ALLSTONE, William Mchenry

[WILLIAM DART]

...william mchenry allston*
* “It is better to lose your pride with someone you love rather than to lose that someone you love with your useless pride.” *

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...basics*

name I’m surprised you even have to ask me that. But, since you seem to be caught in the dark, my name is William McHenry Allston the III.
nickname I suppose that you think you’re going to call me ‘Willie’ or ‘Bill’. No. My name is William, but, you may call me Mr. Allston.
age Twenty-Three years of age.
gender As if it’s not obvious, I’m a man.
grade ‘Grade’ hasn’t really been a relevant term for me in years. I was schooled from home and graduated early. In fact, I’ve already a college degree.
hometown London, England. Though, really, I didn’t stay long.
sexuality Excuse me? I hardly think that’s your concern. But, frankly, if you must press the matter. I’m straight.
personification I’m not sure I have the slightest inkling of what you’re talking about. But, I suppose, if we’re talking about literature and all, I’ve always favored the character of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
face claim Many have told me that I look like Andrew Cooper. Though, quite frankly, he looks far more arrogant than I.

...appearance*

hair color TEXT HERE
eye color TEXT HERE
build TEXT HERE
height TEXT HERE
clothing style TEXT HERE
distinctive traits TEXT HERE

...personal*

personality AT LEAST THREE PARAGRAPHS
past AT LEAST THREE PARAGRAPHS
present AT LEAST TWO PARAGRAPHS
family PARENTS AND SIBLINGS
likes AT LEAST FIVE
dislikes AT LEAST FIVE
other notes TEXT HERE

...literature*

book title TEXT HERE
backstory A BRIEF SUMMARY OF YOUR CANON'S PART IN THE STORY. ONE-TWO PARAPGRAPHS

...roleplayer*

name The Ruler of the Sea, the God of the Water, the Massive Creator of all that is Tentacley – Squiddy.
age Old.
gender Squid.
rp experience Seven plus years.
how you found ouac The world wide web. Also known as a neopets board.
rp sample

One would think that, being a sniper, Lyle would be far more aware of his surroundings. Or, more specifically, he’d be more aware of the man sitting on the stool beside him. But, quite frankly, Lyle was not himself at the moment. He was far drunker then he’d been in quite awhile and he was a great deal less likely to notice anything. A robber could’ve walked right up behind him with a gun and demanded all of his money and Lyle might’ve still been oblivious. Everything was, in his mind, going too slow and too fast at the same time. It’d certainly made his mind fuzzy. Hell, it made his mind a big blob of nothing but a blurry mess of something. What was currently going on in here was possibly not even considered proper thinking. That was why the man next to him posed such a wonderful distraction. It was something that all his thoughts could focus and latch onto and force themselves to make some sort of coherent babble. Had he been sober, he would’ve thought something along the lines of “At least I hope it’s coherent.” But the fact was, plain and simple, that he was not sober. And that was quite obvious. It was also quite obvious that he was past the point of worrying about whether or not he was drunk. He was past the point of worrying about whether or not his thoughts or words made any sense. Basically, whatever that point was, he’d passed it... and he’d gone very far past it. Downright shattered it. With a moment of clarity, Lyle made a mental note to never let himself do this again. And, although he knew he wouldn’t necessarily remember making the note to himself, he knew that he’d have some sort of recollection when he woke up with the feeling that someone had stuck an axe through his head and gouged out his eyes with a straw. At that point, he’d probably remember that last night was not the best way to spend one’s evening.

The Mighty Ducks would’ve been a much better way, had he actually been someone that was into sports. But, quite honestly, he’d never been a sports fan. Probably never would be. Too many men scratching themselves and spitting in the grass. Now that any of it seemed out of place to Lyle, but he certainly didn’t find any enjoyment in watching it. Let a man do what he has to do in private and let that be that. There was no need for them to scratch an itch in front of millions of viewers, was there? Unless, of course, it was to draw attention to that area. Lyle imagined that it probably was, being that their egos were undoubtedly as big as Lyle’s.

At least I’m good at what I do.

How he managed another coherent thought after his last mental note, he wasn’t sure. But there it was. The truth that he simply couldn’t--and didn’t want--to ignore. Be him drunk, sober, sleeping, or dead. The man would be cocky and arrogant and it didn’t really matter what you did to him. The one thing that did not like to stay quite so consistently, however, was his clarity. And, as quickly as it had come, it went fleeing back into his mind somewhere, following by all logical thought. Common sense would be more like it. Hearing his name called him out of his ‘meditative’ state and he turned to look at the newly acquired drinking partner. “Uh, sure?” Had he actually understood the question, the answer may have been different, but Jack seemed to be waiting for an answer and drunken Lyle hated to disappoint. Plus, not answering a question was quite rude. Ironically, drunken Lyle was apparently much more hospitable and kind than the normal man that was hidden behind the bottle, so to speak. Busying himself with his beer bottle, Lyle found himself unable to process the majority of the man’s words. At least, he found it hard to process them right away. He was talking fast and Lyle’s brain was moving slow. Lack of proper brain cells did that to a man. But, after thinking it over for a moment longer than most, Lyle smirked a bit and nodded, finding his drink incredibly inviting at the moment. “Sounds like a plan to me.” Though his mind may have not wandered to the same place as Jack’s, he was certainly thinking that a good, hot shower and lots of sleep would be good the following day.

Or, perhaps his mind did wander to the same place as Jack’s had.

Work. Work made something in Lyle’s head click and he immediately found himself looking around in the bar in survey. He’d done it when he first walked in; when he wasn’t drunk, but since sitting his butt on the bar stool, he’d focused only on the drink in front of him. He assessed for threats, he counted heads, he looked for weapons. He switched into work mode and couldn’t help but follow through with his standard procedure. Perhaps not as obvious as some would make it, but he quickly found out how many people were in the bar and knew what most of them were drinking. The information probably wouldn’t last for long, but it was there for now and Lyle was glad that he hadn’t completely been lost to the alcohol at the moment. It was Jack that made him think about work. Work. He’d come here to avoid it and here this man was questioning him all about what he did and if he’d killed people. Death wasn’t a typical topic for small talk. Though, Lyle never had been a fan of small talk. Having such a topic came up was enough to tempt Lyle into the conversation. Killing and death where hardly light subjects. He never liked light subjects.

“Wouldn’ be a good sniper if I never hit my mark, eh, mate?”

He probably wouldn’t have called Jack ‘mate’ again, but at the moment he was having trouble remembering his name. He may have been able to tell you what the woman in the corner booth was drinking, but when it came to the information he’d just been told not ten minutes prior, he was completely lost. Lyle was fully prepared to blame the alcohol, and he was more than likely justified in his accusation.

For some reason, Lyle’s brain wasn’t anywhere near as interested in cars as it was in his job. Then again, when it came right down to it, if you were going to compare a sniper rifle to a car and which was better to have in a fight, Lyle would screw the car and choose the gun. But then again, Jack was mentioning something about a car wreck and Lyle was curious. Curious enough to actually ask the man a question this time, rather than simply sitting there and answering. “Wait, who wrecked their car?” No doubt he sounded like a lunatic. A deranged Australian crazy that knew how to use a sniper rifle. Probably not the best situation. Especially not if you listened to what the Europeans said about Australian’s. Filthy criminals. For half a second, Lyle thought that what Jack had actually meant. That he or someone else had crashed his car. ESPman strikes again. Casting a glance in Jack’s direction, Lyle tilted his head and frowned a bit. The man wasn’t necessarily hard to read, and had Lyle been in a better condition, he probably could’ve weeded lies from truth just by watching the man. Truth be told, right now it just looked like any other face in a crowd. One that seemed just as interested in Lyle as he was in Jack. Momentarily, Lyle wondered if it was actually him that attracted Jack to him. If it was, he wondered what made his normal appearance so different than when he was sober. Having strangers approach him was a rare experience. Having them strike up a conversation and actually keep it going wasn’t even something Lyle had experienced. None of that matter to Lyle at the moment, though. No, he was much more concerned about Jack foreseeing him crash his Aston. The mental visual was enough to make him want to walk home tonight. He considered doing it anyway, since he didn’t happen to have himself a designated driver on hand for whenever he needed on.

Perhaps, if he hired a hooker, he could make her do it. Rather than actually sleep with her, she could watch him get drunk and then drive him home and do nothing but get paid and not drink. Wasn’t hard at all. He was sure he would appreciate this entire scene... later, when he was sober and thinking straight.

“Your turn to ask me questions. I enjoy this game.”

Games weren’t something Lyle was familiar with. Games, as a kid, consisted of going outside and looking under leaves and logs for little roly ploy’s and centipedes. Drinking games, perhaps, but nothing else. Ever. Lyle had never really... played a game. Even as he tried to think back, he couldn’t remember a single time he’d played a game as a kid. It was always him alone or him doing something for school or him doing something for this or that and the other. Thinking about his life actually gave him a depressed feeling. Though, not necessarily because he experienced, but because looking back over it, it seemed rather... pitiful and bland. Taking a drink from his bottle, he set it down and turned to look at the man full on. If he was going to play a game, he was going to play it right. And, right now, it was his turn to talk and his turn to be in charge. “You married?” Lyle, although good at reading people and keeping his cool, he was not good at picking up the signs of a homosexual man. Nor was he properly versed in the art of flirting. Keeping questions about marriage off limits and never mentioning the boss when the boss is around type of thing. But, he’d asked now, and with amazing clarity when he did.

He really did need to lay off the liquor and do his best to think of real questions.