MAWDESLEY, Perecles Harriet

[impendium]

perecles, harriet, mawdesley

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“What a dismal life we creatures lead, existing while the mortals bleed.”[/center]



NAME:[/color]
Perecles Harriet Mawdesley

APPARENT AGE:[/color]
35

REAL AGE:[/color]
197

GENDER:[/color]
Male

SEXUALITY:[/color]
Bisexual

RACE:[/color]
Vampire

SIDE:[/color]
His own.

i'm creeping my way out
so you can see me

HAIR:[/color]
Perry’s hair is cut short (although somewhat long, by a regular man’s standards), and is usually in a curly mess of black tresses, particularly around his ears and forehead. Despite the unruliness of it, he obviously washes it regularly—it’s rather soft, and easy to run one’s hands through. His hair is always in the same style. It’s never changed. It never will. He, himself, has no earthly idea what it looks like when it’s longer than how it already is… and he certainly doesn’t want to know any time soon.

EYES:[/color]
His eyes are of average size (perhaps a bit bigger), and in an almost rhombus-shaped rectangular formation. They are, for the most part, unremarkable—his lashes are a bit on the long side, his pupils are a tad larger.. but the most prominent thing about his eyes is their color. They are a bright, almost clear shade of blue-grey, that contrasts vividly with its dark-lashed frame. The oddity of them is usually hindered, by his half-lidded stares and glazed gazes, but once those eyes light up, with the thrill of chase or the excitement of a new discovery, it’s bloody amazing.. well, if one appreciates it. Otherwise it’s just, “Oh, look, he’s not zoned out. Ehh.”

HEIGHT:[/color]
5'11"

BUILD:[/color]
Fairly slim; lanky


DISTINGUISHED BY:[/color]
He has several scars upon his body, most upon his hands; around his palms, thumb, and the finger he leans his pen upon whilst writing, there are minuscule scars, as if from a man writing too fervently with a quill to notice its sharpened nib scratching him when he twisted the feather or toyed with it. There is also, of course, that small scar on his upper lip, leaning slightly to the left.

PREFERRED PLAYBY:[/color]
Benedict Cumberbatch

FULL DESCRIPTION:[/color]
Perecles is a tall, thin man, standing at 5’11” and a quarter inch. He is 141 pounds, and little of it is muscle tone—after all, the fellow is not built for physical strain. His body is better suited towards cozy desk jobs, and lurking in dark rooms like a patient spider.. which he does from time to time, but that’s beside the point. Perecles is by no means normal in proportion; he is lanky, with long arms and legs, and a thin torso to boot. His hands are slender, and his fingers are somewhat spidery. It gives him a remarkably bizarre look, but not one that is hard on the eyes, I daresay. His neck is a bit on the thin side (some would wonder how it even supported his head), and, altogether, his physique is relatively unhealthy-looking. The only muscle he probably has is in his legs—he has a tendency to run, rather than walk, when he’s even in the slightest of hurries. So, while one may be able to punch his lights out—it’s rare that they could outrun him.

Perecles follows a strict sense of style that seems, if anything, outdated and repetitive; it is always a pinstriped, button-up shirt with silver cufflinks, a velvety gray suit, slightly pointed leather shoes, and a black trenchcoat with the belts around the cuffs crudely cut off, as if by scissors held in a hurried hand. Occasionally, if the weather permits, he wears a scarf or a light ascot; otherwise, he’s usually wearing a neutral-colored tie. His socks, in contrast to his usual wardrobe, are always remarkably stupid—they are obnoxious colors and variations, and usually he doesn’t wear the same socks at the same time. It’s always mismatched, bizarre, and completely bewildering to anyone who assumes him to be completely monochromatic.

i'm crawling my way
round a thousand cities

PERSONALITY:[/color]
First and foremost, Perry is a sociopath. He has always been that way, since he was born—he has a total disregard for the lives of those he deems unimportant, and is not profoundly affected by the morals and laws that society so firmly holds over every citizen’s head. He bears no qualms with breaking the law or doing something completely lewd and ridiculous, for the sake of making something more interesting. He is a pathological liar, and does not care to reveal the truth to anyone lest he deems the moment right, or it’s the only way to prove his point. He has an uncanny ability to lie, and sometimes will even believe his own falsehoods; he is a creature that cannot be trusted, in most senses. It’s actually difficult for him to tell the truth on a consistent basis. The vampire also has a habit of being outraged by the smallest of things, and being completely unmoved and cold when encountering occurrences that would make a normal person become upset. Linking up to this sociopathic nature is his impulsiveness, stubbornness, and incapability of maintaining friendships.

However, where he is a cold and heartless being, he is also relatively childish and annoying. He’ll repeatedly call people’s name, prod people, and generally bother them, sometimes even purposely messing up what they’re doing so that they focus entirely on him rather than anything else. This causes him to have a tendency to shout, throw things, and knock things lazily off of shelves, so that they shatter and direct the room’s attentions to his general direction. When there is some sort of trouble afoot, or a puzzle that needs to be solved, Perecles becomes erratic—he’s hyper, shifting around in his seat, jumping, pacing, talking and waving his hands viciously as if to draw out every word within the air. He reacts and acts upon the smallest urges within his fast-turning mind, and it happens so suddenly that it often scares the crap out of people who are in the same room with him. He will be sitting, somberly, reading over a paper.. and then quite suddenly, he’ll lurch out of his seat, tossing the paper aside, and dashing off to his flat, shouting something along the lines of “God dammit, it all makes sense now!” That is not to say that he is any nicer when he’s in this state; if anything, he’s ruder. When he is in these moods, he is very difficult to persuade. If he wants to jump out of the window and test something? Then god dammit he will jump out of the window.

Now, pertaining to his manic depressive issues. Even when he feels the tiniest inkling of sadness, he’ll start viciously chain-smoking, and just sit around, deep in thought, until he either falls asleep or gets over his despair. What is he like, when he is depressed, however? Quiet. Unsettlingly quiet. He will simply stare, glossy-eyed, at nothing. He won’t say a word, or react to anything, unless he’s touched or his gaze is broken. At this point, he gets snappish and bitter, becoming violent and shoving people away. He’ll sometimes even draw his gun and threaten to fire upon his perceived tormentor.. although he never actually follows through with the threat. You really need a nerve of steel to deal with him in these moods; that, or the patience of a saint.


GOALS:[/color]
Simply to stay alive and come out on top. He doesn't care, really.

FEARS & WEAKNESSES:[/color]
` immobility
` impulsive
` fits
` addiction
` hardheaded

LIKES:[/color]
` information
` challenges
` winning
` nicotine
` solving problems

DISLIKES:[/color]
` being outsmarted
` boredom
` people
` being alone
` laws
` vampire's code of morals

you all stop and stare
i don't need your pity

JOB/TITLE:[/color]
Unemployed

BIRTHPLACE:[/color]
London, England

DATE OF CHANGE:[/color]
February 19, 1780

ABILITIES:[/color]
Perecles has no "special" abilities, beyond the usual skills of full-blooded vampires. However, if we are to count observational skill as a special ability, he has sight like a hawk's, and an eye for the smallest of details, which he can link up within his mind to certain traits, and basically deduce random facts of what he's observing. He could, for example, tell someone's occupation by the color of their tie, or the dexterity of someone's fingers based on the sides of their shoes.

i'm living my life in this hell

COMMON KNOWLEDGE:[/color]
The only solid, concrete thing that people know of Perecles is that he's a sociopath. He doesn't care for people's emotions, doesn't understand anything remotely humane, and has no morals.

SECRETS:[/color]
He killed his master (the vampire General who blooded him) upon completing his training, with a strategic placement of poison within the water the man was drinking.

INVENTORY:[/color]
` a set of surgical tools
` writing utensils (pens, mostly)
` small leatherbound journal
` a Walther P99 AS (9mm handgun)

STRENGTHS:[/color]
` deductive skill
` fearless
` attention to details
` disguises
` manipulative

now i'm crawling away
cause the stress has killed me

PARENTS:[/color]
Susan Mawdesley (deceased)
Henri Mawdesley (deceased)

SIBLINGS:[/color]
Harry Mawdesley (younger brother; deceased)

RELATIONSHIPS:[/color]
n/a

OTHERS:[/color]
Alexander Chevalier (vampire who blooded him; deceased)

HISTORY:[/color]
Perecles Harriet Mawdesley was born on January 25th, to the loving arms of Susan and Henri Mawdesley. He was born into a world of average earnings and occurrences; his mother was a painter, and his father was a journalist, for some random English newspaper that Perry apparently found so uninteresting that he never held on to the information. However, for such average people, how they could come up with the name “Perecles Harriet” is completely beyond the vampire. It certainly sounded ridiculous on him as a child—it was like a Greek or Roman God, if anything. Not remotely appropriate for a little brat who liked to sling mud and eat glue. Although he was of average means, he was born with an intelligence streak in him not quite unlike that of any child destined for greatness. He could adequately understand his parents and such as a toddler, so he’s told, and his motor skills were advanced enough to where he wasn’t that child who sat there repeatedly bashing the square peg against the round hole. From birth to the age of seven, Perecles was completely ignorant towards the evils that went on beyond the Mawdesley home, and the constant stress that his father had to endure reporting for a failing newspaper, and having to take on dangerous stories to keep the paper relevant. As far as the child knew, everything was sunshine and butterflies. It wasn’t until he was seven that he actually caught a glimpse of reality. It was a cold Saturday evening in September, and the sun was beginning to set, streaks of muted red attempting to peek beyond the gray tones of London’s sky—the house was attacked by a group of hooligans, who attempted to rob the house and take advantage of Perry’s mother. His father fought them off, but they landed a few very painful blows upon both Henri and Susan—Perecles watched from a strategic hiding place within the hall. When it was all over, and the couple went to the hospital, the news wasn’t good: Henri was fine, but Susan was going to be paralyzed for the rest of her life, from the neck down. Life passed by uneventfully for Perecles, after this incident; he became very secluded and bitter, and his father ceased giving a damn, so Perry basically raised himself. He was blooded simply out of boredom—he bears no moral obligation to the Mountain, has never visited it, and generally just doesn’t give a damn. He’s never given a damn, really, and he’s only wasted his immortality away with drugs and pointless exploration of the world.

i feel like i fell
from a ten-story building

NAME/NICKNAME:[/color]
Vaffa

AGE:[/color]
19

EXPERIENCE:[/color]
I've been RPing for 11 years.

OTHER CHARACTERS:[/color]
n/a

TIME ZONE:[/color]
GMT -5

RP SAMPLE: [/color]
It was a particularly dark, gray afternoon, not unlike most afternoons in downtown London. The air was rife with the stench of city life—young women reeking of perfume, food stands waving about their putrid goods, boys strolled along reeking of pot. It was a sight that would alienate most; quite like the jungle, this was a vicious habitat that took many years to fully adapt to, if you were not born into it.. and it was a pain to get around, if you were a stranger to the city. Thankfully, Perecles wasn’t anything of the sort—London born and bred, he’d spent enough of his life exploring the city that he practically knew it like the back of his hand. Whether it was darker than pitch or bright as the light gray crayon (that being about as bright as it ever got in London), the vampire could maneuver about as naturally as a fox does through its own den. He lived here. He belonged here. And, currently, he was trying his damn hardest to find someone who was the polar opposite. Completely and utterly lost.

“Tourist, tourist, tourist..” the man mumbled quietly to himself, as a spidery hand slipped upwards, to push up his sunglasses; he had decided to venture out into the sun today, since it was one of the darker afternoons that London had to offer.. but it stung his eyes nonetheless. His finger brushed against the pale flesh of his neck, as he began to lower his hand—for a moment or two, he seemed to let his hand linger there, feeling the steady beat of his pulse. He seemed temporarily lost in thought—his eyes were wandering away from the crowd, and towards his leather shoes, observing the polished gleam upon their pointed ends.

It was then, from his peripheral, that he saw it. A young lady, perceiving Perecles as distracted, darted through the crowd, fumbling and tripping as if she were unsure of how to move through the surging, impassive throng of citygoers. The vampire couldn’t help but smirk; with a few easy strides of his lanky legs, the man swerved and danced through the crowd, carefully maneuvering and managing to come upon the stumbling idiot within minutes. His hand lowered, and snatched at the back of the young girl’s jacket, causing her to yelp like some sort of scared puppy. “Good lord, girl,” Perry remarked, clasping his other arm around the girl’s waist to steady her squirming, “calm down, you’ve already been caught!” He heaved the struggling youth out of the crowd, and shoved her onto an unoccupied bench, whilst giving curious citygoers around the ‘I’m-obviously-an-earnest-older-brother-figure-trying-to-save-my-runaway-sister’ look. They moved on without a fuss, and the girl appeared to be around seventeen, with a mess of blonde hair and wide, hazel eyes. She looked like a cherub, if anything—although she was a bit on the fat side. For the time being, she seemed complacent, resigned to her fate of apprehension. As such, spidery hands extended, and clasped on the girl’s shoulders. She relaxed, and Perry exhaled a puff of breath within her face—within minutes, that lovely, nifty gift of the vampire set to work, and she passed out, slumped backwards on the bench. Casually, Perry then hoisted her up, and carried her off, to find a simple place to feed.

God damn, his method was flawless. So thrilling. So different. Definitely better then what those “prim and proper” vampires went about doing, in the secrecy of night’s inky embrace. Perecles smirked, as he strolled down a narrow alleyway, feeling the steady rise and fall of the woman’s chest against his side. “.. This is the life, Perecles,” he mumbled to himself, disappearing within the shadows of the setting sun, “This.. is.. the life.”

TEMPLATE ORIGINALLY FROM CAUTIONTOTHEWIND WITH ADAPTATION BY MYNTE.[/blockquote]