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[senmontgomery]

The smell of smoke lingered on his orange jumpsuit as Henry walked back through the balcony doors and out of the cool evening air. He turned towards the crowd and an unexpected face appeared in front of him, so suddenly that he felt his heart spin in his chest. His lips parted on an exhale, so slight that it was barely noticeable. “God, you startled me. It’s good for you that I don’t carry a gun anymore,” he said, and laughed, though not for lack of trying. A beat, and he looked the other person up and down. “You look downright dreadful, don’t you? Now, don’t take that the wrong way,” Henry said, his tone light, a smile playing over his lips as he lifted a hand between the two of them in a gesture of mock conciliation. "Even though it’s Halloween, I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

[senmontgomery]

HENRY MONTGOMERY : CONVICT

Does it count as a costume if you come as you are? Henry hates Halloween, but he’s got a sense of humor. It’s been years since he was released, and as far as he’s concerned, he’s paid his debt to society, but he’s not above reminding people of his imprisonment for the sole purpose of making them uncomfortable. It’s easy to think little of a man in an orange jumpsuit behind bars, and there’s nothing Henry Montgomery loves more than being underestimated.

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Henry lingered by the pool table for just a moment on his way out, long enough to watch a ball tumble into one of the table’s pockets. The only reason he had even set foot in the place was to meet with a congressional staffer who had picked the dingy establishment. Halfway through the meeting he’d wanted to grab a pool cue off one of the racks and whack the blathering idiot over the head with it, but Henry’s mother had taught him good Southern manners, so he refrained. He was of course understandably ready to leave the grimy little shack, practically turning on his heel, when Maple spoke to him. Henry glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see another person standing there. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

“Here’s my problem. You’re mistaking me for someone who gives a shit,” he said, hands in the pockets of his trousers. “But I do feel obligated to tell you not to move to Aruba. Talk to me when you’re thinking Anguilla or St. Kitts & Nevis.” You know, the really nice islands. “And trust me, darlin’, there are easier ways to avoid paying taxes.”

“Here’s my problem,” said Freddie, planting the butt of her pool stick against the grimy floor. She was just warming up to her theme. “I just dumped my fiancé, my rent is due next Monday, and the girl at the coffee shop thought my name was ‘Maple’. No lie. It said ‘Maple’ right there on the cup. The universe is clearly giving me a sign, right? It’s saying, Freddie, this is your chance. Dye your hair, move to Aruba and change your name to Maple Reyes. You’ll never have to pay a dime in taxes again.”

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Henry took a drag from his cigarette and blew it off in the other direction, a smile-- fake-- curving across his lips. “Come on, Natalie, you know I’d never be angry with you. Nothing you write about me could ever be worse than what’s already out there,” he said, and laughed. Henry’s reputation was so tarnished that his character was impervious to any further attempts at assassination. It was freeing. “Silly me, here I was thinkin’ I could give you some leads, but I’ll just fuck right off instead,” he said, dropping the cigarette and grinding it into the pavement beneath his shoe.

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you,” Natalie huffs, blowing a stray hair out of her line of sight. “I write about everyone. Try not to take it personal, okay? The bigger scene you make, the more it looks like we were right. Now fuck off, or my next article will be about how you’re a crazy fucking stalker.”

[senmontgomery]

@goldendalton

There was nothing that Henry loved more than an afternoon in the woods, son by his side, rifle in his hand. The gun wasn’t in his possession, of course-- that would be a violation of the law. It was Dalton’s gun, if anyone asked, and though Henry had he’d asked him to bring it along, it was most certainly not his. 

The morning air was cool on the breath of a summer that had finally exhaled. He wore a well-fitted olive hunting jacket, rifle slung over his shoulder. Father and son walked together beneath the trees, laughing at the absurdity of the Asian American Dinner. “Secret service couldn’t have done a worse job if they tried. Though it doesn’t surprise me that a knife-wielding lunatic burst in to try and kill Wright, of course.” Henry glanced over at his son, put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, and said, “I saw you got a chance to talk with Juliette.”

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— How was your character in their youth? Relationships, mannerisms, hobbies, etc? Is there a difference in comparison to who they are now?

Henry was vastly different when he was a boy. He went to church and listened to his momma and his daddy, and there was nothing he loved more than going hunting on a Saturday afternoon. ( His love for hunting and guns has not wavered, though he sadly cannot own any firearms post felony conviction. ) He was all idealistic and starry-eyed, and entered politics out of a genuine interest in making the country a better place. What corrupted him was 1) being in the Senate and 2) becoming filthy rich. I would say that he actually had sterling morals in his youth -- he was a prosecutor for the state of Georgia and loved his first wife with his entire being. He’s an ENTIRELY different person now. His love of money & power eclipsed everything else and it all went downhill from there. Henry’s just a relic of who he used to be. A lapse of morality, principles, values....is he beyond redemption? I personally think he is, and it’s a bit tragic, honestly.

— What aspects of your character’s chosen party applies to their beliefs? What do they don’t agree with? (If Independent, why are they independent?)

lmaoooooo well he’s independent mostly because he hates everybody. He parted ways with the Republican party ideologically a long time ago and has very few convictions that still matter to him. Henry can’t really stand the Democrats either, and decided since he’s clearly not welcome in the Republican party anymore that everyone can just go fuck themselves. 

— What is your character’s Fatal Flaw? x

Hooo boy. Probably his lust for power. He used the Senate as his own personal playground to further his own interests, engaging in criminal activities in order to make others bend to his will. He sought the position of Whip so he’d have legitimate power over his fellow Senators. And even after going to prison, he can’t shake this thirst for power, bringing him right back to D.C. where he devolved from human to whatever the hell he is now, all for power. 

— In Fight or Flight situation, what do they do?

Fight, and fight dirty. He’s the type to bring a gun to a knife fight and draw it when you’re not looking.

— How do you imagine (or how do they imagine themselves), in the far away future? What kind of end of life would they see as fitting and worthy?

He’s 63 so “end of his life” isn’t that far off. He knows he’s entering his third and final act. I personally want to see him find redemption. Come to terms with who he’s become and what a mess he’s made of his life, fixing his relationship with Dalton for the better, but I’m not sure that’s what would happen, realistically. What’s most important to him is probably getting revenge. And if he can ruin some of the people who fucked him over, that’s going to make him really, really pleased. But after that, I’d think the very end of his life would be him eating a lot of steak, drinking scotch, smoking a lot, and dying from a heart attack while fucking a prostitute on his 70 ft yacht. ( I. hate. him. )

[senmontgomery]

Henry wandered out into the garden for a smoke, scowling up at those damned Christmas lights strung from the branches above him. It was September, for God’s sake. Could Wright’s people not even get a few simple decorations right? Just as he tossed the cigarette butt onto the ground, digging it into the earth with the ball of his foot, he heard half a dozen doors along the edge of the house slam shut. Taking a few steps back towards the house, Henry squinted through the descending darkness at the people around him. They all looked as perplexed as he felt. After a moment, he noticed a secret service agent sprinting through the garden as if his damned life depended on it.

“I reckon this is either an al-Qaeda attack or a disaster preparedness drill, and I’m not sure which one is gonna piss me off more,” he said, placing another cigarette between his lips and lighting it. He looked at the person standing next to him as he blew the smoke off in the opposite direction.

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goldendalton:

henry.

Dalton simply shrugged at his father’s insinuation he’d been after more money. It’d just been an attempt at conversation, something he was never very good at when Henry was around. Thankfully, Henry spoke enough for the both of them, and was typically happy so long as Dalton nodded along and agreed with whatever his latest complaint was. “Next thing you know they’re going to start insinuating Asian Americans ‘suffered’ during their relocation in WW2–Oh wait, they already do!” He shook his head with a smug grin, always amused by how easily the liberals used the word ‘suffering’. “As if they had to do anything more than stay out of the way, while our soldiers went overseas and did the real suffering.” He took a deep sip of his drink, letting an ice cube fall into his mouth so he could chew on it ( a habit that his father abhorred ).

At that, Henry pressed his lips together, shooting his son a wordless look. He wouldn’t touch the comments about Japanese internment with a ten foot pole, and wondered momentarily what Dalton’s Ivy League education had gotten him. Instead, he sipped his scotch, clenching his jaw when he heard the ice crunch in his son’s mouth. “Sounds like you’re chewin’ on a bag of marbles, Dalton. You’re going to ruin those orthodontia perfected teeth.” 

His eyes wandered over the crowd around them. When they settled on one face in particular, Henry put a hand on his son’s shoulder and leaned towards him, asking, “See that whale?” With the glass of scotch in his hand, Henry gestured at the senior senator from Maine standing on the opposite side of the room. “I have video of him with a prostitute in Paris. Should be useful to you.”

[senmontgomery]

Henry stood at the edge of the large room, glancing around at other guests in attendance. He’d already received more than a dozen dirty looks, mostly from the overly nipped-and-tucked senators’ wives who had once adored him. It was deliciously satisfying to know that they were so scandalized to have a felon in attendance in part because he’d fucked a few of them in his old office back in the Senate. In response he simply flashed his ‘fuck you’ pearly whites at each and every person who so much as glanced in his direction. Henry had perfected the art of the passive aggressive smile years ago.

After making eye contact with someone standing several feet away, Henry plastered that same smile on his face and walked in their direction. Like a shark to blood. “How nice to see you again. It’s been too long.” Henry took a sip of his drink as he offered his other hand for the individual to shake. They both knew it was because he’d just spent two years in the federal penitentiary, but that tended to be a conversation killer. “Quite the set-up here, don’t you think?” A waste of taxpayer money, he almost said. 

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Hands in his pockets, he glanced at his son when he returned with the scotch he’d requested. “Please-- ” he said, amused even at the suggestion of such a wager. “I’d certainly lose. Especially when there’s nothing liberals like more than whining. If you’re looking for a little extra spending money, all you have to do is ask,” he said, taking a sip of his scotch, eyeing the guests mingling around them. Rather than blaming society for his problems, he'd always been more of a pick-yourself-up-by-your-own-galoshes kind of fellow. “I haven’t got a clue why we need to dedicate an entire night to the Asians. I reckon everyone needs a participation trophy to feel like they’ve done something nowadays,” he said, a hint of his carefully hidden Southern drawl shining through as he spoke to his son.

@senmontgomery

Was it completely lame to be talking to your father at a party? Well, to Dalton’s credit it wasn’t exactly a party, and Henry wasn’t exactly a father ( more like a dog owner, grooming his champion pure blood to take home the gold ). At any rate, Dalton walked to his father’s side and offered him one of the glasses of scotch he carried. “Christ, they really do invite just anyone to these things now, don’t they?” He still didn’t understand the need for the event in the first place, when there were much more worthy things to celebrate–the boys overseas, the boys in blue, and uh…. any other group that accidentally represented institutional isms ( racism, classisim, sexism– you name it ).

“Hundred bucks says one of our esteemed guests are going to end up offended before the end of the hour.”

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Kyle MacLachlan for Esquire (2017) 

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