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

[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.