fully aware of his spending habits on drinks, gambling and mysterious clubs he attended religiously every Friday and Sunday.

He noticed his father laughing and smiling on the phone as he walked around the gate.

Wyatt began to pull a shelved away mental image of his mom. The smell of her wispy dark blond hair, the smell of rain and apricots. He wished his mother were there with him, recalling how she would let him buy any toy at any store in a heartbeat, buy him junk food when he was hungry, and squeeze him silly while kissing his forehead, leaving bright orange lipstick prints on his temples. The memories of his mother were a warm fire that he often rekindled in order to keep warm from his father’s cold antics.
His dad wasn’t always this way.

Daydreams of his backyard in Williamsburg, being with his parents and his Bernese toy poodle, Bentley at their small 2-bedroom house were the fondest. He held to the sweet memories of catching fireflies in mason jars and camping out in his makeshift wooden treehouse that his dad built for him when he was 6. His mother would grill a feast of hamburgers, hot dogs, chicken, brats, baked potatoes, chips, ice cream, strawberries, Cokes and Bon Iver playing through the radio from her iPod (and, Harrison had to have his beer), all for the 3 of them. Wyatt didn't eat the chicken or brats. Sometimes his cousins would spend the summer nights with them at their house.

He sweetly recalled the memories of hanging out with his 3 best friends when they often headed to the secret beach in Williamsburg during the summer, walking past the outhouses and taking a path through the woods - a 1/7 or 1/3 mile walk. It was a relatively small beach--they wouldn’t swim much, but they would climb the piles of rocks sticking out of the water, hunt for bugs and sea creatures, play games and hang out until dusk telling crazy stories about sea monsters and outer space.

Life is so much more different now that he and his dad already moved 4 times since his mother died. Now it’s just him who survives with TV in a corporate apartment, and a dad won’t let him go to the fancy pool or spa in the workout room on the main floor of the complex.

Minutes had passed and Harrison walked back over to the seat while switching off his phone.

“Time to line up bud.”
Harrison bent over to pick up his brown leather bag and overly stuffed worn-out backpack, tossing it over the leather jacket that hung on his right shoulder. He always carried these two bags everywhere when traveling. Wyatt jumped up from his seat and gathered his soda bottle and favorite monkey backpack as the woman delivered instructions over the intercom above them.

“No drinks in the plane. You have to get rid of that, you know better.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes away from his dad and unscrewed the orange Sunkist bottle cap and downed the remaining half of the soda. He walked quickly over to the counter at the gate to drop the empty bottle in the trash and noticed the Airport docent with brown hair and deep black eyes that were a bit concerning and hypnotizing. He couldn’t help but stare at this woman slowly swiping a tablet with a concerned, unsettled expression painted on her face. She appeared to be about his dad’s age, but the bags under her eyes were more like worn duffels, making her appear way older in addition with the wrinkles painted on her face, probably from wearing the expression for years. Wyatt began to empathize and figure out why the woman looked so gloomy until she noticed the kid standing beside her, staring, cutting him with her ghostly sad eyes, to which he jumped back and returned to the line of people. He stood next to his dad and hesitantly studied her from a distance.

After a few seconds, the ghostly lady pressed a button on the counter and spoke into the microphone in front of her. She said something about boarding passes, gates, and robotically spewed a handful of short instructions too long to remember for a quixotic boy to remember.

Several minutes passed by of people standing in line like zombies. The lady over the intercom called out for some guy named “Leon Roberts,” to hurry to the gate.

The line began to move shortly after in a slow fashion as the ghostly lady slowly scanned the paper slips in everyone’s hands. They followed after the ghostly lady as if they were being possessed, entering into a strange white tunnel that ate them like they were being disgested by a huge robot.

He took one last glance at her before entering the white tunnel behind his dad, noticing her blue nametag that read, “Dolores.” He entered the white tunnel behind his dad and followed the line of people in front of him onto the torpedo.