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William Deats

Collage Baseball player on scholorship at the local university.

0 · 267 views · located in Modern Day

a character in “Wicker House”, as played by MattisaBFD


ImageName: William Ried

Nickname: Will, Ried (due to playing baseball)

Age: 21 // May 12, 1994 // Taurus //

Gender: Male

Physical Description: Will is six foot four and very athletic. His skin, or at least his forearms, neck and face, a very tan complexion from one too many day games and his dark eyes have the look of an old gunfighter from the wild west. He likes to keep a fair amount of stubble on his face since it gives him a bit of an older appearance but willet not commit to growing out a full beard just yet.

Personality: Will is first and foremost a ball player. Not only a ball player, but a pitcher. He tends to keep a cool head in stressful situations, but can be hot headed at times when a call doesn't go his way, and he likes to be in control of most situations. Will, being a ball player, is also extremely superstitious as well, which can make him pretty quirky.

A Brief History: Will had a pretty relaxed childhood. His family was not rich by any means but they lived comfortably and could enjoy the luxury of going to see a baseball game once in a blue moon. He was also gifted with a cannon of a right arm that he learned to control pretty early on in his childhood to "paint the corners." That is until a rotator cuff injury cut his high school career short.

Describe what happened on the open-house you attended that made your character take the plunge and become a tenant?

Approaching the turn at Country Road, Will couldn't believe he was in the little podunk town of Cobailaville and still couldn't wrap his mind around the reason why. When the scout from Emma Pale University came to him after his last start at San Marcos Community College to talk to him about a baseball scholarship he was floored by the offer. A full ride to an actual university to play the game he loved and he didn't have to live on campus? He couldn't thank the man enough for the opportunity.

Will thought back to that first start of the season his senior year. At that point he had worked his curveball into a seventy-three mile an hour beast that, according to batters, seemed to break on command as if it knew the bat was getting close to it. He really wanted to impress the college scouts that year for the chance to play at the University of Texas and had decided to add a little punch to his fastball. The first two innings seemed to go really well. His fastball was hitting the low ninties and his curve was breaking well. The third inning came and Will was on his second batter. With a two ball two strike pitch count, Will heard himself say outloud, "Here comes the real heat." He threw a nintey-six mile an hour fastball that went and hit the backstop, sticking in the chain-link, and Will collapsed on pain.

As the thought was running through his mind, Will rubbed his shoulder and got out of the car. He was almost late to the open house so he quickly stretched from his trip and trotted up ton the front door and wrangler the bell.

Ms. Burns answered the door and invited him in. As he toured the house and listened to her explain evrything, Will couldn't help but get a strange vibe from the house, but like most things he shook it off as just being in a strange place. He was curious about the basement, especially since she refuses to go down the stairs when he inquired. Will didn't dwell on it for long though. He was exhausted from the trip and needed to find a hotel to get some sleep.

After the tour, Will handed over his deposit, signed his papers and thanked Ms. Burns for her hospitality. He then asked from directions to the nearest hotel and walked back to his car. A final look at his new home, at least for now, and he was off and on the road again.

So begins...

William Deats's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Haven Nicols Character Portrait: Aimee Scott Character Portrait: Olav Fossen Character Portrait: Theodore Carter Character Portrait: Mabel North Character Portrait: William Deats
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#, as written by Attie

For the most part of the entire trip over, Aimee kept to herself but plastered a genuine smile on her lips. When they arrived, she'd kept close to Mabel perhaps out of habit of always wanting to be nearest to the person who intimidated her the least. This one, she felt, likely had so much in common what with their similar demeanor that she sensed a friendship on the rise.

Fast forward, and she was following Haven and company over to the booth.

"What made you ladies decide to move into Wicker? The location is quite nice I should say. I moved in mostly because it's fairly close to my cab company's office. And it seems like alot of interesting stuff is going on in this neighborhood." Olav asked.

"I needed a place to stay that wasn't given to me out of the kind heart of my employer. I stayed above Hugo's for two years-- I was bored of it. The house's rent was cheap... That's about it, actually." Haven answered.

"--The house's rent was cheap...That's about it actually." Theo gave his own excuse, short and simple.

It was Mabel or Aimee's go, and Aimee opened her mouth to answer when the group of rambunctious college students -- who apparently knew Theo -- interrupted their 'bonding' outing. She closed her mouth to listen to the exchange between the students and Theo, but the only thing worth a damn that she cared for was the words: "Ghost House, actually.'

Now, Aimee was a religious sort - believe it or not - in that she believed in a heaven and a hell. Whether or not Jesus came to die for everyone's sins was irrelevant to her, as she wasn't sure she trusted a book written by man on a creator's opinions on how the world should be run. But, the important part to her, was that she believed there was a place to go if you were a good person, and a place you went to if you were not. Naturally, demons, ghosts, or whatever ruled either 'place' had to be possible.

But did she really believe in ghost stories? I mean, they all seem so fun to listen to, to read about, or to see made in to major motion pictures, but nothing had ever happened to her. And, to consider the source of where this fable was coming from, Aimee rolled her eyes. She'd seen these kids around campus. In fact, the one speaking about the story as if it were life and death shared Composition I with her.

"Have you nothing better to do?" She snapped, back bone in tact and everything.

"Now let's go Mike. I don't want my greek salad to get soggy, leave Teddy to have recover from our awesome bash with his....uh..friends."

"Mmhm. Yeah, well. Alright. That was oodles of fun and not at all painfully awkward, amiright?" Theo chimed once the others had left them in 'peace' or 'pieces', dependent on who you asked, probably.

"What's to be awkward about? They're hardly credible sources on any accounts -- and I'm pretty sure that one guy was still drunk." She shrugged her shoulders of the situation and took another bite of the vegetarian pizza, throwing a wink at Olav, "Oh, and thanks for the consideration on the veggie pizza."

Wicker House - 6:00PM

Ms. Burns dusted her attire - the very same dress suit she wore the day each of the tenants arrived at Wicker House for Open house - and rolled back her shoulders. Her eyes watched as dust flew behind a car driving up the dirt road to the house, a grimace on her features. She stood in the door way of the front porch, the door open behind her.

"Six out of seven," She said, seemingly to no one in particular.

A voice called from behind her, raspy and hollow.

"Upstairs. The last remaining room." Ms. Burns spoke monotonously. After a moment, she smiled with a nod. "As you wish." The door shut behind her and she made her way to the steps to greet the next tenant.

"Mr. Reid. Your fellow roommates seem to have departed for the evening, but I've got a key. This one is for you, and I'll show you to your room."


Characters Present

Character Portrait: William Deats
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As Will drove down the dirt road to Wicker House, he couldn't help but feel like he was living in some kind of dreamworld. It was seemingly unheard of that a twenty-one year old be given a free ride on a baseball scholarship. Especially one who had a bad shoulder injury that kept him from a professional career. With his mind always on the diamond, he almost didn't notice Ms. Burns standing in the doorway as he parked.

He grabbed his duffel bag out of the front passengers seat, exited the car, and approached her, nodding as he gave his greeting.

"Ms. Burns. How're you ma'am?"

"Mr. Reid. Your fellow roommates seem to have departed for the evening, but I've got a key. This one is for you, and I'll show you to your room."

William placed the key in his pocket and managed a quick, "Thank you ma'am," before she lead him into the house and up the stairs. The room was smaller than the master bedroom that he had seen during the open house, but he didn't need a whole lot of room. Will didn't even own a TV set. All he needed room for was his equipment, a place to hang his clothes, and a place to sleep. He didn't even mind sharing a bathroom with however many other tenants there were.

After unpacking, Will decided to rest for a little while. As he lie back on his bed and closed his eyes, Will couldn't help but feel as if he was being watched from his bedroom door. After a quick glance to see if someone was there and seeing nothing, he shrugged his shoulders and quickly dozed off lazily..


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Haven Nicols Character Portrait: Aimee Scott Character Portrait: Olav Fossen Character Portrait: Theodore Carter Character Portrait: Mabel North Character Portrait: William Deats
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#, as written by Attie

Sunday Night

Having gone upstairs to her room to change, just like everyone else had, Aimee was back in yoga pants and the lose tank top. She, too, poked the fun at Theo's shirtless appearance, right after Haven's quip. "Should have told me the dress code. Now I feel underdressed." She smirked, and hardly even bothered further questioning the new guy, but though everyone was taking place in the pie-eating, Aimee walked over to the fridge, grabbed an orange, and began to peel it.

Why not pie, you say?

Pie doesn't taste good after a proper upchucking. Then again, neither does the acidity of a citrus fruit feel good against a grainy throat that's just been laced in stomach acid, but it feels better than pecans and crust scratching the walls.

Why the upchucking, you say?

Aimee originally had gone in to the bathroom to let out her hair and brush it, since they were all getting ready for bed any how. And then she remembered the pizza, and how pizza looked on thighs. And how thighs looked in photographs. And -- well, it all escalated rather quickly.

So there she was, tossing the cookies she'd collected throughout the day when all of a sudden, a tiny little hand patted her right shoulder and began to pull back her hair for her.

"It's going to be okay."

At first, Aimee choked up, thinking it was Haven or Mabel. She began to cry, thinking herself an idiot for not shutting the door, or locking it. - But wait, she had[/] shut it. She [i]had locked it. Looking over her shoulder, there was no one, but she could have sworn there was a hand at her shoulder, patting her down, holding back her hair.

If weight wasn't a motivator enough to want to throw up, the chill down her spine that the college kids may not have been so wrong definitely gave her another go at it. For good measure.

Monday Morning

Aimee had elected to take her orange upstairs to her room. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep, even with the chills, because fatigue gathered the body that had removed it's contents. She felt cold, her bones shivering beneath the covers, and she found she couldn't warm up even when she pulled a hoodie over her tank.

At precisely 3:09AM, she bolted awake when her own screams woke her. She stopped as soon as she realized it came from herself, her eyes wide. Did she wake anyone? Would they worry? What if they came in here?

She pushed her head back on to her pillow and feigned sleep just as soon as she'd sat up. If anyone was going to come, they wouldn't know it was her. Maybe they'd be as spooked out as she was over the whole thing. She couldn't even recall her dream.

It wouldn't be until she woke up around 6:57AM that she bothered to step out of the bed and begin her stretches for yoga. "And a jog." She told herself. Classes started at 10:15AM. She'd have time for it all, to get ready, grab a bite, and then walk towards downtown.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Haven Nicols Character Portrait: Aimee Scott Character Portrait: William Deats
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#, as written by Attie


"Perhaps, you'd find yourself resting more comfortably outside of the classroom, Ms. Scott." The professor slammed a ruler down maybe six inches from her forearm - the one that had presented itself as a reasonable horizontal surface for sleeping during class. Aimee jumped up with a start, bolting upright in her chair. She was pretty sure she shared this class with William Reid - so this was double embarrassing. Awesome.

"I'm, I'm very sorry. That was rude of m--"

"I don't have any more time to waste on your excuse than I do waking you up if only to kick you out. Come prepared next time - and that includes the mentality to function."

Aimee opened her mouth to protest, but gathered her belongings anyhow. "I--"

"Out the door, Ms. Scott. And might I add, not the best way to start off your semester here at Em Pale Uni."

It wasn't until after Aimee was out in to the corridor and walking towards the doors to get to the courtyard that she realized the professor's nickname for the university sounded a great deal like Impale. She laughed, and checked that off her list of things to call it once mid terms and finals came around to ruin her existence.

The rest of her classes took little to no time at all - or so it felt. It was the usual, "Welcome to the Semester. Here's the Obligatory Sheet of all the Things We'll be Learning About. Here's the Dates to All of the Exams. This Will be Inevitably Changed. Fair Warning." Repeat that for four classes, and you've got five o'clock in the afternoon hitting with a bus ride commute back towards the house. Sure, for lunch, Aimee did sneak a peak in to the cafe Haven was said to work within - though instead of chatting much with either her nor the man who ran the place, she grabbed her latte and baguette and was out the door just as soon as she'd arrived.

As per the first day she'd arrived, the bus wouldn't drive her all the way up to the doorstep, so Aimee was left to walk up the drive. It was a good mile, she'd wager, but it was just as good for the silence it allowed her.

Well, it would have been silent, but it appeared as if someone brought home a dog. She wasn't entirely sure what the policy on dogs was in the Wicker House, let alone the property. While she was an animal person, she was aware they were no small feat to care for and there was a reason boys gave their girlfriends dogs as pets before having kids because 1) it bought them time before that responsibility and 2) a dog was similar - even if only in a fraction.

This dog started a few yards out, running about with a trashed up yellow tennis ball. She'd heard it's playful barks before she saw the beagle charging up the way - well, charging as much as a beagle could muster. Aimee smiled by default, hunching down in her hiking boots and shorts to pet it as it drew closer.

The dog didn't stop, nor did it slow as it reached her. It kept running, panting, and was getting closer, and closer, and it was just about to pounce on top of her - which she had no doubt would tilt her on her backpack from impact - when it barked, lunged, and ---


And what the fuck just happened?

Aimee blinked, standing upright and turning around. There had been no impact. No touch. No feel. No smell. No saliva from it's jaws.

And no trace it'd even been there. Well, that was a lie. The yellow, beaten tennis ball rolled down the hill and tapped the toe of her hiking boot. It was a gesture so small, so real, that it sent shivers up her spine with the realization that only part of what she'd just witnessed was real.

She swallowed, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one had seen her - or to verify they saw it, too. No one was present, though. Just the gardener, and she was hunched well over in to the pits of the bushes that surrounded the house. Her brim hat seemed to keep her from looking much anywhere than her forward focus.

As she made it to the front, up the steps, and in to the doorway, Aimee took in a deep breath and leaned against the wood of the entry way, sliding down the wall and in to the floor of the foyer. She closed her eyes, and chose just to breathe.