Jean-Claude (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
baisant) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2017-04-14 07:03 pm
baisant) wrote in undergrounds2017-04-14 07:03 pm
If I Were A Painting... [OPEN]
Jean-Claude sits in the office of Guilty Pleasures, staring down at the account book laid before him on the desk. He is usually a lot more productive than he finds himself at such a time as this, but the air in the room is somewhat oppressive with the weight of time and memory that he feels bearing down on him, and he finds it difficult to concentrate on much of anything for long periods of time. The city is in turmoil over this business with the witches and the fae, and the wolves have begun causing trouble of their own.
He has made decrees of his own in response to these problems -- all vampires sympathetic to the Daybreak cause are to be expelled from the Nest. And the wolves? Well, since they were going about killing any vampire on sight that set foot in East End Pack territory, Jean-Claude made his own declaration in return. Any werewolf caught trespassing will be subject to punishment of that vampire's choice. He does not want an all-out bloodbath on his hands, to decree that they might kill on sight in return would be downright foolhardy. But he cannot let this go either. Perhaps he should have thought things through more, but he had been a bit preoccupied of late.
And that preoccupation had everything to do with the new portrait hanging on the wall above his couch. New, in the sense that it had not been there before, but definitely not new in age. Oil on canvas, painted over five hundred years ago, depicting three people dressed in the style of the 1600's. The woman wears white and silver with a square bodice showing quite a bit of decolletage, her brown hair styled in careful ringlets, with a red rose held loosely in one hand. A man stands behind her, tall and slender, with dark gold hair in ringlets over his shoulders. He has a mustache and a Vandyke beard, so dark gold they are nearly brown. On his head he wears a large floppy hat with feathers, his entire outfit of white and gold. It is the third that the onlooker will recognize. Seated just behind the woman, dressed in black with silver embroidery and a wide lace collar and cuffs, he too has his own wide-brimmed floppy hat, with a single quite feather and a silver buckle, this one black. Though he does not wear it, instead resting it across his lap. His black hair falls in ringlets across his shoulders, and his face is clean-shaven, his eyes strikingly blue even despite the medium. The other two depicted are smiling, but the third man -- Jean-Claude -- is solemn. A darkness to their light.
Jean-Claude does not know why Belle decided to send this painting to him. He has not gathered the courage in himself to ask, just yet. Neither has he gathered the courage to do anything with it but hang the piece on his wall. It is a reminder of what feels now as if a different life. He should have known, as the portrait artist had done, that he would bring a darkness in their lives. These two people he had cherished the most in all the world. Julianna. Asher. How happy they had been...
He pushes himself back from the desk with a sigh, feeling their gazes heavy upon himself. He will get no work done on this night. Perhaps he should take a turn about the floor of the club instead. Though he doubts that will do much to lighten his mood.
[ooc: feel free to visit him being maudlin in his office, or as he mopes around on the floor, or perhaps once he has found himself a corner of the bar and a glass of wine to nurse as well! c: ]
He has made decrees of his own in response to these problems -- all vampires sympathetic to the Daybreak cause are to be expelled from the Nest. And the wolves? Well, since they were going about killing any vampire on sight that set foot in East End Pack territory, Jean-Claude made his own declaration in return. Any werewolf caught trespassing will be subject to punishment of that vampire's choice. He does not want an all-out bloodbath on his hands, to decree that they might kill on sight in return would be downright foolhardy. But he cannot let this go either. Perhaps he should have thought things through more, but he had been a bit preoccupied of late.
And that preoccupation had everything to do with the new portrait hanging on the wall above his couch. New, in the sense that it had not been there before, but definitely not new in age. Oil on canvas, painted over five hundred years ago, depicting three people dressed in the style of the 1600's. The woman wears white and silver with a square bodice showing quite a bit of decolletage, her brown hair styled in careful ringlets, with a red rose held loosely in one hand. A man stands behind her, tall and slender, with dark gold hair in ringlets over his shoulders. He has a mustache and a Vandyke beard, so dark gold they are nearly brown. On his head he wears a large floppy hat with feathers, his entire outfit of white and gold. It is the third that the onlooker will recognize. Seated just behind the woman, dressed in black with silver embroidery and a wide lace collar and cuffs, he too has his own wide-brimmed floppy hat, with a single quite feather and a silver buckle, this one black. Though he does not wear it, instead resting it across his lap. His black hair falls in ringlets across his shoulders, and his face is clean-shaven, his eyes strikingly blue even despite the medium. The other two depicted are smiling, but the third man -- Jean-Claude -- is solemn. A darkness to their light.
Jean-Claude does not know why Belle decided to send this painting to him. He has not gathered the courage in himself to ask, just yet. Neither has he gathered the courage to do anything with it but hang the piece on his wall. It is a reminder of what feels now as if a different life. He should have known, as the portrait artist had done, that he would bring a darkness in their lives. These two people he had cherished the most in all the world. Julianna. Asher. How happy they had been...
He pushes himself back from the desk with a sigh, feeling their gazes heavy upon himself. He will get no work done on this night. Perhaps he should take a turn about the floor of the club instead. Though he doubts that will do much to lighten his mood.
[ooc: feel free to visit him being maudlin in his office, or as he mopes around on the floor, or perhaps once he has found himself a corner of the bar and a glass of wine to nurse as well! c: ]