MALORY, william anthony

[prof. william mallory]

smiling the sort of smile that lucifer might have, moments before he fell from heaven.
                   -CASSANDRA CLARE

&&T H I S I S W I L L

^{- - - - -}NAME.         

“ Depends, which one are you asking for? The name that I currently go by at the House of Night is William Anthony Malory -- my human name. However, I‘m known as Ares to my Brothers and the majority of the vampyre world. Seeing as I'm on a covert mission, the name Ares is on a strictly need-to-know basis during my stay in Tulsa, and knowledge of who/what I actually am is limited to the blue High Priestess, one professor and the Sons of Erebus who are also stationed here.

The name William -- appropriately in my case -- means desire and protection. I love to fulfill certain desires and I am a protector after all. Anthony was my mother's brother's name, he was killed in a duel of honor that had gone too far. As for Ares...well, I do believe it is a name recognizable to most. One of the twelve Olympians, the God of War and warfare, presiding over male passion, weapons and preparations for battle, protection and defense of cities, integrity, masculinity and personal courage. Why did I choose Ares as my vampyre name? It was...an agreed upon matter of sorts, but we'll get into that later. "

^{- - - - -}AGE&&STATUS.         

“ I happen to be well informed that I appear to be in my late twenties, though I must say it is a bit rude to ask one their age once they've lived for over a century. Not because I give a feminine damn, simply because I can't recall the exact year of my birth. I was born some time during the Regency Era or early Victorian Era in late March. If you're curious, that makes me an Aries. Doesn't this all work out so well?

Currently, I am the -- ahh, I suppose the appropriate term would be under-cover? -- drama professor at Tulsa's House of Night. However, in actuality, I am a Son of Erebus. I head the Euro division back home in England dubbed the "Knights of Erebus. "

^{- - - - -}COMPANION.         

“ When I was still a boy, I spent every holiday in Northamptonshire at our family villa -- quite against my will, might I add. One Christmas afternoon I'd left the house unattended, ignoring the promises of trouble that a younger cousin assumed I'd get in. It was a little ways down from our vacation home where I found her. It was strange to say the least, my first thought had been 'The bloody hell is a snake doing curled up in the snow in England?' But she was beautiful, all vibrant colors in delicate little stripes against a long jade body. She stood out painfully against the white of the snow and looked as though she were freezing. I couldn't leave her there. Of course, it wasn't until later in life that I learned just how dangerous taking such a colorful snake into my home was. She was beautiful, yes, but that only meant that she was deadly, more poisonous than your average field snake. But she never struck at me, it was as though we bonded immediately. And she's been with me ever since. Before I forget -- her name is Kalliste (meaning most beautiful), affectionately shortened to Kally sometimes. "

&&T H E S E A R E R E C O L L E C T I O N S

^{- - - - -}MOTHER KNOWS BEST? [early/human years]         

" It has been said that a mother always knows her children best -- at least that is as it should be. For some time I thought that rule to be true in my life. William was my pride and joy, my golden boy, the one love of my life. What I felt in my heart for him the moment I saw his head of black hair and blue eyes that were not unlike mine...it is immeasurable by any standards. He was a sweet boy, a charmer even at a young age. Even our governess fell in love with the little boy who always knew exactly what to say. Popular amongst the Ton and most expected to do well during the seasons when he was of age. But...something changed in him as he grew older. Everything he said was planned to work in his favor and everything he did was not done without purpose. It was like he had a goal in mind, what it was, I was never sure. He acted out in little spurts, hanging with boys that a young man of his ranking and family background should never have. And eventually began frequenting less than reputable establishments. He hated and idolized his father at the same time, and me... I know that he loved loves me...but sometimes... Oh... Oh, my...it was all because I wasn't strong enough for him."
         - Eira Guinevere Malory

The baby was perfect. A combination of both his parents -- the looks of his English father and the dark hair and deep blue eyes of his mother's Welsh heritage. Eira adored him from the moment she laid eyes on him. So much so that although it was unheard of she made the choice of breastfeeding him herself as opposed to having her husband (Thomas Malory) hire her a wetnurse. Although Thomas had inherited a considerable sum of money from his father, he was often busy with the business of trading and ships that he'd chosen to get into. Because of this he was often away from home at all sorts of hours, and so Eira enjoyed every moment alone that she was able to get with her new baby boy. Who needed balls and trips to the theater and unwanted gossip with other Ladies when she had herself a ray of sunshine in her very own home?

- - -FAST-FORWARD A FEW YEARS...

Will had spent the day with the families governess learning a particularly tiresome musical piece on the piano and a bit of French. His mother had reluctantly taken the day away from home to spend with a few friends who'd no doubt dragged her to all the best dress shops in London, searching for the perfect gowns for their daughters who were to be coming out. The season was soon and their darling daughters simply had to be seen in their best if they were to secure a proper husband. Whereas Thomas was off in one his offices near the docks dealing with some exports that were to be shipped out the next morning. At least, that was what he was supposed to be doing all day. So when he arrived home later in the evening with a woman who was not Will's mother, the boy couldn't help but question just what the hell was going on.

There were kitchen whispers of whether the man was simply too foxed to realize his mistake or if he just didn't care about the scandal he could cause. What gentleman in their right mind brought their mistress to their actual home? Most put their dirty little secrets up in houses of their own, especially if they were to keep them for a bit. But Thomas? No, they were sure they'd seen him with other mistresses on various accounts. Perhaps the man got bored easily. Either way the whole ordeal was entirely disrespectful and an inappropriate display of responsibility for his only son. A son who began questioning any ladies that his father kept company with, whether alone or at a gathering. A son who grew to be too curious for his own good.

- - -FAST-FORWARD A FEW YEARS...

Thomas was an ideal businessman and father when he chose to be around William, and the boy respected the way he ran his business. It was an easy matter for him to double and triple the amount of money his father had been making before his passing. And Will, although still young, took an interest in gaining money for himself as well. He was fifteen -- technically fourteen but his birthday would be soon and none was the wiser save his parents and cousins. Money was a good distraction for what he viewed as his home issues. How many times had it been over the years, that he'd seen his parents linking arms and smiling for their friends in public, dancing together at balls simply because they were meant to? And how many nights had the coachman of their cabriolet dropped Thomas off elsewhere to some club or pub after dropping Eira off at the mansion? It just wasn't right, none of it. It didn't matter if it was a right for a man to have a mistress, his father couldn't have one. He had a perfectly good wife right in front of him, what was the need for other women? Will didn't understand it in the slightest.

Instead of troubling himself with the details of the situation, he'd taken to using his own carriage -- one that Thomas had provided for him and his cousins and friends to use whenever they pleased -- and visiting various gentleman's clubs and bars. Admittedly, he was still a bit young to be allowed into these places, but he was the son of a respectable man and nearly old enough. At the clubs he participated in games of whist and commerce, learned the sport of pugilists. A violent, bloody exchange of fists, but an interesting one that drew him in from the first punch he'd seen thrown. Under the influence of some of the older boys he'd taken to as friends, he began frequenting locales in lesser areas of London, beyond the docks where the prostitutes and the drunks and the barmaids could be found should you need one. These were all habits that he fell into quickly enough and took decades to fall even slightly out of.

- - -FAST-FORWARD A FEW MONTHS...

Will was foxed. Will was as boiled as an owl, as one of his friends might say. Yellow was blue, the sea was the sky for all he cared, and it was undoubtedly filled with fuzzy bunny rabbits with large golden ears. At least, that was how he was thinking through the haze masking his brain. His pale cheeks were flushed, his hair a mess and he smelled of cheap perfume, there was a vibrant vermilion lips stain on his cheek. And in spite of it all, the boy was on a mission.

Ignoring the offers from the servants to take his coat or alert his mother that he would like to speak to her, he simply paraded through the foyer, up the stairs and practically kicked open every door until he reached the one she was behind. The library. Eira was lounging on a Victorian chaise, a soft blue robe tied around her small frame, and a book lay open across her chest with her hand thrown carelessly atop it. Her eyes were closed. "Mother," Will's none too gentle voice was surely a harsh interruption of the silence that had been before he arrived.

Eira opened her eyes slowly, blinking away the sleep that had only just escaped her. Realizing who's voice it was speaking to her, she sat up immediately, setting her book aside, a look of concern flitting across her delicate features. "Will, darling, you're drunk? Do you need George to --" Before he could hear what he might have needed one of their helps to do for him, he cut her off sharply.

"Where's Thomas?" He questioned, brow raised as he glanced around the room as though expecting his father to leap out from behind the heavy curtains. "Isn't he home yet? Shouldn't he be home by now? What's he off doing? Is he with that whore again?"

Clearly, his mother was taken aback. Her hand flew to her mouth at the words leaving her son's mouth, so sudden, so unexpected. To her at least. But Will had been waiting years to unleash all of his irritation and questions and stress on someone. And unfortunately for gentle Eira, she was the one home when he just happened to be drunk enough to do so. "Your father," she corrected half-heartedly, "is working. He's a very busy man as you know, William. I'll not have you spouting this business about -- about..."

"You're hesitating because you know that I'm telling the bloody truth." Will shook his head in disbelief. How could she allow this to go on when she knew about it? He thought he'd been keeping some awful truth from her for so long, and he'd felt terrible. But the sad, concerned and shocked look on her face made it obvious that she knew. He moved closer into the room, standing before her and stared hard into eyes that were the same hue as his. A face that resembled the one he saw in the mirror every day. How could anyone hurt her? "Why? Mother, just tell me why. Explain it to me. Why are you allowing this detestable behavior?"

What could she tell him? And who was it that she felt a brief flash of anger at? Was it Thomas for his disloyal behavior, or William for demanding such explanations of her? Or was she mad at herself for allowing all of it? "William," she began patiently. "It is my place to be a faithful wife and a good mother. It is not my place to get involved in your father's....affairs. I cannot --" When had she become this weak?

Will laughed unexpectedly, his hand covering half his face as he shook his head again. "Liar." He said in an almost teasing voice. "It shouldn't be your place to be loyal to a man -- if he can even call himself that -- who isn't loyal to you. I don't care what they say. I know what you deserve, they don't. He doesn't. Why...why d'you stay with him? He's a bloody ass and he doesn't love you!!!"

She couldn't let her son talk to her like this, look at her with his accusing gaze. She rose from her seat and with only a seconds hesitation, she pulled her hand back and slapped her palm hard across his already reddened cheek. "Don't you dare, William Anthony Malory, be so presumptuous as to assume the relationship between your father and I. He is my husband, and despite how difficult it may be for you to fully comprehend this prospect, I do love him and he does need me. All men stray sometimes, but I cannot hold it against him. I knew who he was when we married, and I accepted it." Eira hadn't meant to explain a thing to him, honestly. But she was so upset that it all just spilled out in one rush of breath. She could feel the hot tears building up at the back of her eyes but she held her chin high. Ladies did not weep in the company of others, especially their sons. "George," she called out to the darkness of the hallway beyond the room. "William, you will go with George and he will assist you in preparing for bed. We can speak again once you've had a night's sleep and time to digest the things you said here tonight."

Will was too drunk to fully appreciate that he was getting off the hook easily, all he knew was that both his parents were in the wrong and that his cheek stung like Hell. "You are a fool and the two of you do deserve one another after all, it seems." He folded his arm across his waist in a drunken mockery of a gentleman's bow and uttered a quiet "Goodnight, Mother", before disappearing into the corridor.

Eira shut the door the moment he left her, and her eyes watered as she fell back against the chaise. William had always been an intelligent and sweet boy, and just now, he'd only been trying to be both those things, hadn't he? Had she not gotten so fired up about it all perhaps she'd have seen that he was absolutely and painfully correct.

^{- - - - -}VAMPYRES WILL NEVER HURT YOU. [rated M; late 19th century]         

" Will has always been a reckless and careless bastard. Disregarding the gossip of the Ton, waving it off as women's tea time chatter. I've often heard him labeled as an 'incorrigible rakehell' by plenty of women, though if his pursuits ever thought much of it I can't say I noticed. Sure, the fashionable ladies and gents of our dear old home in London shared many whispers about him and he's been faced with many duels, but none of it ever stopped him. He never gave a damn what anyone thought of him, at least he's always said that. But I always thought that to be his biggest lie. That he acted out for the sake of pulling himself away from what he considered to be a corrupt world and finding sanctuary often in the bosom of beauties, a bottle of whiskey or his fist in some poor chap's face. Naturally, as his best friend I'd never dare bring into the conversation emotions which I'm sure he'd prefer be left unsaid. "
         - Tristan West Heracles

The rain was a fast, but steady drumbeat against their bodies, pouring from the starless, dreary London sky. The sounds of thunder felt like a distant dream, one beyond his reach and shrouded by the a woman's sighs of utter bliss and ecstasy. Her clothes were soaked through and the manner in which the already thin fabric clung to her curvy frame did delicious things to Will's body. His hands were at her bodice, deftly undoing the smart buttons at it's back before tearing it off her and tossing it onto the ground. Slick, creamy mounds spilled over the dangerously low neck of the dress the woman wore, practically begging for attention. Giving in he took hold of one, letting the fullness of her fill his palm and proceeded to allow his other hand continue its exploration of the fair, curly tresses plastered to her body. Her nails dug through the wet fabric of his shirt, digging into the skin at his back every time he stroked her elsewhere. She was pinned between him and a tree, skirts hitched up around her hips and long legs wrapped around Will's own thickly muscled thighs and trunk of a waist.

In truth, Will hadn't done anything to her just yet save for trailing every inch of her with kisses and yet to be fulfilled promises with little innocent nips here and there. It was just too easy, it was always disgustingly easy with women like her. Those less than virtuous, wedded ladies looking for a quick, but promisingly passionate thrill. He knew what she wanted because it was what they all wanted, what they all really desired. And he was one of the few incorrigible vampyres willing to give it to each and every one of them, and take from them what it was that he truly wanted.

His face was buried at her cleavage and he could taste the hot rainwater on his tongue. He traced the trail slowly upwards, going gentler and slower the higher he got. Once at the long slope of her swanlike neck he placed feather soft kisses until he found the spot that called to him, that whispered sweet words to his blood lust. Her pulse practically leaped out at him, fluttering like a butterfly pinned to a board with nails. It began as a very teeth and tongue involved kiss and turned into fangs drawing blood. He opened his mouth, sharpened incisors dipping down and he sank them into her neck, skilfully breaking the skin there. She gasped in a mixture of pain and delight and pulled him closer to her if it were possible. Will allowed it, completely drawn in by the sinfully sweet starburst of pleasure that exploded on his tongue. It was like dark chocolate, smooth and sensual. The act gave pleasure a whole new meaning.

And he could have enjoyed it just a moment longer if it weren't for the explosion of knocks that his sensitive ears picked up from his front door. Yes, the two were outside in the garden of his home, hidden only behind a canopy of trees and various flowers and plants. It was scandalous to conduct this sort of behavior in such a place, and should someone be peeking through their window into his yard this would no doubt be the thing of tomorrow morning's gossip. Piccadilly was, after all, one of the more fashionable streets in London and housed many a Ladies and Lords as well as lesser Ladies and Sirs. At first he ignored the knocker and continued drawing the woman's blood into his mouth. But whoever was at his door was a relentless bastard and was likely beating his knuckles bloody for all the ruckus and annoyance he was causing. It was a bloody shame that Will had thought to send home his servants for the evening, otherwise there would have been a footman to answer the door. But alas, the crafty gent had wanted complete privacy. Reluctantly he pulled his teeth from her neck and licked at the wound until it closed up. Ignoring her protests and nibbling at his earlobe he disentangled her wet limbs from his own and set her on her own two feet, before heading into the back door of his home. Before his trek to the front door, he detoured to his bathroom and grabbed two towels -- one which he left on a table housing a potted plant near the back door, and the other he ran over his soaked, black locks. Did it matter that he was answering the door with still drenched clothes and that his darker than usual hair was in a messy disarray? Perhaps, if it were in fact a Lady at his door -- but that was unheard of at this hour, for most, anyway. Either way, he had a hunch at who it might be.

The front door swung open onto a man with his fist still raised in the air, clearly on its way to another set of noisy knocks. Noise like this would excite the nosy neighbors and do nothing but credit his already questionable reputation. The man stank of liquor and looked as if he'd gotten down and rolled around in whatever drops had been unfortunate enough to miss his mouth. In his lowered hand he held something that was partially hidden, but glinted a dangerous, shiny green in the light pooling out onto the doorstep. Naturally, Will saw what was coming moments before it actually happened, and yet he did nothing to stop it. "Wheeeree isshh shee, ya phukinn bloodshucking bashters?!" His words were slurred horrible and he advanced into the house, totally uninvited.

But Will, ignoring what he didn't consider to be a danger, opted for one of his responses that'd likely piss anyone off. "Have you had the misfortune of misplacing someone dear to you? More's the pity. However, you should return at a more agreeable hour when I am properly donned to entertain inebriated Americans."

Before the man could make his undoubtedly nasty and outraged drunken remark, the sound of clumsy footfall interrupted. "Dave?" a soft, feminine voice asked from just behind Will. "Wh-what are you..." The blonde woman had waltzed into the house, clothes a mess and hanging off of her shoulders, hair clinging to her wet, flushed cheeks, and a look of dazed horror decorated her gentle features. Clearly, Will noted glancing over his shoulder at her, she had disregarded the use of the towel he'd left for her.

Well, that pissed Dave off. "Whaddya do to her, you monshter!"

Nothing. Yet. "Nothing that I wouldn't do to any woman like her," he responded quite plainly, already seemingly bored with the situation. Whoops, that pissed Dave off even more.

"Are you queshtionnin my whiffe's loyalty? You callin' her a whore?"

"No, I am not doubting your wife's morals persay -- although I do think the current scene states them quite clearly. I am simply implying that I often enjoy the company of buxom beauties and wayward women, those lovely ladies of loose morals. If your wife falls into those categories that is due to no error but your own, I assure you." Will, as it happened, didn't know when to shut the hell up. Even Changing hadn't given him that most prized attribute. That had done it. The green object came up with fierce precision, and went flying towards the cocky bastard's face. Will only shifted his head slightly to the side for the sole purpose of avoiding any unnecessarily serious damage to his face, and the jagged edges of the glass bottle caught him just beneath his right eye. The glass bit into his skin and dragged across leaving a deep, angry red gash behind. For a drunken idiot he sure as hell had good aim.

---

"Who was it this time?"

"A lovely blonde American woman, with ample bosom and of extraordinary beauty."

"But I thought you preferred brunettes?"

It was true. "Which, my dear boy, is precisely why I sleep with the brunettes too, thereby introducing them to a level of pleasure they've yet to experience in their lives. As for the blondes... Their blood tastes like sunshine -- warm, sweet and promising. Dare I say it makes me giddy?" Will glanced to his friend with an utterly unapologetic grin decorating his dark features. The man sitting across from him merely frowned disapprovingly. But it was no secret that he was at least a little jealous that Will had the balls to behave as he did. He just wished he wouldn't, it wasn't only damaging his reputation -- which the man knew Will didn't give two pence about -- but it was damaging the person he could be.

"And what would you do, you arrogant bastard, if one of your cousins dabbled with men the likes of you? And if you should -- dare I say it? -- imprint with one of these women you so obviously have no real affections for?"

"I'd kill the poor bloke who was unfortunate enough to attempt compromising them. That goes for your sister as well, Tristan. I wouldn't allow it, and yes, you know bloody well how much of a hypocrite I can be. Secondly, that thought is positively horrid and may just darken my nights, Tris. You know well that I stop before any imprinting may happen, and should you jinx me and it happens in future, well, all pain and emotional misery aside, it shall be broken accordingly."

Tristan sighed and sank back into the soft cushioning of his chair, clearly at ends wit with his friend. The first part had been an expected response and true to his nature, but the second bit... Did he not realize how much emotion went into an imprint? Sure, he'd only said it in an attempt to frighten him into ceasing his practices of nibbling on human women like nighttime snacks, but even still. The man truly didn't think much of them, did he? He considered how to respond until noticing the blood trickling down his cheek and he sat upright again. "I say, found the shave disagreeable, did you?"

Now Will's expression turned positively stormy, devilish, and yet he smirked nonetheless. "This is a gift from the American who's wife I had pinned to a tree out in the gardens. Darling thing, isn't it?" He spoke the way one who was recalling a memory of which they were particularly fond might. "Of course I wanted to beat breathless the old chap. Though it does make me look a tad more devil-may-care, what say you?" But he hadn't. He never did. Lately it seemed as though he only messed with some of the women he did for the sake of ruining marriages, or maybe opening up the eyes of the partner's so that they could mend marriages before it was too late. There was that and it seemed to Tristan as though the man was on mission to have someone beat the behavior out of him.

Tristan merely smiled and shook his blonde head. Will was an ass, an unforgivable, uncaring, arrogant smartass. But like it or not, he was his best friend and he loved him like he were blood. "I'm amazed that he didn't do you a few worse. Though," he added as an after-thought, "I suppose he did come out of this the lucky one."

*

[/size]KYE[/right]