it had been quite some time since there had been much activity in the london institute. for some time all of the adventure had moved overseas, and it left will rather bored in the institute. sure, he had jessamine, but she wasn’t always the best company. sometimes tessa would visit, and even though she couldn’t see him she spoke as if he was right there beside her. it made him feel just the slightest bit alive, seeing her and hearing her voice again. the halls had been quiet for a few weeks and will occupied his time by reading the paper that was left out by one of the current residents after breakfast each morning until it was taken away by someone from the cleaning staff and he was left looking for something else to do. as per usual he found himself going for a bit of a walk in the mid-morning, but when will returned in the afternoon he found a much different scene than the deserted building he was used to. music floated faintly through the halls from the radio in the kitchen, staff moving quickly through the halls talking of unexpected company and the herondale boy that happened to be visiting for whatever reason.
the realization had will moving with purpose throughout the institute to search out the company, poking his head into several sitting rooms before finding him in the slightly more modern library full of century-old books that will had defaced with his initials and thoughts back when they were fresh off the press. this herondale didn’t look like himself or his wife, but there was a warmth that came with catching the other’s eyes and realizing they were the same warm hue as his own son’s.
“i hope you’re a fan of the classics, because that’s all we really have.” he leaned against the near waist height display cabinet against the wall, giving jace lots of space while also intruding on whatever he was doing in the library in the first place. “personally, i enjoy the work of oscar wilde.” it had been much too long since he had the opportunity to speak to a relative of his, and will felt a sense of familial warmth towards the other man even without having met him before. he didn’t need to. a herondale is a herondale, and all herondales were family. “ if you’re more of a jane austen man, my daughter left her collection here with us somewhere. If you’re looking for something else, I’m not sure you’ll find it here.”
a ghost will annoying jace || @paraquacktai
Jace had been intentionally keeping from reading the letter addressed to him — the distinct shape of an invitation of some sort, and he found it odd that a warlock would use a system he thought would seem so…archaic. Then again, he hadn’t been responding to Tessa’s fire messages either. This newer, more open to the world version of himself knew he was being incredibly rude, and most likely upsetting the woman a great deal. But beneath that was an angry boy who disliked the family he’d been birthed from — that didn’t want to recognized he belonged somewhere that wasn’t with his siblings, The Lightwoods.
Unfortunate for him, his generations-removed grandmother had a direct line to someone he greatly loved. Through Magnus, she’d gotten to Alec’s ear and asked about him. If anyone could convince that angry self Jace had hidden of anything, it was his parabatai. No, he wasn’t being forced to bond — being driven out, as he’d dramatically put it. Jace Herondale was the head of an institute on a diplomatic visit to London. Far be it for a soldier to argue with his Consul.
Warlock Lightwood-Bane himself had personally portalled Jace to his destination. He handed his things to an eager-to-please staff, and soon enough he was left to himself. Were they still waiting on a head for this institute? He couldn’t be bothered to remember at just that moment, and busied himself with exploring.
The adventure was cut short when he beheld a library with books older than he could probably imagine. Only a few steps separated him and the first shelf, Jace grabbing down the first book he recognized. A very old copy of a Charles Dickens novel, it didn’t seem brittle as much as well loved. It was annotated, handwriting he was sure Clary would call ‘old fashioned’ making comments across many of the pages. He replaced that book onto the shelf and had pulled down another when he saw someone at the door, watching him.
He held the book in two hands as the man spoke, the corners of his mouth dipping in a slight frown. Something wasn’t quite right with him. Not only was he dressed out of a time period long passed, his presence was faint and only something Jace had felt a few times in his life.
“ No Emily Bronte? A shame. ” He held up the book he was holding. “ I guess I’ll make due with Sir Doyle and Mr. Holmes. ”
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