For polychromatic.
[nick / name]: Laura
[personal LJ name]: momentarily
[other characters currently played]: N/A
[e-mail]: pink.sherlock[at]gmail.com
[AIM / messenger]: oolongHIGH @ AIM
[series]: The Infernal Devices
[character]: William Herondale
[character history / background]: Wikia!
[character abilities]: Will is a Nephilim (Shadowhunter) -- a human with angel blood, basically -- and is subsequently capable of using magic and of drawing Marks. Marks are a kind of rune drawn on the body, and the effect one has depends on the Mark drawn.
Physically, he's fit, healthy and well-trained in combat, which apparently, is the reason he's not fat despite 'loving to eat everything'. Generally speaking, Will fights using Seraph blades, but he claims that he's a 'very good shot', even if Shadowhunters don't use pistols often due to their questionable effectiveness against various demons and Downworlders. He’s also not above fighting dirty to win, even if it has detrimental effects on him as well (see: his habit of biting vampires simply because ‘they don’t expect it’).
He also has a fantastic memory and is incredibly capable of being miraculously obnoxious.
[character personality]:
"Are you implying that shreds of my reputation remain intact?" Will demanded with mock horror. "Clearly I have been doing something wrong. Or not something wrong, as the case may be."
He banged on the side of the carriage. "Thomas! We must away at once to the nearest brothel. I seek scandal and low companionship."
William Herondale is, quite simply, an arse. He makes no bones about it and seems to almost revel in the fact. From the moment that he's introduced, it's clear that he is, in technical terms, 'quite full of himself'. However, it's also obvious that his ego and confidence aren't quite all that they seem - rather typically, he dislikes showing off if there's no-one to show off to (otherwise known as 'really likes attention'), and that for as much as he acts as if he enjoys who and what he is and what he does, it's hinted that the fondness is nothing more than an act, a façade.
He's more than aware of the fleeting nature of life, of the impermanence and the way that most people are destined to be nothing more than a short-lived memory. Indeed, it seems he's resigned himself to the fact that it's likely he won't live long, and subsequently, various acquaintances have given up on the idea of Will living any longer than his teens.
It could, therefore, be said that he's something of a fatalist, and that despite the fact that he tends to rely on humour in the majority of situations - that is, most situations when he's not in a bad mood - and plays up his 'charms', he doesn't like himself a great deal, and is quite happy to make sure that others don't really like him, either.
"I had such plans for this evening. The pursuit of blind drunkenness and wayward women was my goal. But alas, it was not to be."
It's pointed out by several characters that Will 'is angry at everyone' and that he 'hates everything', and James 'Jem' Carstairs, his best friend, comments that he makes a point of making himself sound worse than he really is. Whilst Will enjoys - in as much as he enjoys anything - going out to pubs, going gambling and otherwise mixing with company that is of 'poor and loose morals', it's not something that occurs as frequently as he pretends; Jem followed him one evening, and discovered that he's far more likely to go for a walk for hours than he is to go out drinking.
However, it's clear that it's not all a fabrication; Gabriel Lightwood family detests Will for a variety of reasons, one of which is because he 'compromised the virtue' of his sister, and Jem comments that wherever (Will) is, there are 'half a dozen angry women'.
Equally, the humour that Will relies on tends to be mocking and occasionally self-effacing, deliberately playing on the less than savoury aspects of his personality and his supposed lack of morals. Of course, that's not to say that others are free from being mocked - far from it, in fact. He likes to mock everything, although he tends to veer between being outwardly cruel and sarcastic, to being more surreal (wishing to breed an army of cannibal ducks, and stating that he once believed himself to be a ferret before realising it was simply the effect of opium).
At the same time, for as much as he's happy to help people think the worst of him, he hates it when people assume they know anything about him on a level that isn't shallow, or when they attempt to get to know him beyond that which he presents to them. In other words, he’s a moody little shit.
Despite this, Will has something of a healthy respect (in a sense) for women in that he doesn't consider them to be inherently inferior to men. Rather than this trait seeming to come from any intrinsic belief that women are equal, it seems to come from the fact that the Shadowhunter lifestyle isn't limited solely to men. As a result, he is in the company of strong women who are quite capable of holding their own, both physically and mentally, even if he dislikes the individuals in question.
When it comes to how he acts with people, a lot (read: all) of it depends on his mood. As an individual who is remarkably and almost impressively moody, he can switch between being quite pleasant and jovial to downright cruel and rude, even with people he makes no effort of antagonising on a general basis. Indeed, there appears to be very little rhyme or reason to the way Will acts with people, beyond the fact that he's intensely private and detests the idea of anyone getting close to him. As a result, he becomes angry and irritable when people try to get him to divulge more than he's willing to, or he'll try and push people away with his caustic attitude.
Will refuses to elaborate upon his family beyond the fact that he's 'not an orphan', and whilst the other Shadowhunters at the London Institute have all but adopted each other as their family, Will seems to want to avoid viewing the others in such a manner, similar to Jessamine, a fellow Shadowhunter in the Institute for whom he shares mutual contempt and dislike for. Indeed, whilst Will seems to bear no ill-will for the other members of the Institute, it's implied that the only member he truly, honestly likes is Jem - although it's revealed that he used to be good friends with Thomas, an ordinary human who serves the Institute.
Aside from being his closest friend, Jem is also Will's 'parabatai', or fighting/hunting partner. Parabatai choose each other before they turn eighteen. As a result, it's clear that regardless of any other feelings Will might have regarding Jem, he does trust him, and trust him with his life. Will is fully aware that without Jem, he'd have no-one, and the idea isn't as appealing as he might pretend on occasion.
Finally, for as much as Will relies on appearing as if he doesn't care whether he has much self-control one way or the other, his attitude, façade, and general presentation is built on the fact that he prides himself on having a great deal of self-control, and he has a deep aversion to anything that leads to a loss of self-control, particularly in relation to emotions, which he makes a point of ignoring and generally burying.
IN SHORT, Will is basically a big pile of teenage angst, snottiness and denial. And pride.
[point in timeline you're picking your character from]: The epilogue of Clockwork Angel.
[journal post]: [There’s a teenager!
He’s wet, in something of a ‘I’m going to ignore how much of a drowned rat I appear’ way. One might assume that he fell into the fountain at some point, but equally, the all-encompassing wetness may have something to do with the fact that he was just in England, aka the land of copious amounts of tea-and-rain. His expression, for the record, reflects his irritation at being displaced without warning, frustration from trying to get whatever this might be to work (he's not entirely convinced it is), and curiosity. You know, at the whole ‘suddenly displaced, this isn’t London’ thing. It’s hard not to wonder about something like that.
When he finally speaks, he sounds Remarkably British, although his accent is rather indistinct for the most part - southern, one might assume, well-brought up, although there’s a slight hint of Welsh. No, he doesn’t do anything untoward with sheep. London doesn't have sheep.]
Normally, one only has to ask for my company to be granted with it. [This? This would be the unmistakable tone of `GRUMPINESS`.] I do try to make myself available for all, but it can’t be helped if someone misses out here and there. Kidnapping tends not to be the answer, though. If I said I was impressed, I’d sadly be lying, but if it makes you feel any better, you can pretend I’m of that opinion regardless. Likewise, I think you’ll find you’ve managed to overshoot ‘mysterious’.
[There’s a pause, and for a moment, there’s a flash of wry amusement in his expression, as if this is entirely scenario is utterly ridiculous to the point of absurdity.] “ I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?'” I hope you won’t mind if I happen to refuse any bottles labelled ‘drink me’, or any foods labelled ‘eat me’. I’m quite content with who I am and don’t envision any existential crises a la dear Alice.
I won't decline any explanations, though, even if they happen to come from hatters and caterpillars and assorted small mammals with a fondness for tea and an inability to correctly tell the time.
[There’s another pause, and after he glances away from the device and up at the sky, he shoves the device into a pocket - without, for the record, bothering to turn it off, so have fun with the sound of footsteps and the wonderful blackness of pockets until the device times out.]
[third person / log sample]:
He’d heard Magnus approach, he’d spoken to him and then-.
And then he’d found himself here, wherever ‘here’ was. The first thing he’d noticed had been the lack of rain, although he was still wet. Rain in London was always unpredictable; it would start and stop and start and stop on, it seemed, whim, but it never stopped quite as suddenly as the entire lack of dampness in the air here implied. And then, depending on the area of London one was in, there would be a smell, a just-rained smell that seemed to permeate everything, be it inside or out. In Hyde Park, that smell would be mixed with grass and flowers, and on occasion, Will could convince himself that he wasn’t in the middle of a city. Everywhere else, and that smell would mix with the horses and the carriages, the washing inevitably hung between houses, and the smoke and the smog.
But here was dry, infinitely cleaner and entirely lacking in recognisable landmarks - or, in fact, recognisable anythings, and it was only that that stopped him from turning and running down the streets in search of the Institute, because he knew it wouldn’t be here. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt helpless, and he doubted it’d be the last, but he’d gone to Magnus’ with the intention of fixing that and now he was here.
Casting his gaze up towards the sky - even the stars were visible here - he wondered for a moment if this was Magnus’ doing, a kind of sardonic attempt at helping him without bothering to find out what the problem was, but he ignored the thought almost as soon as it occurred to him. It simply didn’t seem like something he’d do and entertaining it was only the result of panic. Deep-seated panic and worry to which he wasn’t sure how to react, but panic nonetheless.
He scuffed one of his boots against the ground; it felt real enough, and after a moment, he sighed irritably, mulling the various options over in his mind. None filled him with an overwhelming sense of ‘this is what must have happened’, nor were any of them comforting, although he imagined that being able to think of something plausible would have been infinitely more comforting that coming up with a dozen and one entirely implausible ideas.
After a moment of further consideration, he supposed the how wasn’t the most pressing question - nor, in fact, was the why. The point was that someone - someone affiliated with Mortmain, perhaps - had clearly wanted him out of London and away from the Institute, and if he was here, there was a chance, slim as it might be, that some of the others might be here - and even if they weren’t, the most important thing would be finding them, particularly Tessa. She had a remarkable ability for simply falling into dangerous situations.
Where there was a way into a place, there'd be a way out.
[personal LJ name]: momentarily
[other characters currently played]: N/A
[e-mail]: pink.sherlock[at]gmail.com
[AIM / messenger]: oolongHIGH @ AIM
[series]: The Infernal Devices
[character]: William Herondale
[character history / background]: Wikia!
[character abilities]: Will is a Nephilim (Shadowhunter) -- a human with angel blood, basically -- and is subsequently capable of using magic and of drawing Marks. Marks are a kind of rune drawn on the body, and the effect one has depends on the Mark drawn.
Physically, he's fit, healthy and well-trained in combat, which apparently, is the reason he's not fat despite 'loving to eat everything'. Generally speaking, Will fights using Seraph blades, but he claims that he's a 'very good shot', even if Shadowhunters don't use pistols often due to their questionable effectiveness against various demons and Downworlders. He’s also not above fighting dirty to win, even if it has detrimental effects on him as well (see: his habit of biting vampires simply because ‘they don’t expect it’).
He also has a fantastic memory and is incredibly capable of being miraculously obnoxious.
[character personality]:
"Are you implying that shreds of my reputation remain intact?" Will demanded with mock horror. "Clearly I have been doing something wrong. Or not something wrong, as the case may be."
He banged on the side of the carriage. "Thomas! We must away at once to the nearest brothel. I seek scandal and low companionship."
William Herondale is, quite simply, an arse. He makes no bones about it and seems to almost revel in the fact. From the moment that he's introduced, it's clear that he is, in technical terms, 'quite full of himself'. However, it's also obvious that his ego and confidence aren't quite all that they seem - rather typically, he dislikes showing off if there's no-one to show off to (otherwise known as 'really likes attention'), and that for as much as he acts as if he enjoys who and what he is and what he does, it's hinted that the fondness is nothing more than an act, a façade.
He's more than aware of the fleeting nature of life, of the impermanence and the way that most people are destined to be nothing more than a short-lived memory. Indeed, it seems he's resigned himself to the fact that it's likely he won't live long, and subsequently, various acquaintances have given up on the idea of Will living any longer than his teens.
It could, therefore, be said that he's something of a fatalist, and that despite the fact that he tends to rely on humour in the majority of situations - that is, most situations when he's not in a bad mood - and plays up his 'charms', he doesn't like himself a great deal, and is quite happy to make sure that others don't really like him, either.
"I had such plans for this evening. The pursuit of blind drunkenness and wayward women was my goal. But alas, it was not to be."
It's pointed out by several characters that Will 'is angry at everyone' and that he 'hates everything', and James 'Jem' Carstairs, his best friend, comments that he makes a point of making himself sound worse than he really is. Whilst Will enjoys - in as much as he enjoys anything - going out to pubs, going gambling and otherwise mixing with company that is of 'poor and loose morals', it's not something that occurs as frequently as he pretends; Jem followed him one evening, and discovered that he's far more likely to go for a walk for hours than he is to go out drinking.
However, it's clear that it's not all a fabrication; Gabriel Lightwood family detests Will for a variety of reasons, one of which is because he 'compromised the virtue' of his sister, and Jem comments that wherever (Will) is, there are 'half a dozen angry women'.
Equally, the humour that Will relies on tends to be mocking and occasionally self-effacing, deliberately playing on the less than savoury aspects of his personality and his supposed lack of morals. Of course, that's not to say that others are free from being mocked - far from it, in fact. He likes to mock everything, although he tends to veer between being outwardly cruel and sarcastic, to being more surreal (wishing to breed an army of cannibal ducks, and stating that he once believed himself to be a ferret before realising it was simply the effect of opium).
At the same time, for as much as he's happy to help people think the worst of him, he hates it when people assume they know anything about him on a level that isn't shallow, or when they attempt to get to know him beyond that which he presents to them. In other words, he’s a moody little shit.
Despite this, Will has something of a healthy respect (in a sense) for women in that he doesn't consider them to be inherently inferior to men. Rather than this trait seeming to come from any intrinsic belief that women are equal, it seems to come from the fact that the Shadowhunter lifestyle isn't limited solely to men. As a result, he is in the company of strong women who are quite capable of holding their own, both physically and mentally, even if he dislikes the individuals in question.
When it comes to how he acts with people, a lot (read: all) of it depends on his mood. As an individual who is remarkably and almost impressively moody, he can switch between being quite pleasant and jovial to downright cruel and rude, even with people he makes no effort of antagonising on a general basis. Indeed, there appears to be very little rhyme or reason to the way Will acts with people, beyond the fact that he's intensely private and detests the idea of anyone getting close to him. As a result, he becomes angry and irritable when people try to get him to divulge more than he's willing to, or he'll try and push people away with his caustic attitude.
Will refuses to elaborate upon his family beyond the fact that he's 'not an orphan', and whilst the other Shadowhunters at the London Institute have all but adopted each other as their family, Will seems to want to avoid viewing the others in such a manner, similar to Jessamine, a fellow Shadowhunter in the Institute for whom he shares mutual contempt and dislike for. Indeed, whilst Will seems to bear no ill-will for the other members of the Institute, it's implied that the only member he truly, honestly likes is Jem - although it's revealed that he used to be good friends with Thomas, an ordinary human who serves the Institute.
Aside from being his closest friend, Jem is also Will's 'parabatai', or fighting/hunting partner. Parabatai choose each other before they turn eighteen. As a result, it's clear that regardless of any other feelings Will might have regarding Jem, he does trust him, and trust him with his life. Will is fully aware that without Jem, he'd have no-one, and the idea isn't as appealing as he might pretend on occasion.
Finally, for as much as Will relies on appearing as if he doesn't care whether he has much self-control one way or the other, his attitude, façade, and general presentation is built on the fact that he prides himself on having a great deal of self-control, and he has a deep aversion to anything that leads to a loss of self-control, particularly in relation to emotions, which he makes a point of ignoring and generally burying.
IN SHORT, Will is basically a big pile of teenage angst, snottiness and denial. And pride.
[point in timeline you're picking your character from]: The epilogue of Clockwork Angel.
[journal post]: [There’s a teenager!
He’s wet, in something of a ‘I’m going to ignore how much of a drowned rat I appear’ way. One might assume that he fell into the fountain at some point, but equally, the all-encompassing wetness may have something to do with the fact that he was just in England, aka the land of copious amounts of tea-and-rain. His expression, for the record, reflects his irritation at being displaced without warning, frustration from trying to get whatever this might be to work (he's not entirely convinced it is), and curiosity. You know, at the whole ‘suddenly displaced, this isn’t London’ thing. It’s hard not to wonder about something like that.
When he finally speaks, he sounds Remarkably British, although his accent is rather indistinct for the most part - southern, one might assume, well-brought up, although there’s a slight hint of Welsh. No, he doesn’t do anything untoward with sheep. London doesn't have sheep.]
Normally, one only has to ask for my company to be granted with it. [This? This would be the unmistakable tone of `GRUMPINESS`.] I do try to make myself available for all, but it can’t be helped if someone misses out here and there. Kidnapping tends not to be the answer, though. If I said I was impressed, I’d sadly be lying, but if it makes you feel any better, you can pretend I’m of that opinion regardless. Likewise, I think you’ll find you’ve managed to overshoot ‘mysterious’.
[There’s a pause, and for a moment, there’s a flash of wry amusement in his expression, as if this is entirely scenario is utterly ridiculous to the point of absurdity.] “ I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?'” I hope you won’t mind if I happen to refuse any bottles labelled ‘drink me’, or any foods labelled ‘eat me’. I’m quite content with who I am and don’t envision any existential crises a la dear Alice.
I won't decline any explanations, though, even if they happen to come from hatters and caterpillars and assorted small mammals with a fondness for tea and an inability to correctly tell the time.
[There’s another pause, and after he glances away from the device and up at the sky, he shoves the device into a pocket - without, for the record, bothering to turn it off, so have fun with the sound of footsteps and the wonderful blackness of pockets until the device times out.]
[third person / log sample]:
He’d heard Magnus approach, he’d spoken to him and then-.
And then he’d found himself here, wherever ‘here’ was. The first thing he’d noticed had been the lack of rain, although he was still wet. Rain in London was always unpredictable; it would start and stop and start and stop on, it seemed, whim, but it never stopped quite as suddenly as the entire lack of dampness in the air here implied. And then, depending on the area of London one was in, there would be a smell, a just-rained smell that seemed to permeate everything, be it inside or out. In Hyde Park, that smell would be mixed with grass and flowers, and on occasion, Will could convince himself that he wasn’t in the middle of a city. Everywhere else, and that smell would mix with the horses and the carriages, the washing inevitably hung between houses, and the smoke and the smog.
But here was dry, infinitely cleaner and entirely lacking in recognisable landmarks - or, in fact, recognisable anythings, and it was only that that stopped him from turning and running down the streets in search of the Institute, because he knew it wouldn’t be here. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt helpless, and he doubted it’d be the last, but he’d gone to Magnus’ with the intention of fixing that and now he was here.
Casting his gaze up towards the sky - even the stars were visible here - he wondered for a moment if this was Magnus’ doing, a kind of sardonic attempt at helping him without bothering to find out what the problem was, but he ignored the thought almost as soon as it occurred to him. It simply didn’t seem like something he’d do and entertaining it was only the result of panic. Deep-seated panic and worry to which he wasn’t sure how to react, but panic nonetheless.
He scuffed one of his boots against the ground; it felt real enough, and after a moment, he sighed irritably, mulling the various options over in his mind. None filled him with an overwhelming sense of ‘this is what must have happened’, nor were any of them comforting, although he imagined that being able to think of something plausible would have been infinitely more comforting that coming up with a dozen and one entirely implausible ideas.
After a moment of further consideration, he supposed the how wasn’t the most pressing question - nor, in fact, was the why. The point was that someone - someone affiliated with Mortmain, perhaps - had clearly wanted him out of London and away from the Institute, and if he was here, there was a chance, slim as it might be, that some of the others might be here - and even if they weren’t, the most important thing would be finding them, particularly Tessa. She had a remarkable ability for simply falling into dangerous situations.
Where there was a way into a place, there'd be a way out.