Let's do the time warp again (for Jean-Claude)

[dredefulchilde]

Joscelin finds himself back at Guilty Pleasures barely two or three days after his last visit. That's not like him. He's not usually this...dutiful. But part of him wants to check in on Jean-Claude, make sure he's not still drowning in the flood of maudlin sentiment that had threatened to overtake his friend earlier in the week.

It's four o'clock in the afternoon; the club is dead and no one pays him a second glance as he ghosts past the bar towards Jean-Claude's office. They know him here by now. He stands in the doorway, paying lip service to formality with a perfunctory knock but not really paying attention to the answer. If Jean-Claude doesn't want him here, he'll tell him.

He holds up the expensive--and very well aged--bottle of cognac he'd brought with him. "I come bearing gifts." He plunks it down on Jean-Claude's desk and smiles. "I suppose it's rather gauche of me to bring my own liquor to an establishment such as this, but this is quite interesting stuff. Found it amongst some old things."

Comments

[baisant]

Jean-Claude is less surprised to find Joscelin letting himself into his office than he is to find him letting himself in his office bearing gifts. Especially alcoholic gifts. He raises his eyebrows slightly at the other vampire's introduction before reaching forward to wrap his fingers around the neck of the bottle and pick it up, examining it closer.

"Amongst some old things?" he asks. It is an awfully old bottle. He has no doubt that the liquor itself will be expertly aged at this point. Jean-Claude hardly has a taste for food or drink in general these days, but every now and then he appreciates a good drink, especially one such as this. Especially shared among friends, though he isn't quite certain whether Joscelin is really the sort to partake with him or not.

[dredefulchilde]

"Well, I liberated it from a blood bag's liquor cabinet about thirty years ago and promptly forgot about it," Joscelin admits cheerfully. "Shall we see if it's any good?" Jean-Claude will have to provide the glassware, or they can just pass around the bottle like savages. It's up to him.

Joss glances behind him at the large painting on the opposite wall. "I see it's become a permanent part of your collection."

[baisant]

Jean-Claude smiles indulgently, before rising to produce a pair of tumblers from an ornate crystal set he has shut in a smaller cabinet behind him. More often than not, he drinks less savory liquids out of these glasses, but this is technically what they are made for. He sets them down on his desk before the other vampire, glancing up at the painting in question before moving to begin clearing his desk of any work that might get damaged should any spilling occur.

"You know me too well to ask that question, I think, mon ami," he replies. Of course it has become a permanent part of his collection. What else is he to do with it. Yes, it reminds him of a more painful piece of his past, but these are two people he loved -- or loves, as the case maybe -- more dearly than most anyone else in the world. Belle had sent the portrait to hurt him, and hurt him she had. But he could not just wrap the thing up and forget about it, now that it's here. It is simply not his way of things.

[dredefulchilde]

Joscelin shrugs and says,"Possibly. But I thought I'd check just in case." He smiles. "You've been surprising me quite a bit lately. I've long since given up pretending to know the mind of a sentimental Frenchman."

He pours for the both of them.

"To your continued good health, my friend."

[baisant]

Jean-Claude raises an eyebrow at the toast. He is the Duke of Islington, so he supposes that it makes sense for Joscelin to toast him, but all the same, he inclines his head towards the other vampire in turn.

"And to yours as well, mon ami," he replies. "I appreciate your concern on my behalf. I apologize for the fact that it may have been well-deserved. I admit that I may not have been quite myself as of late." Between the politics of the city and the gift from home, it had stirred up memories of his past that Jean-Claude usually keeps deeply buried and well. Has left him rather melancholy and maudlin of late. Certainly he is not the first of the older vampires for Joscelin to have encountered in such a state, but it is definitely out of character for Jean-Claude himself.

[dredefulchilde]

"I don't envy you your responsibilities," Joscelin remarks, pouring himself another glass. It is good stuff.

"Duke of Central London. My god. It's been quite the year for you, hasn't it?" He smirks. "Bit different from how I first encountered you. Not that I was terribly impressive myself."

[baisant]

Jean-Claude drinks his own glass, the liquid smooth as it goes down. It is good, and that is saying something, coming from one such as himself.

He lets out the huff of a laugh at the mention of their meeting, shaking his head as he does so. "Different is certainly one way of phrasing it," he agrees. He shifts in his chair, offering his own glass for seconds, before swirling the liquid around thoughtfully. "Would you have thought, meeting me as you had then, that you would ever have found me in such a position as this?" He flicks a smile at the little vampire, and continues, "Would you have thought that we would be sitting here, sharing a drink together, while you console me of my melancholy, mon ami?"

[dredefulchilde]

Joscelin snorts at that. "You were pretty pathetic back then, I'll grant you that. But, then again, I was even more pathetic. How on earth could you stand to talk to me, given what I'd done? Or were you just too stupid to know any better?"

After all, in the winter of 1897 it had been less than half a year since Joscelin's forcible removal from power.

[baisant]

Jean-Claude lets out a laugh, shaking his head at the other vampire and swirling his drink in his glass as he does. "I do not know if stupid is quite the word I would use," he hedges, "but I was... Not the vampire you know me to be today. I don't think either of us can say we were, for that matter..."

__________________________________

It's cold, and Jean-Claude's cloak would hardly be enough to keep out the chill, if vampires were the sort to be affected by such things. Not that he does not feel the cold, just that it does not bother him the same way that it had once done if he were alive. It just reminds him that he is not anymore. And that he has not fed in enough time, he should do so before he freezes in place. Feeding will mean having to work the street, however, and while Jean-Claude does not have a problem with the act itself, he is... Tired. He has been tired since the moment he set foot in this city, but it is what he knows, what he is good at, what people want from him, and what is the alternative, really?

Drawing his cloak tightly around him, Jean-Claude steels himself for the weather outside before making his way out towards the corner he had come to call his own patch over the past month or so. Even as cold and dismal as the weather is, there is sure to be someone out tonight. If there is one thing that can be guaranteed is that someone will have an itch that needs scratching, and if there is another, it is that Jean-Claude will know how to scratch it (and feed a hunger of his own as well).

[dredefulchilde]

The theaters are crowded, despite the cold. Tonight is going to be a good night. He can feel it. There will be crowds of people drinking heavily to stave off the chill; no one will bat an eye come morning if some drunk turns up dead in an alley. If Joscelin is careful, he can even make it look like exposure. He used to be much better at this, but the last hundred odd years have made him soft. No more. He'll have relearn how to lie low, survive in the margins, if he's to get his revenge.

He's staked out a patch of pavement near a particularly seedy theater, amongst the whores and the fancy men trying to snare the patrons as they leave. He looks like just another street urchin; no one will pay him any mind until it's too late.

But his corner's already occupied when he gets to it. A tall, elegant man in a threadbare cloak, stinking of death.

"Find your own hunting ground, stranger," he warns the other vampire. "This one's mine."

[baisant]

Jean-Claude turns at the sound of the voice and then looks down at the boy who addresses him. He does not seem to be any different than any other poor child who has fallen on hard times, to be true. But his eyes are too old, and no other little boy would be reprimanding him about hunting grounds, for that matter.

Jean-Claude raises his eyebrows at the words nonetheless. As far as he is aware, that is not how London works. The vampires do not prowl the night, laying claim on streets and territories like cats in heat. Moreover, though, he is pretty sure if it came to a battle over the territory, he would win.

"I do not see your name written upon the ground, mon petit," Jean-Claude replies, his accent thick enough to cut. His English is fluent, though it is slow, as if unpracticed.

[dredefulchilde]

A foreigner. Typical.

"It is mine, nonetheless." French comes just as easily as English, though Joscelin has had little opportunity to practice it of late. "You would do well to remember that, monsieur."

He glares up at the stranger, hand tightening on the wooden stake he keeps under his coat. London is a big city; there are other corners. Other taverns. Other theaters. Part of Joscelin knows that he's getting into a fight he might not be able to win over nothing, but...

He's angry. He needs to take it out on someone. Might as well be this poor bastard.