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: ]
no subject
Once they're inside, Nancy immediately notices the newest addition to the office.
"That painting," she says after a moment of looking at it. "Is that- my gods, that's you, isn't it?"
no subject
He supposes he should have thought the painting would be the first place her eyes would gravitate, considering it's the first place that his do as well. Still, most of his staff have avoided the questions, whether out of respect or out of fear he does not quite know, and so to be asked as much so outright and so soon is well. Almost refreshing in a way. He glances up to the portrait, studying it in turn for a moment before nodding.
"Yes, mon amie," he replies. "Many moons ago, but yes. Myself, Asher, and Julianna."
no subject
And subsequently, who they must have been to Kenzi, if they were also vampires.
no subject
"They were...my world," he replies, for what else is there to say to describe them. "The vampire who created me. She is known as Belle. Belle Morte, the beautiful death. Belle likes to collect attractive people. She had found Asher first. For obvious reasons, I should think." He turns to glance down at her, the flicker of a smile on his face, although the look does not meet his eyes. "Is he not handsome?" he asks, for he knows the answer is of course yes, and it distracts from the story of his past for a moment, before he turns back to the portrait.
"Julianna was his human lover. A witch. I was new to the court, and new to their Kind, and they took me into their arms and into their bed. And then we ran away together, the three of us. And we were happy with one another. For a time."
no subject
"Wow." She breathes when he's done. She'd heard of people in polyamorous relationships, and it seemed to be something more easily accepted in the vampire community. It wasn't for her, but she could appreciate it.
She's morbidly curious, wanting to ask him what happened. But she could imagine: time. It's what always seemed to happen to vampires.
"It's a stunning portrait. I hope you find yourself with more good memories than bad, looking at it."
no subject
He smiles gently at her response in agreement to him. He was a rare beauty. And it is unfortunate for them all that that beauty was tarnished by the torture they put him through. That faced with a life of blameless misery, Asher had instead chosen to pin the fault on Jean-Claude instead. He had not been there for them. He had not saved them in time. He had come too late. He had been off visiting his dying mother, when he was supposed to be dead. His sentimentality had cost them dearly indeed.
"There are good memories from our time together," Jean-Claude allows, in response to her words. "I do not think that Belle sent it to me to remind me of my good memories, however."
no subject
That is not how you should be speaking to the Duke of Islington, but Nancy was nothing if not blunt. She was raised to be polite, but her mouth often got the better of her. Case in point.
She frowns, immediately after that. "Don't let her get to you. I assume you've got a rocky relationship...?" He wouldn't be the first to have a complicated relationship with a parental figure. Just another way they could relate.
no subject
He shrugs slightly. "I cannot say that I regret my decision. But it was not an easy choice to make. Everything I knew, everyone," he turns back to the portrait, studying Asher's beautiful painted face, "remained back in France. I have not forgotten them. I could not, even if I would have liked to try."
no subject
"For what it's worth... I'm glad you came here." Which is probably the closest she's ever going to get to thanking him. Or apologizing for being awful. That, and what she's got in her bag.
no subject
"And I am glad to be here, mon amie," he replies, before he shakes his head slightly. "But you did not come here for my melancholy lessons in years gone by. How may I be of service?"
no subject
"I actually came by to give you something." She moves to the chair and messes around in her bag for a moment, before pulling out a large plastic container that was far too large to fit into her purse to begin with.
"I wanted to thank you, for standing up against Samantha. So I made you some cookies...?" She offers him the container. "They're chocolate chip. And, ah, I added a little blood in, in addition to the vanilla. I thought it would give them an interesting twist, maybe make it something you can enjoy a little bit more." And now he probably thought she was being stupid.
Great.
no subject
"I must say," he says, a bit taken aback. "No one has ever gone through quite such an effort on my behalf." Which is to say that blood is really the only flavor that appeals to him these days, but even other vampires just offer him blood or food, not any combination thereof. He is especially surprised to have someone who had once seemed to hate him go through the effort, at that.
no subject
"I just wanted to thank you. I've, ah..." Nancy swallows thickly. "Had to do a lot of things against my will. And I wanted to thank you for standing against that." She nervously fiddles with the base of her middle finger, twisting the skin that once held a slave ring. "It's important to me."
So much for a lighter topic of conversation.
no subject
Of course, he does not miss the thickness in her voice as she continues either, and it is after a moment's hesitation wherein he does not know whether the gesture would be welcome or not where he reaches across the space between them to offer her his hand. It will be somewhat cooler to the touch than a human's skin would be. He has not fed recently, and it will show in such a way as that.
"I am not usually in the habit of sharing so many stories of my life," he says, quietly. "But I would share another with you, if you have not yet had too much of my company."
no subject
"Not at all," she says. "Maybe you'll get mine, too." More than she's told Cooper, at any rate. He knows, to a degree, but it was never anything they talked about. He didn't need to know her Tragic Backstory. He could tell enough as it was.