Welcome to Gaia! ::

. Name [x] Lowell
. Gender [x] Male
. Guardian [x] Makokun
. Flavor [x] Blueberry and Pear Pudding
. D.O.B. [x] 10.20.07
. Stage [x] Toddler

. Likes [x] ?????
. Dislikes [x]?????
. Traits [x] Proud, steadfast, firm and understanding.

His clothes were formal and stiff, as if trying to remind him to sit up straight, but he slouched regardless, being in the one place where he didn't have to put up a front. Most people would consider his new lot in life a vast improvement over his old predicament, but he held it in contempt, despising these stiff clothes, the robotic servantry, and the arid mansion that it all poured from. The circumstances of the sudden change from an urban, street-wise lifestyle to that of a wealthy, fiscally responsible property owner were still clouding his mind, and the only place he felt remotely free from it all was in the quaint little bakery on top of the hill on the edge of the city.

The entire Keaton family had once been prosperous, but that time dwelled on the edges of his earliest memories, just before his father died. The family business, which mostly involved real estate and property taxes, had been headed by his father and his uncle, and provided comfortable lifestyles for both branches of the Keatons. Thus, the real tragedy of his father's death to him was not the loss of his father, but his uncle's cold shoulder towards the rest of his family as he completely took over the business for himself. So instead of growing up knowing the fruits of his father's labor, Willy Keaton Jr. watched from the streets as his uncle's mansion grew. That was, until...

Spongy crumbs of the pear and blueberry pudding that he loved so much littered his plate, and he rather enjoyed the untidiness of it. The sweet taste of the berries combined with the somehow adult texture and flavor of the pears, however, was enjoyable and at the same time far more sophisticated than mere crumbs. It was something that he wished to achieve himself; to breathe taste, livelihood, and excitement into this new life of dusty antiques, hallways of dead ancestors hanging on wire, and business suits that seemed to only allow movement enough for shaking hands and signing documents. He knew that there was something behind all of it, that behind all of the cracked plaster faces were people like him, craving perhaps a crisp green-apple tart, or a cruise along the clear back country roads, or anything showing signs of humanity.

The day his uncle died, the tide of events set in motion by his father's death were put in reverse.

“Dear William Timothy Keaton Jr.,” then letter began, “Regarding your late uncle Benjamin Keaton's death, I offer my condolences(as if they were needed), but am glad(required, rather) to inform that your uncle's last will and testament leaves you in inheritance of certain possessions of his which you may claim at...” Will trailed off, not really caring much beyond the grim satisfaction that his greedy uncle was dead, until his mother chimed in.

“What's that?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Benjy died,” he said simply, handing the letter to her.

“Inheritance? Will, you're going to to this meeting...”

“I'd rather not dirty hands with any of his filth.”

“Will! Pride like that can get you killed, you should know that!”

“No, mom, in their world, pride like that will get you demoted, and we're already on the bottom rung...”

“Exactly why you're going to that meeting!” And that was that.

The office that the meeting was held at was the perfect image of the modern wasteland. Inauthentic lives were streaming into and out of the building all day, trying to force themselves through a system that was counter productive to individuality without batting an eye. They all ate, slept, and breathed, but for no greater cause other than merely getting through each day, day by day. Everything went like clockwork.

“Sorry I'm late,” Will muttered as he took his seat, trying not to lose himself in all of the bland, neutral tones of the office.

“Yes, well, this shouldn't take long, at any rate,” replied the grey haired, bespectacled man behind the desk. “Photo ID?”

“Ah, yeah,” Will said, digging through his wallet before tossing his driver's license to the man, who seemed a bit flustered at the gesture. His license was checked, and the meeting continued with a shuffling of papers.

“Well, that checks out. Okay, Mr. Keaton, in accordance with your uncle's will, you are set to inherit...” he flipped through some papers, “ah, yes, his entire estate, all items within, all of his properties, and the complete sum of his fortunes, which, after the donations he made in his will, totals up to...2.7 million dollars.” Will simply sat there for a moment, unblinking, until his system finally went into shock.

“Wh...what? What?! I thought...maybe some old picture of my father, or...or...I don't know, not that! Is this...are you sure?” Any moment, the man behind the desk would rip off a mask, revealing Will's best friend, who would shout “gotchya!,” he was sure of it! But it didn't happen. “What does he mean by giving me all of this? Is this his way of playing catch up? 2.7 million dollars and those years sleeping on the floor underneath a leaky roof just disappear, right? Give me a new house and my dad never died? Who the hell...”

“Well, there is, of course, one stipulation,” the man replied, betraying his distaste for Will only through the pursing of his lips. “It was your uncle's wish that you maintain the family business, and you may claim your inheritance only of you comply with this until all contracts Keaton Real Estate is currently involved in expire, the last of which expires in approximately...let me see...15 years. Up until then, providing that you fulfill all of your executive duties, your uncle's fortune and estate are yours to use. Afterwards, should you fulfill your executive duties for all 15 years, your uncle's fortune and estate shall be yours without stipulation.”

“Well, I guess that explains it,” Will said spitefully. His rage had been quelled while listening to the old man drone on, but now it was slowly building up again. “He just wanted to keep the name “Keaton” at the top of his damned precious company, is that it?”

“I wouldn't know, sir.”

“Of course not. This b*****d leaves us to starve for 17 years, then croaks and leaves me with all of his s**t, who the ******** would know?!” He was now pacing the office, resisting the urge to slam his fists down onto the old man's desk. The emotionless expression the man maintained only made Will feel more tempted to hit something, to shout until he was kicked out of the building, anything to get a reaction. “How the hell am I supposed to run a business I know nothing about, anyways? Please tell me, what part of any of this makes sense?”

“Your uncle's cabinet of advisors will be made available to you. Ultimately, it seems your job will be as easy as signing papers, you are merely filling a position.”

“Yeah, well, I'd really rather not. Thanks for your time, I guess.” He got up to leave, but was halted by one more interjection.

“The offer will stand until the end of your month, should you change your mind. On the 31st, Keaton Real Estate's board of directors is holding a meeting in the office across the hall from here, at noon, precisely. If you aren't present, this offer shall be null and void. Good day, sir.”

Will let the slamming of the door do the talking for him.

Hearing footsteps approaching him, Will looked up and noticed the bakery's owner, Audley, approaching him. He concluded that he was bringing the extra sweets that he ordered – the ones that he liked to stash away in his nice, bulky briefcase and eat at the mansion, when he felt like he was being enveloped by the monotony. To his surprise, however, Audley sat down opposite him with a smile on his face. It reminded him of the warm, gooey treats that the man was so good at baking.

“I hope you are enjoying yourself,” Audley said brightly, before following up with, “I only ask because you seem a bit depressed...”

“Oh, I was just thinking,” Will replied with a half hearted smile. “Your sweets are somehow good brain food,” he half-chuckled.

“Well, I hope those thoughts are nicer than they look, otherwise, my sweets aren't doing their job!”

“Well...no, I suppose they aren't.” Suddenly, Will felt the urge to confess his troubles to this person he only really knew through his cooking. “Errr, my thoughts, that is...”

“But you seem so well off!”

“Heh, only because my mother disowned me, but then again, I wouldn't call that well off at all.” Normally, he wouldn't have been so loose-lipped, but having somebody actually show interest in him was such a refreshing influx of human emotion that he couldn't help but reveal his own feelings. “Of course, nobody was going to hire a guy who's spent his whole life doing nothing but robbing things from their own dumpsters, what else could I have done? She knew it. Nothing but walk into that meeting like an idiot...I'm sorry, I doubt any of this is making sense to you...” but the next 15 minutes progressed with much of the same choppy narration. Will could only later assume that Audley had slipped the extra sweets into his briefcase while he rambled, and, indeed, his briefcase felt heavier than usual when he left. Too heavy for a few extra sweets to account for, even...

A week later, and Will found himself intoxicated by the sweet yet sophisticated tinkling of a music box that had somehow found its way into his briefcase, not that he couldn't guess how it had gotten there. 'It must be a complimentary gift for buying so many sweets,' he thought to himself, not wanting to return his new, tiny source of delight to the bakery. Though it was just a box, it stood out against everything in his room, and when the music played, everything else seemed to present some new, unseen aspect of itself that made his lonely mansion seem a bit more inviting.

Another week found the music stuck on repeat in his head, though it no longer played from the music box. The music box, in fact, seemed to have grown significantly, which was even more exciting. The fact that it could not be opened and occasionally emitted clunking noises only further increased the mystery surrounding the box, causing Will became more than simply fond of it. While it might seem odd to become protective of a box, it was the only thing he owned that he deemed worthy of protecting. Should his money catch fire and burn down his mansion, he would've been content as long as he managed to save his box.

Then, one night, he returned to his room to find something very peculiar.

“What happened?! Nobody could've gotten in here!” he said, rushing over to his box to find it open and depressingly empty. Taking a second look around, however, he noticed something only his box could've distracted him from.

“The hell?!” Seconds later he was scrambling up a staircase that had appeared where a bookshelf normally was, subconsciously following the lingering scent of pears and blueberries. Hidden passageways in this old, dreary mansion? He would have never guessed! Every other room, up until now, had failed to present anything other than the image of his dead uncle's barren life. But here was something new!

And there...was a child.

“A...child?”

Yes, a child, sitting on the roof, for that was where the staircase had lead him. Stepping out onto the roof, he was given a wonderful view of the starry sky and the town below, and for a moment, the culture shock and identity crisis he has been suffering through ever since he had stepped into that meeting dissolved into the night.

“What are you doing up here, little guy?” he asked, stepping forward and picking the boy up. He already knew that the child had come from the box that he had left a floor below, there was no doubt. His matching clothes were proof enough, and besides that, Will seemed to know it instinctively. “You could cause me a lot of trouble if you keep these antics up,” he chuckled. The child popped a button off of Will's coat and stuck it straight in his mouth in response.

“It's a deal, then?” Will smirked, feeling for the first time that it actually was possible to find the sweet side of his new life, to feel alive underneath his stiff clothes.