full  name:  myles hightower.  nicknames: mylo, my. date  of  birth:  twenty-eighth day of the fourth moon.  age:  thirty.   gender:  cis  man.  pronouns:  he  /  him.  orientation:  bisexual  &  biromantic.  titles: lord of house hightower. marital status: unwed. dominant hand: left. hair:  warm, golden-dirty blond, roughly shoulder length and often unkempt.  height:  6  feet 2 inches / 188 cm.  build:  lithe.  languages spoken: the common tongue. religion:  nominally, the faith of the seven.  scars: the most prominent is a pale, jagged scar across his left cheek from cheekbone to jaw. countless others are scattered across the rest of his body, all of varying causes.

( cws ; depression, alcoholism, grief )

not the heir, not the spare, and not one of two chosen children, myles has always occupied an unusual place within his family. though not once did he rally against it. instead, he embraced the anonymity it offered.

he was a dutiful student with a more brilliant mind than he'd ever let on, but he'd rather spend his time using oldtown as his personal playground of exploration. young myles would often disappear before or immediately after breaking the fast and reappear again rosy-cheeked and likely bruised but happy as larry before nightfall. usually, the return was not of his own volition, but at the hands of one poor soul or another tasked with dragging him back. a competent enough swordsman in his own right, but a somewhat... unwilling one. he rallied very firmly against the possibility of becoming a knight -- that is the pursuit of someone noble and capable, someone better than him.

the disappearing act is a habit that remains to this day ; he will insist he prefers his own company and it's simply an exercise in free will. for someone so seemingly overtly social ( myles will talk to anyone about anything for as long as they'll tolerate it ) he has a significant tendency for withdrawal and spending time alone. he will deflect to the former excuse, but it's a blatant lie.

since around his twelfth... perhaps thirteenth nameday... all the years blur together... myles has experienced a consistent melancholy. consistent in its ever-presence, but not in its potency. the days he cannot so much as lift his head from his pillow are, naturally, his least favourite. the rest? well, he has a very well-worn mask and practiced part to play. and when all else fails, there are a number of unhealthy coping mechanisms at his fingertips and he partakes keenly.

some time in his twenties a disappearance and serious incident of drinking coincided and resulted in the cheek scar he sports today. he has spun many a tale in his time when asked about it, and gave none at all when he first materialised with the fresh injury. he was aboard a ship casting off and caught in the face by a snapped mooring line. he thinks the story is quite funny, but not as funny as coming up with others.

holds absolutely no resentment, ill will, or anything of that nature towards his siblings. he loves them dearly. watches over them often, always keeping an eye and is a more than willing shoulder to cry on, receiver of a long and winding rant, or whatever they might need. would never dream of asking the same of them.

his relationship with their mother is less clear cut. he is quite sure she loves him... probably... and he certainly loves her, but he has absolutely no interest whatsoever in the political machinations or workings of the world generally. certainly, he knows more than he suggests, but he'd rather sit back and watch everybody else scrabble pointlessly in search of whatever, with several bottles of arbor gold for company than partake. he understands and sympathises perfectly well with her grief, his own is just as potent, though he's used to bone-aching sadness, but worries where her actions might leave those he loves.

wanted connections.