..; beautiful M O U R N I N G [open]

[LUCIEN ALEXANDRE NOIR.]

This lifetime with sorrow
God let the angels die
This is our last goodbye
In love and death we cry
Our last goodbye

[/size][/font][/color][/b]

It was late evening at the church, and he was anxiously awaiting the arrival of a whiny family to inform him of a loved one's passing. He couldn't say he's ever cared about their tears. It certainly wasn't his problem. He could actually say that he's laughed in their faces before. Ah, people come and they go. No big deal. Why get attached to them if they're just going to leave one day anyway? It never made any sense to him. The only person he's ever really gotten attached to was his brother, Achille. And Lucien absolutely despised that worthless piece of shit now. That little scumbag had to go and tell his father that Lucien was a wizard. Well...Achille was, too! But no...his father would have no part of that whenever Lucien told him. It's not like his father was any better. He was an assassin. At least Lucien didn't kill people for a living. He did kill people, though. He just didn't get paid for it. Achille was probably just jealous because I'm a better wizard than him...and I'm prettier, too, he whispered silently as he moved long obsidian locks of hair from his striking cerulean eyes. There was a strong aura of arrogance and smugness that you could sense when you were in his presence. Perhaps that's why mourning families were so pissy with him? Not that he minded their attitudes. He quite enjoyed arguing with them. That's actually what he was waiting for today. It's not like they could deny their loved ones a proper funeral and burial, either so he could argue with them all he wanted and they'd still have him be in charge of the burial and funeral service. There wasn't another church within several miles of this one so...he won either way.


He kept glancing at his reflection in the little fountain of holy water, rearranging the silken locks of hair cascading over his shoulders. He was indeed a rather vain young man. But when you're blessed with good looks, it's probably a good idea to preserve them and flaunt them, no? He glanced up at the large cross hanging on the back wall of the church, looking at it with a gaze of disgust then continued to glance at his reflection in the holy water in a vain fashion. He was so enamored by his angelic looks that he barely heard the sorrowful voice of a woman behind him. He was a bit annoyed by her sudden presence but he turned to face her, straightening the black cloak over his shoulders. He cleared his throat to speak in a luxurious, Dracula-esque Transylvanian accent. "Greetings, madam. What can I do for you?" he inquired gently, looking over at a young woman standing beside her who appeared to be the older lady's daughter. The teenage girl was staring at him with a look of adoration and awe on her face. Her green eyes traveled shamelessly over his form and he sneered scornfully at her, exchanging her gaze with an intimidating glare. He didn't mind people looking at him. How could they possibly resist? But he did have a problem with hideous, vulgar women staring at him. This girl was absolutely ghastly! Her hair was an ugly red hue(he didn't mind redheads, but her hue of red was greasy and dirty looking), her eyes were puke green, she had the body of an obese twelve year old boy and...if he wasn't mistaken, most women had breasts, did they not?! She was flat chested and just...hideous. He's never seen a girl with Irish heritage that was so ugly. Usually only the pretty ones looked at him. My son has recently died, sir. I was-, the woman was quickly cut off as Lucien took an aggressive step toward her and chuckled darkly. "With all due respect, m'dear, I would appreciate it if you told your...'lovely' daughter to keep her eyes in her skull unless she wants me to gouge them out. Either that or I'll be happy to bury two bodies instead of one. The more the merrier. Did you not teach her that molesting people with her gaze is not proper?"

[/color] he hissed, glancing over at the redhead whose jaw had dropped in utter shock. The lady growled and allowed her white gloved hand to slap him across the face. He stepped back, shaking his head and sighing in irritation. "Touche"[/color] he muttered, rolling his eyes.


Heavy footsteps soon started to come closer and an angry looking man stormed clumsily into the place, his heavy boots pounding the floor in a rather vexatious manner. You, sir, need to hold your tongue! the man yelled loudly. Lucien merely ignored his words and turned to the older woman who looked to be around fifty. "How did your son die, madam? If his face is mutilated in any way, an open casket funeral is not a good idea,"[/color] he chuckled and the woman managed to force out a few words. He was poisoned. I accidentally put arsenic in a cake instead of baking powder, she said, lowering her head in shame. Lucien suppressed a laugh but a light snicker managed to sneak through his attempts not to laugh. "Is that so? How utterly stupid of you! Arsenic for baking powder?! So your poor son died because of your own ignorance? Tsk, tsk, tsk. You should feel ashamed, [/color] he said, his voice saturated with an ominous accent and an annoying sarcasm. He paced back and forth, listening as the man chimed in with slurred words, as if he just got back from having a few drinks. He was probably trying to drown his sorrow in whiskey. Lucien could smell his alcohol scented breath from where he was standing. He sneered, holding his breath while the man spoke. Did anyone ask for your opinion, you pompous ass?! How dare you insult my family! You'll regret your words, he said, nearly stumbling as he stepped forward in an attempt to use intimidation to make Lucien back down. However, the undertaker's pride simply would not let him do that. "No one needs to ask my opinion. I just spoke the truth. And, sir, I don't regret what I said nor will I ever regret what I said. Now, if you would like to make my job easier, you can haul your poor excuse for a wife and your flat chested whore daughter out of my presence. Good day, sir and I would advise not eating any of your wife's cooking as I might end up burying you as well"[/color] he said, bowing gracefully, his long, dark hair falling beautifully over his striking face and he watched as the family began to storm out of the church. "Oh! Sir, you may want to think about where you would like to be buried. I have a feeling you won't last much longer. Tell your son I said hello when you see him,"[/color] he purred easily, grinning wickedly. The man turned, rolling his eyes like he thought Lucien was crazy.


He pushed his silken hair out of his gorgeous cerulean eyes and sat at the altar in the church, but not for the reason you might think. Lucien was not one for worshiping God. He didn't believe in that nonsense. He's never been much of a believer. Within about fifteen seconds of the family walking out, he heard a scream. Looks like that spell was a success. Oh, Lucien, you are not only the embodiment of all that is perfect and beautiful but you are also the best wizard in England, he bragged to himself, laughing mentally. All the while as he was talking to those people, he was muttering a curse between each steady breath. The man died from a painful heart attack, if his spell was as successful as he wanted it to be. He got up and paced the floors of the church, thinking about how he would arrange a funeral involving two corpses.



words; 1339
muse; meh.
character; lucien noir <33
tagged; open
listening to; god hates us - avenged sevenfold
lyrics; beautiful mourning - machine head
notes; he's so damn mean. xDD[/blockquote][/size][/color]

[TEMPERANCE EMELINE BLANTON]

TEMPERANCE EMELINE BLANTON

Crimson flowed over ivory flesh in smooth and rich waves creating a beautiful portrait of a young pale maiden upon a pure alabaster steed. The eighteen year old bodice was clothed in a deep scarlet dress that did not rest on her shoulders. The half sleeves rested on her upper arms with a slight lace trim at the edges of the fabric. Beneath the dress was a similar hued corset but even its faintest lines were hidden from view by the boning at the midriff. The young lady wasn't a large girl in the least way but she still desired a figure that had more curves than she could attain on her own. And beneath certain gowns and clothing, her bodice lost its curvaceous attributes and or perhaps they didn't cling to her in all the right places. But that was predicted with the minimal ability to have her dresses tailored perfectly all the time. The remaining length of the dress was long and flowing and if she would be walking on her own feet she would need to lift several inches of fabric upward to keep from stepping on it. But for now, her voluptuous bodice was perched upon her ivory stallion, Constantine. It was Latin for words meaning 'constant' or 'steadfast'. The Spanish stud had been her faithful companion for seven years. Even at his birth they were inseparable. She had been eleven and his dam had been a gift from her father but in one gift, she had two. Her father let her keep the colt and he kept the mare for himself instead. The young maiden was resting on his strong back side saddle or "the only elegant way for a lady to ride" as her father put it. Temperance wasn't one for total elegance at all times. There were days in her youth that her father would come home to find her wearing a pair of his trousers, riding the brute with her legs wrapped around his sides as they galloped through the fields of her father's farm. Of course, no choice comes without consequences. She wasn't able to ride him for a month after that. No longer did she ride with her father's pants...at least not that they knew of. A sigh escaped her lungs as her ebony gloved fingers curled around the thin leather reins slightly. In her left hand was a bouquet of ivory and crimson roses with the dotting of a few faint yellow ones. They were to be laid on the grave of one of her childhood friends who had passed onto a better world after contracting diphtheria a few years ago. Today, January 15th, was the date she died four years ago. And every passing of that day, Temperance would gather roses from her mother's flower garden and take them to Abigail, her friend's grave. She had always loved roses and the red haired maiden could remember times when they were small of sitting beneath the thorn less rose bushes and when the wind blew a shower of petals down around them. If only she had known Abigail would not be there for the rest of her life, then she may have treated her more preciously.

Azure eyes glanced around before she lowered her gloved hand that was holding the reins and Constantine gracefully stepped off into a two beat away from her parents' farm near the countryside. But before she could get too far from the barn, she heard her father's rough voice calling for her from his make shift farrier's shed. She lightly pulled up on the reins and the beast stopped on a dime. She turned around in the saddle a little to look back, her long auburn red hair unusually down and a bit curly. It was very rare to see her without it tiered up on top of her pretty little head with high combs tucked into every potential place without looking cluttered. Her father waved her back toward the barn and she bit her lower lip slightly before shifting the ivory beast's hindquarters away in a half circle before she cantered a few strides back. She knew it wasn't a good idea to run him toward the barn but she didn't feel like dallying around at home. She stopped him near the barn and she looked at her father. "Yes, father?" He was a tall, stout man. Good genes built him up tall and years of hard work made him lean and muscular. In his hand was a couple of flowers rudely tied together by a piece of twine. He sheepishly held it out to her, "For Abby...from Mama and I." He said. He had never been known for being an eloquent speaker by any means but he had ways of saying so many things in very few words. A bright smile tugged at her faint peach hued lips and she carefully stepped down off her horse before throwing her arms around his neck in a hug. His scent of leather and hot metal hit her like a ton of bricks but it made her love him even more. She took the flowers and smiled before he helped her back up onto the light gray stallion. She then turned the stud away before three beating off again. Her hair blew back behind her as the muscular equine moved out beneath her smoothly, that would end taking her to the old road into the center of town. Her final destination was the church near the opposite end of town. Cornerstone Church. A simple yet elaborately decorated building with a cemetery that stretched out for several miles behind it. She had gone there for Sunday morning church when she was younger but her line of work prevented her from attending like one of the accepted females around here. Seeing a brothel whore in church earned you names that no woman wanted to hear slapped to her name. But Temperance had learned to lose her social status and nearly become a slave to the vicious work. She lost everything to gain the pleasures and sparse affection of men. And it wasn't that the brothel headmaster, Lucius, wouldn't permit her to go. He would and he had given her the right to come and go as she wished during the daytime since no one worthy of note dared to be seen coming in there in broad daylight. And there were other whores to please them if anyone did come so she was free to go as she wished in the daylight hours. But ironically so, Sundays were their day off. They had to have a break at some point, too.

As the pair entered the square, she drew him up to a trot to keep from being fined for speeding and endangerment. A hefty fine was not what she needed. The square was quite busy with carriages rolling noisily through the streets and the thick masses of people walking along the side walks as they shopped. Constantine hardly flinched at all the sights and sounds but the Spanish stud did notice a small child who had wandered out into the street ahead of him and paused without command. He lowered his large ivory head and gently but firmly nosed her back toward the side walk and her mother immediately took her back to the safety of the path way. It was not until the little girl was in safety's arms again that the stud would move forward. Temperance smiled to herself more than anything as she guided him through the square, 'Some things you cannot teach a beast. Some things only come from their hearts. Regardless of intent.' She thought before slowing his two beat to become more collected as the pair neared the church at the end of the gradually winding lane. Another breeze played with her red locks, rearranging them with invisible fingers as well as her mount's. Thick slabs of muscles rippled beneath the ivory pelt and she gently ran a gloved hand down over his neck before she pulled him up to a light stop near the hitching barn. A young servant boy came out and offered her a hand. She smiled warmly and took it with the lightest touch before stepping down off her steed again. She turned the reins over to the boy so he could hitch him up in a standing stall inside the barn. "You may permit him to one swallow's worth of water but no more than that. Thank you." She gracefully bowed slightly to him and she pulled out a few coins as a courtesy to the boy. "It is enough to buy you that book for yourself that you borrowed from my library so many times. The book keeper has one in just for you." She smiled again as a bright smile lit up his face, igniting an excited spark in his deep mahogany eyes. They traded a few more words before she excused herself of his presence and with the bouquet of roses still in her hand, she lifted her crimson dress a little before walking toward the church entrance and up the few stairs leading to the door.

Just as she was about to enter, a very distraught family exited and her smile quickly faded. Death was a ravenous beast that would never be satisfied with anyone this world had to offer. Her sapphire eyes shifted back to the flowers in her hand. 'I would have thought that Abigail's pure soul would have been enough. It was enough for her me and everyone that knew her.' She thought before entering the two room church. The first and very front room was a type of foyer area before the main room that housed the sanctuary. The two rooms were separated by two thick oak doors that were now opened. Just inside the sanctuary was a small table that supported several tiny candles and early forms of matches to light the miniature candles. With perfect poise and not the smallest breath out of place, she entered the sanctuary and paused at the table, picking up a candle and a match or two. She made no sound as she moved nor did she speak before hearing the creak of the altar. The sound caused her to turn her beautifully carved head and her eyes fell upon a young man with long ebony locks and...the most striking cerulean eyes she had ever seen. They were simply breath taking. She found herself staring for a moment and she blushed, turning her gaze back to the table for a moment even though there was nothing there for her to see or do. She shyly straightened her dress out a little before turning around again. It was a bit weird to think of a whore as shy but out of bed, she was a shy little girl beneath a woman's expressions and words which were much older than her. She made her way up the long aisle between the wooden pews before pausing in front of the man dressed in black. He must be the undertaker. "Forgive me for interrupting your thoughts sir but is it possible that I could visit the cemetery today?" She inquired, her tones polite and soft. Her entire demeanor screamed a gentleness that was not commonly found in brothel whores but she was different in many more ways than one.



character;; temperance emeline blanton
character mood;; curious and embarrassed.
author;; fang.
author's notes;; not too bad of a post ^^
author's muse;; through the roof.
author's music;; my little girl - tim mcgraw.
word count;; one thousand nine hundred and one.
tagged;; levvy & lucien alexandre noir.

[/size][/font]

[LUCIEN ALEXANDRE NOIR.]

This lifetime with sorrow
God let the angels die
This is our last goodbye
In love and death we cry
Our last goodbye

[/size][/font][/color][/b]

There was a sort of annoyance eating away at him right now. Funerals were always harder to set up when there was two corpses involved. Two caskets, two tombstones, two graves. What a nuisance. Perhaps he should just go clean up the body of the drunk and leave it for the buzzards. He had to say he was becoming quite fond of his job as an undertaker. He got to mess with people's grieving minds, which was always fun. They cried so easily and Lucien enjoyed seeing their tears. Cruel? Hardly. He just didn't have any sympathy for these people. Their problems were not his problems. He was merely there to set up their little funeral service and then the next time he'd see those same people is when they died. He didn't mind that in the slightest. He felt more alone in a crowd of people than he did in a cemetery. Although, the dead people couldn't stare at him in awe like the living could so that's the only reason he liked being around living people. Hell, he could make corpses walk if he really wanted to. But that was such a dirty job. Why waste his energy on decomposed, maggot filled bodies? He could persuade the living to do his actual 'work' for him because he was much too good for petty little jobs. He always got that bastard Achille to do his chores for him as a child. If that cunning son of a bitch was easy to fool, just think of how well he could twist the minds of the people who lived here. Speaking of Achille, he began to wonder what his dear brother was up to these days. He was probably a lowly magician in a damned circus, sleeping beside elephant cages. That's what he deserved. Although, even though Lucien didn't want to admit it, Achille was an intelligent little bastard and would do well in a little town like this he if was still around, that is. Who knows. He might be dead. Someone might have finally punished him for his god damn backstabbing. If Lucien ever saw him, then he would torture and kill him, no questions asked. He would enjoy hearing his screams of agony. It would be like the sweetest, most intricate symphony ever constructed.


He glanced over to the side, noticing a black, leather clad bible sitting beside him with a cross on the front of it. He sneered, picking it up by the front cover with two nimble fingers, hesitantly dropping it onto his lap. A book of fairy tales is what this is, he spoke under his steady breaths, delicately flipping through the thin pages. Thousands of pages of nonsense is what he believed it to be. Such a waste of paper and ink. A man in the sky creating the moon, stars and the earth? Impossible. And yet so many people supposedly gave their souls to this imaginary spirit. How stupid. Lucien rolled his azure eyes as his gaze traveled over the scriptures. He couldn't read them without laughing, honestly. He closed the fairy tale book and held it gently in his hands. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling in a slow, drawn out motion. Almost instantly, the black book turned to ashes and the thin black powder was blown away by magic generated gusts of wind. The black cloud of ashes quickly disappeared into oblivion, never to be seen again. He chuckled, leaning lazily against the altar, his pure sapphire eyes gazing up at the elaborately designed ceiling of the church.


He suddenly felt a gust of cold air sweep in through the large wooden doors, pushing his ebony locks back slightly. The silken black strands fell around his face again once the door was shut. He didn't really pay much attention to the lady who had walked in until she came a bit closer to where he was sitting. He chuckled quietly as she stared at him. Her vermilion locks of hair reminded him of the most gorgeous and beautifully constructed inferno he would ever lay eyes on. Her crimson dress truly did compliment her fair looking skin. Ah, how he adored pretty girls. They all looked different but they were all beautiful. He smiled in a charming manner as her cheeks turned a deep red hue. He gracefully lifted himself from the altar as she began to come toward him. He bowed politely in front of her and let his gaze shift upwards before he assumed his normal, confident position once more. "Forgive me for interrupting your thoughts sir but is it possible that I could visit the cemetery today?". He nodded, eying the exit of the church that lead to the cemetery. "It's quite alright, m'lady. I'm rather used to interruptions and I certainly don't mind being interrupted by a pretty woman. And, yes, my dear, you may indeed visit the cemetery. I was on my way there myself. If you would like, I could accompany you? It's quite depressing being there alone" he inquired, his accent contorting his words into a charming, relaxing tone. Lucien was not aware that he had just called a stranger pretty. He sighed mentally, allowing words to fumble from between his lips. "N-nevermind the first thing I said. Wait...no. Well, you are pretty. I just didn't mean to say that to a complete stranger...I...um...nevermind"

[/color] he stuttered, closing his eyes for a moment, thinking about how unprofessional that was. He shook the incident from his train of thought and once more confidently gazed at her for a reply.




words; 933
muse; asdfghjkl;'
character; lucien noir <33
tagged; vinny with temperance blanton. <3
listening to; sweet blasphemy - black veil brides
lyrics; beautiful mourning - machine head
notes; O.O he was lost his composure there for a second...that's not like him...at all.[/blockquote][/size][/color]

[TEMPERANCE EMELINE BLANTON]

TEMPERANCE EMELINE BLANTON

A thin hand played with the scarlet fabric of her dress almost shyly as she stood there. She was suddenly aware of how low the top of her dress was and she pretended to hear something and turned her upper body away. She deftly pulled it up to where it was supposed to be and she turned her attention back to the undertaker. A faint blush colored her pale flawless cheeks when he bowed to her. "There is no need to bow to a lowly girl like me, sir. But thank you for the compliment...it means a great deal to me." She said, her words softer than the midsummer breeze over a golden field of wheat. Her gaze flickered to the door that opened up to the cemetery before it returned to the man in black. His compliment did not mean much but it also meant the world to her. It was a very confusing feeling and for the most part, she refused to acknowledge such comments simply because it was difficult to comprehend at times. Her thoughts traveled to a memory that had left a visible mark on her right inner wrist; the letters 'LDS' and the year '1832' branded into her flesh. Something she could never get rid of but she could hide it beneath her elbow length gloves which is why she wore such things so often. It was a bordello branding given by the brothel headmaster, Lucius David Salisbury, hence the letters, and the year was the year she began to work at the bordello. "Your company would be much appreciated, sir. And if you can forgive my boldness to enter any sort of similarity into the conversation, I do agree that it is quite depressing to be out there alone." She answered, her tones never changing from polite and gentle even though she gave her opinion when it was not needed nor asked for.

Before she could say anything else, the servant boy entered the church in a hurry, calling for her. "Tempy! Tempy!" She looked up at the undertaker for a moment, "Please excuse me, kind sir." She dipped slightly in a courtesy bow to him before turning away, her long red locks being tossed into the air like sparks in the wind. "What is it, Trent?" She made no grand display of her cordial relationship with the servant boy. She could not turn him away for being a servant when that was all she was to men. The only difference between her and the boy was that she was paid better than he ever would be in a year. The young boy held up the ripped up leathers of her father's bridle, the bit hanging to one side. "I had just unsaddled him and something spooked your stallion and he won't come back to the hitching barn." He explained as he moved toward her to give her the relatively useless straps of leather and bar of metal now. She took it and sighed softly before inquiring, "Where is he now?" Trent's gaze flickered to the undertaker for a moment before looking at her again. "He jumped the small fence and galloped off into the cemetery. I tried to stop him but he is just too strong!" He exclaimed, fearful of her reaction or the undertaker's fury for letting a beast run loose in his cemetery, marring the faces of the graves and potentially destroying a head stone or two. "It will be all right, Trent. I will find him. Please take my gloves and place them in the bag on my saddle." She said, biting her lower lip slightly as she set the candle and matches down on a pew before sliding the bridle down to her elbow and she slid the velvet gloves off of her pale fore arms. She folded them neatly before he bowed to her and took them at her command. She took up the candle and matches again, the torn bridle swaying as she moved about before she took up a few inches of her dress again and moved toward the door. Her azure eyes glanced back up to the currently nameless undertaker, "Please forgive me and my beast's mistake, sir. He knows not what he does. ...But would you still be interested in joining me, sir?" She inquired, fully understanding if he no longer wanted to deal with her and her beast. It wouldn't be the first time her stallion had broken his leathers in order to free himself but she truly felt horrible for the fact that he chose to go for a romp in such a sacred place for the dead. Not to mention it may take her awhile to find him if he was in a particularly rebellious mood. The cemetery expanded over six miles in nearly every direction from behind Cornerstone Church. Hopefully Lucius would not miss her for too long.



character;; temperance emeline blanton
character mood;; embarrassed again.
author;; fang.
author's notes;; ehh. if it needs anything else just let me know.
author's muse;; through the roof.
author's music;; storm - lifehouse.
word count;; eight hundred and seventeen.
tagged;; levvy & lucien alexandre noir.

[/size][/font]

[LUCIEN ALEXANDRE NOIR.]

This lifetime with sorrow
God let the angels die
This is our last goodbye
In love and death we cry
Our last goodbye

[/size][/font][/color][/b]

One could safely say that Lucien was obsessed with the superficial and what covered the surface. He did care about personality. He would much rather speak with a polite, pleasant girl than a vulgar, rude one. But, to him, beauty was paramount. There was a few girls that have tried to teach him to look below the surface, at the soul. Yes, girls. Why? Well...they seemed to think it would make him even more perfect than he already was. So...look below the surface. Sure, he could do that but the souls of most people these days were even more hideous than the outside of them. There was a select few that he didn't mind but he had yet to find someone that he truly enjoyed being around. He's never met a person that he hasn't wanted to kill at one point. He was just cold-hearted and self centered. He was too vain to really take the time to get to know people. He wasn't stupid, and he was very well aware that people were drawn away from him because of his vanity and slightly abrasive personality. He was also painfully arrogant, smug and obnoxiously sarcastic. However, in his mind, he made up for it with beauty and charisma. Most people that had these attributes were a little more...modest. They didn't flaunt it like he did, when they should. It was only the right thing to do. If you're gifted with good looks, don't let them go to waste by denying your beauty or hiding your charisma. It was nearly impossible for Lucien to hide behind curtains of modesty and low self esteem. He has never had any lack of confidence. As a matter of fact, he was over confident, which most people could easily sense even if you stood in the same room as him and didn't say a word. He certainly had a strong presence. The only few bad things about him was that he was highly insensitive, uncaring and sarcastic. Those traits were probably not a good thing when you were an undertaker. You were usually forced to sympathize with the sorrowful families. How could he possibly do that? How could he mourn over someone that he didn't even know? The only way he'd know the person is by seeing their lifeless corpse. He didn't really give a damn about corpses. But he'd much rather talk to them than living people. The living could just look and not say a word. The cadavers were nice to talk to because they didn't have any ignorant little remarks.


His gaze lowered discreetly, noticing that the woman's crimson dress was probably a little lower than she wanted it to be. He turned his head away for a moment, his azure gaze shifting to a table holding yet another fairy tale book and a few candles upon the wooden surface. His cerulean eyes followed the flickering of the small orange flames for a second before he turned his attention back to the pretty red haired girl. He didn't look away from her to take his attention off of her but more because he had self control. The front of her dress was rather low and most men would jump on the opportunity to stare. However, even though Lucien was superficial and only cared about the surface, he felt that a woman's face was much better to look at than what she had under her dress. Once she had the scarlet dress back in its normal position, he looked at her with a rather polite gaze, which was rare because he looked at most people in a condescending way. "There is no need to bow to a lowly girl like me, sir. But thank you for the compliment...it means a great deal to me." "No woman is lowly and you are certainly no exception to that." That should have been 'no pretty woman is lowly', but he didn't want to seem like someone who was only obsessed with looks. He certainly was but she didn't need to know that. He was only nice to pretty girls. Ugly girls and men could go to hell. Yes, it was cruel but Lucien was no angel. He may look like one but he didn't have the soul of one. "Your company would be much appreciated, sir. And if you can forgive my boldness to enter any sort of similarity into the conversation, I do agree that it is quite depressing to be out there alone." He smiled at her, moving stray locks of ebony hair from his pale face. She had a very eloquent way of speaking and was quite polite. Lucien, you forgot to tell her your name, you idiot. Now she's just going to call you 'sir'. Of course, he didn't mind the formalities, but being called 'sir' made him feel...old. "You may call me Lucien, if you wish, madam."

[/color] His voice was deep, yet, in a way, it was smooth and soft. Comforting, in a morbid sort of way, if that made sense. It could send chills down the spines of the scariest murderers, if it was intended to. Yet it could potentially send someone into a deep slumber if he talked long enough. His voice was one of his charms, as most people said. To him, it was one of his countless charms.


The sudden appearance of the servant boy perked his curiosity. The young man was obviously panicking as he ran in and yelled out the girl's name. Tempy...must be a nickname of sorts which made it obvious that the woman was friends with the servant boy. He watched the interaction between them. So, the woman's horse got loose? That explains the boy's panic. A stallion galloping around in the cemetery? Well...he would have gotten violently angry at most people but for some reason, he wasn't even slightly annoyed. He merely sighed quietly, thinking of the possible damage a horse could do to the tombstones. Oh well. He could just persuade someone to fix the problems for him. No big deal. Bright eyes embellished with pure cerulean shifted slightly as the red haired girl took off her gloves. He noticed a painful looking mark on her delicate skin and almost wanted to ask what it was. It wasn't really his place to ask. He's seen that before, though. Mostly on those women that advertised themselves on street corners. He hated to associate her with one of them. Perhaps...she isn't in that line of work anymore? He would just think that. It's not like she could get rid of her scar anyway, right? "Please forgive me and my beast's mistake, sir. He knows not what he does. ...But would you still be interested in joining me, sir?" "It's perfectly fine, miss. And yes, I'll still join you. The cemetery is a vast area. It would be difficult finding your horse by yourself." With that, he turned and made his way gracefully toward the door leading to the cemetery. He stopped in front of the elaborate door, patiently waiting for the woman to follow. He took this opportunity as an excuse to look at her for a couple seconds. His azure eyes never moved from her voluptuous figure. She was very pleasant to look at, to say the least.







words; 1214
muse; goooooood.
character; lucien noir <33
tagged; vinny with temperance blanton. <3
listening to; nothing. x.x
lyrics; beautiful mourning - machine head
notes; lucien is being nice...must be the end of the world. or maybe it's finally snowing in hell?[/blockquote][/size][/color]

[TEMPERANCE EMELINE BLANTON]

TEMPERANCE EMELINE BLANTON

The scar branded into her pale flesh of her inner wrist was a harsh reminder of where she was coming from and where she had to return to. She was an eternal slave to the business despite her mortality. She was sure that her vampiric brothel headmaster would soon destroy her ability to age; forcing her to drink from his personal "fountain of youth" that flowed like poison in his veins without a pulse. Some things she would never understand about vampires. Nor werewolves, although she had yet to really come in contact with one, herself. She was aware of what went on in the processes of turning a mortal into a vampire. She had seen it several times now working beneath Lucius' hand. But that ungrateful woman...Charlotte..she absolutely despised her. Charlotte was the headmistress of the brothel. Ironically, she was a werewolf. Her kind pitted against Lucius'. She really wished she knew some sort of magic or even just a small spell to cause the greedy woman problems. Perhaps...the undertaker knew of someone who could help her? It was a far stretch of politeness for her to even ask such a question to a complete stranger but she was desperate to do something about the werewolf bitch.

The undertaker's words were quietly polite and something about his voice drew her in like a fly to honey; blinded by the scent, stuck in the glue-like concoction forever. His cerulean eyes were alluring all on their own but she refused to let herself be caught staring. A small inquisitive smile tugged at her lips when he mentioned his name. Lucien; it was quite different but the way it rolled off his tongue so smoothly made it seem almost completely usual. She gracefully lowered herself a few inches, her skirts held out elegantly with a polite curtsey, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lucien. You may call me by whatever name suits your tongue best." She spoke, so familiar with letting men call her by whatever name they wanted to, regardless of how derogatory or crude it might be. She hardly went by her name anymore unless it was her parents or Lucius. He was the only unrelated male to call her by Temperance now. It was a pleasant gift that came unexpected but enjoyed nonetheless. Her deep sapphire eyes flickered to Lucien as he stood by the elaborately furnished door and she lifted her crimson skirts again before moving toward him easily. "Thank you but it really won't be much of a trouble. He is not very well camouflaged in the countryside of Wolverhampton." She mused softly before walking along beside the lean undertaker. After a few moments she inquired the very thing she had been wondering about, "Sir, it is bold of me to ask this but a situation deems it necessary for the knowledge; are you acquainted with any wizards or witches that still practice the ancient spells?" She glanced up at him for a moment before her orbs flickered away, her steps carefully made over the grassy blanket covering the cemetery.



character;; temperance emeline blanton
character mood;; curious.
author;; fang.
author's notes;; ehh. if it needs anything else just let me know. my muse disappeared as i got really stressed out x.x
author's muse;; m.i.a.
author's music;; nothng x.x.
word count;; five hundred and fourteen.
tagged;; levvy & lucien alexandre noir.

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