Post by Mina Crow on May 22, 2006 12:40:29 GMT 12
[Name >> William "Havoc" Norton
[Age >> 16
[Gender >> Male
[Tribe >> Wharf Rats
[Rank >> Beta
[Nationality >> Canadian
[Politics >> Military Right
[Romantic orientation >> Straight
[Appearance >> Will is a pale-skinned boy of medium height and build. He has nondescript wavy dark brown hair, once short but now down to his shoulders. His eyes are a dark green with shades of brown around the pupil, and tend to change according to the light. His bold nose is slightly crooked, broken on a fight a few months ago, and he bears no sign of a beard yet. On a close look, Will's hands are strong and muscled, like those of a pianist, but they have gained calluses and small scars on recent times and no longer resemble what they were before the Plagues. Usually, he wears khaki pants, for jeans would be easily soaked on the sewers, a once white shirt, which now stands on a strange shade of green-gray, and, if weather calls for it, a dark gray polar sweatshirt.
[Attitude >> Will is a tremendously calm boy. He is not one to keep silent in a situation that concerns his well-being, yet he is not likely to break into a raging temper. However, he is very resentful, and has eidetic memory on everything he listens to. Therefore, Will is usually a quiet listener, but it is not uncommon for him to turn on someone for an insult or a cross-word dating days, even weeks, ago. His alias surfaces at those times, and Will can easily be blind to other things around him until he settles the matter according to his justice. There is an easy way to soothe him, though - although he does not like to reveal it. Music. A single chord might easily pull Will into an almost catatonic state, his mind wandering to a world far away.
[Notable History >> Will was born and raised on Geraldton, Ontario, Canada. From an early stage, his parents pushed him into a musical formation, for his father, Andrew Norton, was a local maestro and his mother, Joanne, a music therapy researcher on a medical facility. Not pressing him, yet clearly guiding his way. As he grew up, he started to show a growing interest on Natural Sciences, but his love for music lingered, especially on the piano he had started to play at five. Will was not a composer - in fact, he had no skill at all on that subject - yet he was an avid tester of every music he would lay hands on.
When he was twelve, his family moved across the border to the USA, settling in Rhode Island. Andrew and Cameron took up jobs on New York City, and Will was sent to the local high school. The Black Plague struck during school holidays, yet his parents were both at work. Frantic about the news, Will searched for them in every way he could, but without success. As every other person on the city, they were gone. The White Plague was the cleanse, though - and he decided to travel to the newly dubbed New Pork, if only to see his parents' graves. The Razorwire Fence did not stop him, but although there was a way in, there was no way out of the city. Anyway, he had nowhere else to go, so he joined one of the growing tribes, the Wharf Rats. There, on the Wharf, he can listen to the sound of the sea and the cries of the gulls - the only thing left of his music.
'You hear the people talking you walk the wrong street
Painting all things black and step on your feet
Flabby stomach, styled hair, trousers full of air
Their morality is real ours isn't there
They don't know, no they can't see
Our hearts close to the sun
Different in our hearts filled with
That faith we carry on
They just call us savage
That's what I like to be
Let them call us savage
Cause that's what we like to be
See the people wonder we run in our direction
Let the narrow-minded sleep we better do some action
Across the universe you smell the smell of lies
I'm trying to be the winner not the sacrifice
They don't know, no they can't see
Our hearts close to the sun
Different in our hearts filled with
That faith we carry on
They just call us savage
That's what I like to be
Let them call us savage
Cause that's what we like to be
See them run they know no fun
And look what they have done
In this world full of rules
We look just like fools
I know what they think when I see them lookin' at me (Savage)
We come close every day to the time table life
So mart they start their backwards fight
I know what they think when I see them lookin' at me (Savage)
One day they will drop the bomb
Cause it's necessary to show the power
One day they will give a s**t on what you say
They just call us savage
That's what I like to be
Let them call us savage
Cause that's what we like to be' ~ Helloween
[Reputation >> For being an apparently patient guy; that is deceiving, though, and those who have known him for a while know it, and have learned it is a good choice to keep their heads cool near Will, lest he store that tidbit of information for later.
[Age >> 16
[Gender >> Male
[Tribe >> Wharf Rats
[Rank >> Beta
[Nationality >> Canadian
[Politics >> Military Right
[Romantic orientation >> Straight
[Appearance >> Will is a pale-skinned boy of medium height and build. He has nondescript wavy dark brown hair, once short but now down to his shoulders. His eyes are a dark green with shades of brown around the pupil, and tend to change according to the light. His bold nose is slightly crooked, broken on a fight a few months ago, and he bears no sign of a beard yet. On a close look, Will's hands are strong and muscled, like those of a pianist, but they have gained calluses and small scars on recent times and no longer resemble what they were before the Plagues. Usually, he wears khaki pants, for jeans would be easily soaked on the sewers, a once white shirt, which now stands on a strange shade of green-gray, and, if weather calls for it, a dark gray polar sweatshirt.
[Attitude >> Will is a tremendously calm boy. He is not one to keep silent in a situation that concerns his well-being, yet he is not likely to break into a raging temper. However, he is very resentful, and has eidetic memory on everything he listens to. Therefore, Will is usually a quiet listener, but it is not uncommon for him to turn on someone for an insult or a cross-word dating days, even weeks, ago. His alias surfaces at those times, and Will can easily be blind to other things around him until he settles the matter according to his justice. There is an easy way to soothe him, though - although he does not like to reveal it. Music. A single chord might easily pull Will into an almost catatonic state, his mind wandering to a world far away.
[Notable History >> Will was born and raised on Geraldton, Ontario, Canada. From an early stage, his parents pushed him into a musical formation, for his father, Andrew Norton, was a local maestro and his mother, Joanne, a music therapy researcher on a medical facility. Not pressing him, yet clearly guiding his way. As he grew up, he started to show a growing interest on Natural Sciences, but his love for music lingered, especially on the piano he had started to play at five. Will was not a composer - in fact, he had no skill at all on that subject - yet he was an avid tester of every music he would lay hands on.
When he was twelve, his family moved across the border to the USA, settling in Rhode Island. Andrew and Cameron took up jobs on New York City, and Will was sent to the local high school. The Black Plague struck during school holidays, yet his parents were both at work. Frantic about the news, Will searched for them in every way he could, but without success. As every other person on the city, they were gone. The White Plague was the cleanse, though - and he decided to travel to the newly dubbed New Pork, if only to see his parents' graves. The Razorwire Fence did not stop him, but although there was a way in, there was no way out of the city. Anyway, he had nowhere else to go, so he joined one of the growing tribes, the Wharf Rats. There, on the Wharf, he can listen to the sound of the sea and the cries of the gulls - the only thing left of his music.
'You hear the people talking you walk the wrong street
Painting all things black and step on your feet
Flabby stomach, styled hair, trousers full of air
Their morality is real ours isn't there
They don't know, no they can't see
Our hearts close to the sun
Different in our hearts filled with
That faith we carry on
They just call us savage
That's what I like to be
Let them call us savage
Cause that's what we like to be
See the people wonder we run in our direction
Let the narrow-minded sleep we better do some action
Across the universe you smell the smell of lies
I'm trying to be the winner not the sacrifice
They don't know, no they can't see
Our hearts close to the sun
Different in our hearts filled with
That faith we carry on
They just call us savage
That's what I like to be
Let them call us savage
Cause that's what we like to be
See them run they know no fun
And look what they have done
In this world full of rules
We look just like fools
I know what they think when I see them lookin' at me (Savage)
We come close every day to the time table life
So mart they start their backwards fight
I know what they think when I see them lookin' at me (Savage)
One day they will drop the bomb
Cause it's necessary to show the power
One day they will give a s**t on what you say
They just call us savage
That's what I like to be
Let them call us savage
Cause that's what we like to be' ~ Helloween
[Reputation >> For being an apparently patient guy; that is deceiving, though, and those who have known him for a while know it, and have learned it is a good choice to keep their heads cool near Will, lest he store that tidbit of information for later.
