Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Jun 20, 2013 18:34:33 GMT -6
Your Character’s Name: Martzel Jimenez
Your Character’s Age: 26
Your Character’s Gender: Male
Occupation: Museum Curator (The Louvre)
Personality:
Martzel has always loved puzzles, mysteries, and word-games. Anything that makes him think is regarded as a “challenge”. He has a keen mind and loves to put it to good use. But mistake him for a dry academic and you’ll either be bitterly disappointed or pleasantly surprised. Martzel is always up for a good laugh or an adventure. He’s a relatively restless young man and doesn’t particularly like holding still for too long. Martzel comes from a single-parent household and for many years, saw his mother struggle to put him through school and make his life easier. As such, there are few things he values more than hard-work and strong, family ties.
History:
Martzel was born in Malaga, Spain to Izar Jimenez. His mother was Basque and until Martzel’s conception, she’d lived and studied dentistry in Pamplona. A summer fling with a dock worker changed all that. Izar used to say she’d fallen in love with the city just as much as she had the man – maybe even more – and decided to raise Martzel there. She took a job as a dental hygienist and reared her son alone. She was a very strong, very practical woman with a romantic streak about a mile wide. Even at her most tired, Izar always came home at night with a smile on her face and a story to tell Martzel – usually fantastic and imaginative.
It was a lonely childhood, but not a bad one. Martzel grew up without siblings and without a father. As such, he was forced to turn outside of his family for companionship when he got older and he befriended almost everyone he met. He was a polite young man and eager to learn anything and everything he could, secretly hoping to unravel the mystery of who his father was. Malaga was a big city, though, and Martzel seemed thwarted at every step. The butcher was not his father, even though he was sweet on Izar and would have married her in a heartbeat, if he wasn’t twice her age. His math teacher was not his father, even though he really liked Martzel and taught him how to do fractions. The dentist at Izar’s office was also not Martzel’s father, since his boyfriend would likely have objected. Izar never let Martzel go down to the docks alone, for fear he would ask too many questions.
He eventually gave up the search for his father and refocused his energies on other things. School, friends, sports, art. When he gave up the search for his father, Martzel got his first answer. The year Martzel turned twelve, his mother took him down to the pier where she’d fallen in love. It was nothing new; they’d been a hundred thousand times. But this time, a man was waiting for them. Carlos Ortiz was, as his mother had said, a dock worker. He had Martzel’s nose and eyes and was a quiet man and he seemed somehow sad. But when Carlos looked at Martzel, his eyes lit up and a strangled smile sprang to his lips.
From then on, Martzel was allowed to go to the docks. He eventually got a job working there when he was fifteen and he became a great fisherman and sailor. It was fun and it satisfied some of Martzel’s need for adventure, but becoming a fisherman was not the end-goal. Martzel wanted to go to college and travel. When he was seventeen, he’d saved up enough to do exactly that. Martzel majored in history and minored in art at the University of Malaga. From there, he went on to work as an art dealer and later as a technician in the Museo Picasso Malaga.
Martzel loved his job at the Picasso Museum, but Malaga bored him. He’d never been outside the city, except a few holiday trips with his mother to visit family in Pamplona. He didn’t want to go there either, since his mother’s family never really liked him much – the b*stard child of some nobody Spaniard. The adventures offered there and in Malaga were few and just when Martzel got the opportunity to pursue a curator position in Cadiz, Carlos got sick. Lung cancer.
Everyone thought he was dying. The doctors, Carlos’ in-laws, and his nieces and nephews. Even Martzel and Izar were convinced that Carlos was going to die. Martzel spent his nights sitting at his father’s bedside. One night, a woman came into Carlos’ hospital room. She was a little older than Martzel and she seemed just as surprised to see him as he was to see her. After a few minutes, however, it was clear that he wasn’t who the woman thought he was. She excused herself and Martzel chased her down the hall. Only when he had her cornered, did she tell him something odd: “I thought you were his son” before she wrenched herself from his grasp and disappeared in an elevator.
When Martzel was able to ask his father about his brother, Carlos told him everything as if it were a deathbed confession. Carlos had been married at the time he met Izar, with a young son at home. He wasn’t proud of the fact that he’d cheated on his wife – a woman named Sancha – but he was thankful that Izar had had a boy. His legitimate son’s name was Santiago and he’d gotten involved with some bad people. How bad, Carlos couldn’t say. All that he knew was that when Santiago was sixteen – after his mother died – things between the two of them were strained. Like Martzel, Santiago had worked on the docks – actually alongside him for a few years – but one day he’d disappeared and never returned to work. Carlos presumed him dead, until Carmen – Carlos’ niece and the woman from the night previous – told him otherwise three years ago. Santiago lived in Paris, but what he was doing was anyone’s guess. Carlos told Martzel that if he died, to reach out to Santiago.
Carlos’ cancer went into remission and he got better. Martzel continued to work at the Picasso Museum, consumed by this new mystery. Carlos told him not to go looking for trouble and especially not to go looking for his brother. But when a curator position opened up at the Louvre, Martzel couldn’t help but apply. It seemed like fate.
Your Character’s Age: 26
Your Character’s Gender: Male
Occupation: Museum Curator (The Louvre)
Personality:
Martzel has always loved puzzles, mysteries, and word-games. Anything that makes him think is regarded as a “challenge”. He has a keen mind and loves to put it to good use. But mistake him for a dry academic and you’ll either be bitterly disappointed or pleasantly surprised. Martzel is always up for a good laugh or an adventure. He’s a relatively restless young man and doesn’t particularly like holding still for too long. Martzel comes from a single-parent household and for many years, saw his mother struggle to put him through school and make his life easier. As such, there are few things he values more than hard-work and strong, family ties.
History:
Martzel was born in Malaga, Spain to Izar Jimenez. His mother was Basque and until Martzel’s conception, she’d lived and studied dentistry in Pamplona. A summer fling with a dock worker changed all that. Izar used to say she’d fallen in love with the city just as much as she had the man – maybe even more – and decided to raise Martzel there. She took a job as a dental hygienist and reared her son alone. She was a very strong, very practical woman with a romantic streak about a mile wide. Even at her most tired, Izar always came home at night with a smile on her face and a story to tell Martzel – usually fantastic and imaginative.
It was a lonely childhood, but not a bad one. Martzel grew up without siblings and without a father. As such, he was forced to turn outside of his family for companionship when he got older and he befriended almost everyone he met. He was a polite young man and eager to learn anything and everything he could, secretly hoping to unravel the mystery of who his father was. Malaga was a big city, though, and Martzel seemed thwarted at every step. The butcher was not his father, even though he was sweet on Izar and would have married her in a heartbeat, if he wasn’t twice her age. His math teacher was not his father, even though he really liked Martzel and taught him how to do fractions. The dentist at Izar’s office was also not Martzel’s father, since his boyfriend would likely have objected. Izar never let Martzel go down to the docks alone, for fear he would ask too many questions.
He eventually gave up the search for his father and refocused his energies on other things. School, friends, sports, art. When he gave up the search for his father, Martzel got his first answer. The year Martzel turned twelve, his mother took him down to the pier where she’d fallen in love. It was nothing new; they’d been a hundred thousand times. But this time, a man was waiting for them. Carlos Ortiz was, as his mother had said, a dock worker. He had Martzel’s nose and eyes and was a quiet man and he seemed somehow sad. But when Carlos looked at Martzel, his eyes lit up and a strangled smile sprang to his lips.
From then on, Martzel was allowed to go to the docks. He eventually got a job working there when he was fifteen and he became a great fisherman and sailor. It was fun and it satisfied some of Martzel’s need for adventure, but becoming a fisherman was not the end-goal. Martzel wanted to go to college and travel. When he was seventeen, he’d saved up enough to do exactly that. Martzel majored in history and minored in art at the University of Malaga. From there, he went on to work as an art dealer and later as a technician in the Museo Picasso Malaga.
Martzel loved his job at the Picasso Museum, but Malaga bored him. He’d never been outside the city, except a few holiday trips with his mother to visit family in Pamplona. He didn’t want to go there either, since his mother’s family never really liked him much – the b*stard child of some nobody Spaniard. The adventures offered there and in Malaga were few and just when Martzel got the opportunity to pursue a curator position in Cadiz, Carlos got sick. Lung cancer.
Everyone thought he was dying. The doctors, Carlos’ in-laws, and his nieces and nephews. Even Martzel and Izar were convinced that Carlos was going to die. Martzel spent his nights sitting at his father’s bedside. One night, a woman came into Carlos’ hospital room. She was a little older than Martzel and she seemed just as surprised to see him as he was to see her. After a few minutes, however, it was clear that he wasn’t who the woman thought he was. She excused herself and Martzel chased her down the hall. Only when he had her cornered, did she tell him something odd: “I thought you were his son” before she wrenched herself from his grasp and disappeared in an elevator.
When Martzel was able to ask his father about his brother, Carlos told him everything as if it were a deathbed confession. Carlos had been married at the time he met Izar, with a young son at home. He wasn’t proud of the fact that he’d cheated on his wife – a woman named Sancha – but he was thankful that Izar had had a boy. His legitimate son’s name was Santiago and he’d gotten involved with some bad people. How bad, Carlos couldn’t say. All that he knew was that when Santiago was sixteen – after his mother died – things between the two of them were strained. Like Martzel, Santiago had worked on the docks – actually alongside him for a few years – but one day he’d disappeared and never returned to work. Carlos presumed him dead, until Carmen – Carlos’ niece and the woman from the night previous – told him otherwise three years ago. Santiago lived in Paris, but what he was doing was anyone’s guess. Carlos told Martzel that if he died, to reach out to Santiago.
Carlos’ cancer went into remission and he got better. Martzel continued to work at the Picasso Museum, consumed by this new mystery. Carlos told him not to go looking for trouble and especially not to go looking for his brother. But when a curator position opened up at the Louvre, Martzel couldn’t help but apply. It seemed like fate.
