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Contrary to popular belief, never in Naven’s life did he want to be in the spotlight.
If he had his way, he would have settled well in academia, teaching wherever his career took him to. But life had other plans for him. Rather than that , he found himself in an office fit for the CEO he was, in a skyscraper that towered over the rest of Sweet Jazz City. Yay for him . It’s not like the wealth gave him any free time, either; he was often the last of the executive staff out of the building at night, to the point where he had a spare bedroll in storage if he had to stay overnight.
But, well, that’s what he got when he was in the position he was in. Endless paperwork and stress. He supposed that it wasn’t too far off from the kind of workload he’d have received as a researcher, but researchers don’t have to sit in board meetings. Professors didn’t have to juggle an entire company and deal with all that came with it.
At least he has the position of communications teacher for the girls. He’s still finding his way in regards to how to structure that—Molly, Phoenica, and Trixie were all such different people, and life certainly made things chaotic—but that was enough for him. He just wished for more, that was all. A real class to teach, a schedule fit for an instructor with room to relax and prepare. Alas, he simply would never get that. Not in this lifetime, at least.
Of course, that isn’t to say that being the CEO of STEM left Naven alone every day. Quite the contrary, actually. He couldn’t go a day without running into one of his executive staff, all of which he’d created a swell rapport with over the time since they’d started working together. He had a bleeding heart, and ended up helping others with whatever tasks they had, on top of his own.
Despite all of that, as one of the biggest people in society, save for any other given socialite like the Fleecitys, it meant that he was isolated in a way nobody else could, and yet he was known .
Naven would never, ever say it out loud. It would be unbecoming of him, would be uncharacteristic for gentle, soft-spoken philanthropist Naven Nuknuk to even speak with such vitriol. But being a public figure, constantly in the limelight with attention on him, it disgusted him. Not towards the people, no; towards himself .
He wasn’t a person. He was a spectacle to behold.
He hides his true feelings pretty damn well, he’d say so himself. He kept himself as calm as humanly possible during the incident with Lorelai Blyndeff’s dream bubble, despite the heightened emotion that, well, everybody else was dealing with that afternoon. But hiding didn’t mean erasing. It just meant he kept up his persona until it, inevitably, would kill him.
Whenever a thought such as that crossed his mind, Naven could not help but breathe out a defeated laugh. He’d been so desensitized at this point that the headlines in the papers were clear as day to him.
“ STEM CEO NAVEN NUKNUK DIES TRAGICALLY ”, it would read, in big bold letters. Perhaps, they’d discover his cause of death, because the only thing that Naven can ever keep secret about him is his inner circle and his past , and they’d make it into something worthy of its own place on the page of a soap opera script. They’d barely go into him, really him, before the rest of the page filled with quotes by clients or staff who’d only spoken five sentences, tops, to him, and the achievements of STEM and the future of the company.
Quite pessimistic, me , Naven’s mind hummed time and time again at the thought. His irritation waning already, Naven took that criticism with a nod and a sigh. He could not let himself fall into despair like that, even conceptually. He had to remain an optimist for the sake of his sanity.
The others he knew were lucky , he’d like to think. Not to say that they do not suffer , God knows he’s aware of what his friends, his colleagues, anybody he’s interacted with has dealt with in their own lives, but, in their own ways, they are allowed to live in a way that is not bound by the mental shackles that keep Naven a prisoner in his own mind. For better or for worse. He admires Mr. Murder’s individuality and confidence. He’s proud of how far Molly and her friends have come in his classes. Miss Lorelai Blyndeff— regardless of how much she has done—she is intelligent, showed signs of self-reflection, and was confident in her abilities, something that can’t be said about every epithet user on the planet. Even his colleagues, despite everything, are able to find ways to be themselves . To carve their own paths, even whilst on the job.
And what of him?
His fame deprived him of living. He hated wording it in such a defeatist way, a phrase that, if he uttered it to his chauffeur, she’d stop the car short enough to nearly send him flying into the front seat, just to crane her head around and stare at him with a look that could only be perceived as concern. It was hard to get her to that kind of point. He doesn’t want to subject anybody to that; it was better for nobody to ever hear him say those words at all.
Sitting at his too-big-for-comfort desk in his overwhelmingly lonely office, Naven’s fingers begin to strum against the hardwood. His other hand balls into a fist, pressing into his cheek as he leans on it, staring with a distant look out the window at the dark cityscape of Sweet Jazz City.
It’s not even that he doesn’t know anybody who has any level of fame even comparable to his. One of his students has an ancestor who’s depicted in a painting in the museum, for crying out loud, but that’s not what he’s referencing.
Well. Nobody would believe him. Either they’d laugh in his face, assuming that he’s told an awful joke of sorts, or they would simply think he’s making things up. Like he’s trying to cover up some unspoken truth with such a fib.
But if he ponders alone within his own office, there’s nobody there to refute him.
Technically speaking, the most famous person Naven knows personally outside anybody he’s worked with within STEM, it’s, well…more infamous than anything. Perhaps it may strike one as odd, but one of the contacts in Naven’s personal phone reads none other than “Ramsey Murdoch”. Admittedly, for several (obvious) reasons, the two haven’t met in person in years. They’d known each other for quite a while. Both of them happened to complete their postsecondary educations at the same place, albeit for different majors entirely—illustration for Ramsey, communications and sociology for Naven. Better yet, they’d somehow ended up as roommates throughout, too; something about “opposites attracting”, Naven muses from time to time when he reminisces on those college days. Even then, before everything for both of them, it was jarring to see the two even sitting at a table together if people didn’t know them.
Regardless of their differences, Ramsey and Naven were friends . Which is why, as time went on, they had no choice, for the sake of their respective reputations and safety, they couldn’t interact in person anymore. It was frustrating to Naven, something that he wouldn’t admit unless an epithet forced him to do so, but in the grand scheme of things, a philanthropic CEO and a con artist couldn’t be seen together.
That would just be another thing that the tabloids could spin on their next front-page feature on Naven. Did he agree with what Ramsey was doing nowadays? No, not particularly. But that wouldn’t stop Naven from caring about him.
In a way, Ramsey was just as infamous as Naven was famous. And yet, Ramsey, some how, had so much freedom in his life, at least enough that it made the amount of free will Naven felt as if he had feel like a supermarket coupon that was a worse deal than advertised. He—
Naven forced his train of thought screeeeee -ing to a stop at the station.
The hand tapping against the desk balled into a fist, tight enough to shake. He had to stop. He had to stop . What was wrong with him? He sounded so goddamned ungrateful . He was one of the most successful people in Taiga Country. The— his —company was known even outside of it, its work spreading near and far. STEM had done so much for the community, and had given so many people opportunities, and its impact and the hard work of its staff could and should not be understated. Naven was the founder. Naven was the face of the company.
And yet he was acting like a child . He was acting selfish .
He was acting like what he wanted mattered in the grand scheme of things.
Naven Nuknuk was a man with a bleeding heart. Naven Nuknuk would help anybody, regardless of who it was. Naven Nuknuk ended the day exhausted to the point of passing out because, even when his desk was about to collapse from the weight of his paperwork, he’d take on another person’s workload.
What Naven Nuknuk wanted, what he desired, what he needed , none of that was of importance. It was what others needed that took prevalence. People needed him. There were people out there, his loved ones, his colleagues, the citizens…those were people whose lives were important. Who deserved help, who deserved protection. That same mindset is part of what drove STEM. He had to help . He had to do what he thought was right, what would benefit others.
On the pyramid hierarchy of Naven’s priority, he kept himself at rock bottom.
It was an awful shame, really; no matter what he did, for himself or for others, for his own comfort or out of necessity, he would always be less than human in the eyes of the public. Or, no (and Naven shakes his head in real time to this thought), he was more than human. He was an icon, for better or for worse.
He couldn’t go anywhere without seeing his own face.
He couldn’t take a break without thinking of what still had to be done.
Hell, he couldn’t even look at a news stand nor website without seeing one of those… headlines about him. It had been a few weeks since that afternoon-turned-evening at the Blyndeff Toy Emporium, but just earlier that day, while Naven blearily choked down oatmeal at four in the morning, he’d shuffled through the pile of magazines and newspapers he’d received in the mail as of recent, and happened upon that one particular tabloid. The headline’d read “ STEM CEO: BUSINESSMAN AND . . . WOMANIZER?! ”, and Naven was so incredibly glad in that moment that nobody could see the way his face absolutely twisted in disgust.
He’d brought it up to his chauffeur in the car later, almost lightheartedly, because she’d find a joke in things even he could not. It’s not that bad, right? Naven’d said with a tone that was so forced. Rather silly, I’d think! I believe I am overreacting in my feelings. But, instead of laughing earnestly with his forced chuckles, she glanced back at him at a stoplight with a furrowed brow, a frown, and a shake of the head.
Well, if even she was taking it seriously, perhaps his feelings were not unfounded.
Despite his actions, his charity, his work , any appearance he made in public, that’s what people thought of him. To the public, he wasn’t a person, he was a businessman, he was a god , he was a savior, he was—he was a character .
They could make his image whatever they wanted, and there was nothing him in all his power and influence could do about it.
All he could do was smile.
In his office, the sun long since disappeared below the horizon, Naven wasn’t smiling. His fist had unclenched, lying limp on the desk whilst the other hand covered his face, threading into his hair and pushing up his glasses. He was just so tired.
Tired enough that he could no longer let these thoughts distract him.
With a resigned sigh, Naven stood up from his desk, pushing the chair in and walking over to the window, placing a hand on the glass as he looked out at Sweet Jazz City. Everybody else was gone for the day, and his office was more than likely the only upper-level window of the STEM headquarters that was still lit up against the nightly atmosphere.
Out there is everybody he knows. He does hope, more than anything, that they are living their lives. That they are okay . That the Blyndeff sisters are separately figuring things out healthily, that Miss Roughhouse and Miss Fleecity are getting a good night’s rest. That, wherever Ramsey was, he was satisfied, that Mr. Shades was acclimating well to his new room, that Mr. Murder was, well—he was still an enigma to him, but as long as he and Molly were safe, that was enough for him.
Naven was willing to give up his own happiness for the greater good, no matter what that was.
Distantly, he can hear his watch let out a distinct tick , signaling to him that it was midnight. Right, he should get out of here. He walked away from the windows, hand dragging along the glass as he passed it by, and finally, after several hours, reached the door.
He doesn’t utter a word into the ambient silence as he flicks off the light and opens the door, exiting his office.
Naven Nuknuk soon returned to his home.
Alone.