Late Rituals of State, Tag: Jean-Claude

[Zalika]

There was a slight chill in the air that night, although the one walking through it was completely unconcerned. Zalika, a new member of the St Louis vampire society, finally realised that she would have to formally announce herself to the Master of the City, even though she was far from looking forward to it. If she was back home, she would have been more than harsh to a creature rude enough not to bother seeing her first before setting up shop, as it were, but the whole feeling of disgrace that she harboured was a good enough reason for her to stay away for a while, and lick her wounds.

In any other circumstance, she would be dead – really dead – whilst the other vampire rules her old domain. It was bad enough that she had been allowed to live, as she wasn’t stupid. There were fights that she simply couldn’t win, and Kallisto, with all of her supporters, was one of them. If she hadn’t succeeded, someone else would have tried, and the Master vampire simply tried her best to gracefully leave before the final knell made itself known. She had lived for a long time, and she wasn’t about to give up on it, undead or not.

Now, though, she had a clean slate. She could have just come in, announced herself, and gone on with her daily business. However, she felt like an A-class fool, losing her hold of power, and Jean-Claude probably knew about it. Well, it was possible, as Masters of the City knew about each other at least by name, but this vampire’s pride had always been a downfall. Convinced that she would become a laughing stock, she put off her visit to the Circus of the Damned, but now a rude awakening forced her to see that it was more dangerous to leave it much longer. Her move here could have been seen as threatening, and another fight was the last thing that she wanted, especially with a being which was known for having more power than most. He was his own sourde de sang, for Set’s sake!

So, after starting off an early night performance at her small-time theatre, Zalika decided that the best thing to do would be to just go down to the Circus and sort things out, once and for all. Marching down there, she wore a respectable black trouser suit, with a plain white blouse, stiletto black heels, all finished off with a leather jacket trailing past her ankles. The outfit was important: she had to show, by first appearance, that she was no threat. By wearing the least fancy clothing that she owned, it was a statement screaming, “I’m just living here. Leave me alone.” Even her usually perfect hair was deliberately tied upwards, trying to make it look a little messy. Her makeup, however, was faultless, as she couldn’t bear to be seen without it.

Clicking along the cobbled streets, Zalika carefully scanned every detail, trying to commit every tiny piece of St Louis to memory. Hopefully, this transgression would be overlooked, and she would be allowed to stay, so the vampire wanted to know her home. Perhaps later on, she would find some willing ‘donor’ to feed upon, or see a horror film, and pump up the fear factor. Well, if the theatre went down the drain, that was always something she could do: hang around in horror flicks and make the patrons terrified. Companies would pay for things like that to make their pieces look better, wouldn’t they? Oh, well, she didn’t really want to think of it that moment.

After more than half an hour of eventless walking, the infamous Circus loomed ahead. The simply imagery was dark enough to send shivers up the spine, and there was something evil about clowns with pointed fangs lurking in artwork around the place. Even Zalika thought it was creepy, but she supposed that you had to really get used to it before it became more homely.

Zalika kept her hands in her pockets as she closed in on the main part of the circus, and what was obviously Jean-Claude’s lair. She clenched her jaw, desperate to just get this ritual humiliation over with, forcing herself to move ahead. In front of her, a set of stairs descended into an abyss of darkness, which she guessed was the entrance. Trust Jean-Claude to have so much mystery surrounding him. Zalika hoped to get down there without much difficulty, but a large vampire stood at the top of the narrow staircase, his arms folded defiantly. “What do you want?”

The Master could have spat at him. “I’m here to announce my presence to the Master of the City. Now, go and tell him that Zalika wishes to see him.” A warning flashed in her eyes, daring him to say another word, but he obviously thought better of it. Putting her hands on her hips, Zalika waited a moment for the vampire to go downstairs before she could heave a sigh. She still had no idea what to expect, so was (although she wouldn’t admit it) a little nervous. A huge door clanged open and shut as the vampire went down to see his Master. Now, it was just a case of waiting.

[Jayme Tisdale]

Miniscule snow flakes floated like a misty lace, contrasting against the pitch backdrop of nightfall. All was quiet and muffled as a thin layer of the crystalline powder dusted the streets, sidewalks and rooftops. A clean, fresh smell of eminent snowfall wafted into the shadowy figure’s nostrils as he took a deep breath of the brisk air. A soft sigh was emitted as he languidly walked down the street dressed in nothing meant for such cold conditions. It wasn’t as if he truly needed any protection from the elements, he was a vampire, neither cold nor heat affected his core body temperature, and he felt almost little change to be frank.

It had been a long night for Jayme, the strip club he worked at, Guilty Pleasures had been packed. Then again, it was New Year’s eve, it made sense that every single, or not so single woman to pack themselves as tight as sardines in the quaint but richly decorated club. Normally, he worked in a full house, he had quite some reputation amongst the constants, his stage name being Valo; but tonight was almost mayhem. As he had pranced, glided and sashayed down the long stage he had to dodge outstretched hands aiming to grope at him, or God forbid, pull at the front side of his skimpy, g-string. To mask his embarrassment, he had flashed a broad, sultry, all-knowing smile that left the women unabashed and gazing at him with such lust it was almost disturbing. But, it had its perks. He had fed well off of their lust, and quenched the almost insatiable thirst of the ardeur that haunted his every move. So tonight, he wouldn’t have to shack up with any old follower, no, he would have a peaceful night. Strange isn’t it how he would find such isolation relieving? Well, he was not your typical male, no, he normally had to have sex of some sort every night, it was more of a chore than anything else. To ignore it would not be so pleasant, sure, it may not have plagued him that night, but the next night he rose it would be twice the power, and he might have been forced to prey upon the less desirable of meals.

So, after his hard-worked evening, having to perform three times, two more than his usual, Jayme was beat. Especially after deciding to take the Staff exit hoping to skirt the more persistent of his fans; only to find the mass of them waiting at the base of the steps. He was greeted with girlish giggling, high-pitched squeals and unwanted gropings, one in particular was an overzealous female who pitched his ass rather harshly, it still stung some, moreso mentally than physically. Sometimes he hated his job really. The main reason he had taken it was the perks of his lineage, the ability to charm crowds, and to feed his ardeur, as well as his eye catching looks. He never thought he would be any good at it, but it had gotten to the point where he had risen to the top of the most requested strippers, purposefully? Naw. It did have good pay, but the almost relentless rampage of stampeding fan groupies was getting old, and it wasn’t that Jayme didn’t like a good lay, he was restless to find a more meaningful relationship, not just someone who was attracted to him for how tight his ass was or how cute his smile was to them.

And so he found himself hurrying down a darkened alley-way, acute ears keen to hear if any clicking stilettos were following in hot pursuit, thank god none were. Relaxing some, Jayme shoved his hands in the pockets of his black, leather jacket. The creak of his low-rise matching leather pants that were so tight they were almost painted on, was the only noise to be heard. As he rounded the bend, he crossed the street and headed towards the Circus of the Damned, his resting place and home. Jean-Claude was his maker, his sourde de sang, his everything, so it made sense that he lived with him. It had only been two years since his making, and he still felt close to the Master who had taken him in off the streets at the age of 23. At that point in his life Jayme hadn’t had much to look forward in his mortal life. He was stonebroke to the point where he had to scrape coins together to buy a soda and some fries from the local McDonald’s. His means of housing was non-existant, and his only companion was his guitar which he played on the street for money which he vary rarely got. The Master had talked to him one night, and offered to take him in for a small repayment, his blood. Jayme had eagerly accepted, and the rest was history. He and Jean-Claude had formed a close friendship, and he trusted the French vampire with his soul. Though he hadn’t had much need of his guitar anymore, he still kept it, tuned it, and played it for his own satisfaction. Tonight, he was anticipating playing it till dawn stole the life from his body, it would calm his nerves greatly.

As he neared the door with increased vigor, he hesitated in mid step as soon as he felt the cool prickling of a very, very, VERY powerful aura within his midst. If he felt it this far away, he could only imagine what it would feel like when he got near it.. if he made it that far that is. Even Jean-Claude never felt this strong, but something else was different. The power had a feeling, a taste almost that was almost an exact opposite to his master’s. It wasn’t cool with a warm undercurrent, this was cold through and through, chilling to the bone and Jayme didn’t like it one bit. Well, if it was this close, then Jean must be dealing with it he thought, he had pure faith in the Master of St. Louis. So, he continued forth towards the entrance, and as he neared, he saw a dark silhouette of a female. She seemed to be impatiently standing in front of the plain, iron door. Her dark hair fanned around her shoulders like a black cloak, her casual dress put him at ease some, not enough. Leaning against the brick wall next to the door he rested his left boot against its foundation as he dug in his pocket to procure a pack of cigarettes. Choosing one, he lit it in an instant and replaced the lighter and pack to his pocket as he took his first drag of the savory stick. Almost instantly he felt at ease, like everything was right with the world, and that he had his place in it. Lazily he looked towards her as she stood rigidly in her conservative attire, whereas he stood shirtless with his jacket open, and leather pants with black boots, a thin scarf hung about his neck to complete the ensemble, an odd meeting, no? To break the ice, Jayme said casually:

“It takes them forever to take a hint that somebody might be out here, they really need to get a doorknob and lock.” After another leisurely puff, he added, “M’name’s Jayme.”

[Jean-Claude]

Jean-Claude was resting atop the couch in the main living area of the Circus. Body was placed mindlessly on the plush ivory surface, and many would say he looked absolutely eye-catching. He was wearing a blue silk shirt, the color of good saphires and a Christmas present from Anita a few years back. She said it matched his eyes, and right now he didn't care about how good he looked, but how much he missed the small and fiesty woman that his heart had loved for the longest time. The shirt scooped low along his chest, a soft curl of near black hair visible from the low neckline contrasting with the soft flesh of the cross shaped burn scar. Running a hand absentmindedly through his long locks, he turned on the couch, crossing his poured on cream leather pants with knee high boots of the same soft sheepskin. He was like a young girl, twirling his fingers around the gentle curls of his hair before sighing that breathless sigh. Rich azure gaze glanced above what would be a fireplace and stared into the depths of the painting that had returned to its perch. Asher, Belle and himself. It brought tears to his eyes now, to know that the beautiful man that he loved and would follow to no end was gone. This epiphany soon ended for the not so silent footsteps of Buzz. Sitting up to a graceful leg crossed position, he nodded admittance to the vampire that stood at the edge of the carpeting. "A woman wishes to see you sir, a vampire at that. Zalika she calls herself- she wishes to speak to the Master of the City." Giving Buzz that smile that meant everything and nothing with a mild flash of fangs, he nodded. "Very good, I'll be on my way. From now on man the door and send one of Rafael's people back to me. We need as much muscle and man power as we can get." The thought of Claudia drifted through his mind, but he knew by now that not even she minded being mentioned in said manner.

The heels on the leather boots clicked quietly on the stone flooring, carrying his body with that vampiric grace that seemed to wow so many humans. The company he was approaching was by no means human, but the gait was natural to his vampiric self. Hair fell loosely along his shoulders, and with each stride it moved a bit as the silk shirt slid lower and revealed the full pale burned flesh. Stopping, mere strides from the door, he slowly let down his strong metaphysical shields. The powerful aura of what he assumed was Zalika trickled along his body, the Master of the City jokingly putting a tug on her line before shielding once more. Another more familiar taste was beside her, his most recent addition, Jayme no doubt. Smiling inwardly in a flash of fangs, he turned to face Buzz who was walking quietly beside his Master. "Call for the wererats and have them watch the door. I do not want you exposed." He was pleasent in his tone, but underneath it the sweet nothings was a command in disguise. His people respected him becuase he was honest, curt and would do what had to be done. Buzz nodded briefly before leaving Jean-Claude at the foot of the oddly designed stairs.

Stepping onto the stairs, he paused before ascending. He heard of Zalika losing her powerbase in New York, but what did it mean with her here? She was incredible powerful and he could probably top her, but now he knew nothing of what he did have. Unlocking the heavy door and raising the wooden latch from centuries ago, he pulled open the wood door. Smiling once more, he let that warming laughter escape his throat as he slowly neared the female vampire. Taking her hand in his, he brushed his warm lips to her knuckles, kissing her hand as he would have done centuries ago before gently releasing her hand. "Bon jour Zalika. What honor it is to have you come to my territory. I've sensed your power and have awaited your arrival. Welcome to St. Louis." Turning to the young vampire, he smiled broadly, flashing fangs. "If you do not stop young Jayme, you are sure to ruin your already dead body even more so." He paused here to laugh, continuing now. "It seems you have had the honor of meeting Zalika, for such a young vampire you seem to be associating well." Grinning wildly, his rich eyes grew darker. A few people from the Circus were giving the small kiss the strangest of looks. Retreating into the shadows, he held open the door. "Come. Jayme, you know the way, go ahead and meet Buzz in the living room please. If you will, see if any of the willing pommes are about, Zalika should feed off only the best if she wishes it." Glancing at the woman, he gave her a slow once over before clicking his tongue, shrugging his Gallic shrug before verbalizing once more. "It has been many years since I've seen you Zalika. Where is your clothing of the Egyptians? You look so glorious in that wear. I have never seen you so... modern." The male laughed that teasing laughter that could send shivers down the spine, gazing through his shroud of ebony tresses he blinked those large azure orbs filled with absolute blankness. What a shame, neither of the ones before him knew the truth of what was brewing within him.

ooc// 940 words- complete.

[Zalika]

“Zalika.” The Master eyed the obviously newly turned vampire carefully. Was this all part of the pomp and circumstance? Sending a youngling to see what she was up to before the Master of the City himself would see her? “I just informed the guard to let the Master know I was here.” Her words were guarded, being extra sure that nothing could be taken in offence, or ripped apart by anyone believing her to be a threat. If she had used Jean-Claude’s name, perhaps someone would take that as her believing she was as strong as he was, and therefore coming to hoist him from his seat of power. For good measure, Zalika tapped into her power a little, forcing the aura of dread that always accompanied her to the surface, so the damned creature wouldn’t be so comfortable. If she was nervous, she was going to make everyone else in the vicinity feel ten times worse.

She opened her mouth to say something less than friendly when she felt a slight tug on her power, and she stopped for a moment until she realised that it had to be Jean-Claude. Whilst her own power was cold, heavy and metallic, the warm and honeyed sensation was much more pleasant, as if it were a drug to be taken as often as possible. Her icy gaze turned then from the man to the doorway beneath them, waiting anxiously for Jean-Claude or one of his lackeys to appear. Zalika was more than glad that no one could feel her anxiety, as she felt foolish enough, but it could be so much worse.

“And what are you doing here?” She couldn’t help herself… her old tones returned, as if she were still the one in charge, and she didn’t even realise it. Having power ended up being ingrained on the soul, if vampires had them, and once you had it, there was no going back. Well, there was, as Zalika’s pride was loathe to show, but at least she searched for sanctuary under a Master that she could respect, and, more importantly, who could top her.

Snow fell, but it didn’t bother Zalika. At one point, when she first travelled far away from her home, the concept of snow had been foreign to her, frightening her, but now it was the norm. Oh, how times had changed! Once she had witnessed the biggest changes in human civilisation, now nothing fazed her. From electricity to iPods, Zalika had learned that technology would always be changing, always improving. Originally, she thought nothing could top the amazing feat of the pyramids, but so much else had happened. Just like everything else, really.

Her concentration was brought back sharply by the sound of wood and metal, the door obviously opening. She did her best to look nonchalant, but when she saw Jean-Claude standing there in person, she had to keep all of her control not to gasp. His aura was so much stronger than she had remembered it, but that must be due to the fact that he was his own sourde de sang now. How that happened was a mystery, but Zalika wasn’t about to question it. There may be an age gap, but that meant nothing in the vampire world.

The sensation of the Master of the City brushing his lips across her hand was also a reminder of whom she was dealing with. Pinpricks of lust began to rise from the surface, and it was all she could do to rise her own aura of terror to freeze the heat that began to rise. “Thank you…” Zalika did so much to swallow her pride. She would have to say it. “…Master. I apologise for not coming sooner… I have no excuse but my wounded dignity and honour.” She couldn’t meet the stunning eyes of the vampire she was addressing. It was bad enough that she was being forced to call someone ‘Master,’ admitting her failure to herself, but the apology only served to rub the metaphorical salt into the wound. At his mention of a willing donor, Zalika merely said, “Thank you.”

Oh, how she wished that she had just not come, just stayed outside of the city walls until she had worked out her own emotions regarding New York, but what was done was done, and she couldn’t change it. She was just surprised to hear jovial tones escaping Jean-Claude’s lips, expecting some rage, and a punishment barked from him instead. Then again, she was only expecting what she would have done, making her start to realise how she had ended up so unpopular. Damn.

The mention of Egypt perked her up somewhat, though. “I remember our brief meeting. Those were good times. As for my dress… I didn’t want you to think something was amiss.” Or, without adding so many fancy words, that she wasn’t about to challenge him. Bitterly, she added, “And such attire is only fit for true Masters. I have forfeited that right… and now I am here. May we discuss this more indoors?”

As Jean-Claude opened the door, she bowed her head slightly in thanks, passing by him to walk down the narrow steps that led into his dark lair. She had never been in such a place before besides her own, and it would be another education for her. She kept being dragged back to how much everything had changed, as if it had been centuries since her last visit, but it hadn’t been. Even Jean-Claude looked more handsome and in control… but was that just due to his rise in power, or her fall? Then again, she didn’t just want any old Master topping her… she just dreaded meeting his Second.

OOC: 955! Ha! Beat ya

[Jayme Tisdale]

The younger vampire shifted some under the gaze of the elder who was obviously thinking hard about something or other. Shrugging to himself mentally, he continued to puff on his cigarette with pleasure. Nodding with recognition, he had heard of the vampire Zalika, more importantly of her strengths, age, and of her recently loss of New York. Jayme would have given his condolences if he hadn’t feared her wrath of such a touchy subject, so he kept his mouth shut.

The younger vampire was intriguingly perceptive for such a young age and felt her power ooze from her aura and reach out to touch his. Shivering from the stab of fear and tension he forced his shields up, imagining a steel room with no entrance, no exit. It worked, but if the master vampire had truly wanted to put him into fits of terror he would have been writhing on the ground by now. He had heard enough about her specific kind of power, from a vampire who had felt it the most. Damian’s description of what fear Morvoren had thrust into his body daily to feed off of him. A distasteful power Jayme thought to himself.

Goosebumps had risen on his pale flesh, they should be here soon he thought to himself. But just as he was about to break the silence the Egyptian vampire did first. What was he doing here? Strange question. “I live here, my resting place is beside the Master.” a pause and another puff, “I just left Guilty Pleasures, where I strip. Have you heard of it? Just around the corner.” He knew he had been brutally blunt, but he wasn’t embarrassed of his job, rather proud of it on the contrary. Then he thought, how foolish, why would a fear-craving vampire such as her be interested in a strip club? He fought to keep from laughing, and succeeded. Jean-Claude’s ability to keep a frighteningly straight face no matter what was rubbing off on him.

Speak of the devil, a distant power rubbed against his own as it searched for those in the general vicinity. Jayme could distinguish Jean-Claude’s a mile away, its warm, sensuous breath was comforting to the vampire that felt as if he was in a pit with the basilisk. He reached out to the power and stroked it languidly with his own form that matched its essence. Smiling to himself he said to no one in particular. “The Master comes.”

Sure enough, the door creaked on unoiled hinges and out stepped the raven himself, Jayme had taken to calling Jean-Claude mon corbeau[/b], my raven, when they spent the most intimate nights together. Jayme couldn’t help but smile as Zalika practically kissed Jean’s ass with formal greetings. [i]She would stake him in the back with an ash pike if given the chance. he thought to himself. Well, we just wont give her a chance then… I would never allow mon corbeau to die at any’s hand under my nose.

At Jean-Claude’s reference to his nicotine fixation he chuckled along with the Master and took an over-exaggerated last puff from the savory stick and allowed it to slowly creep out of his nose. Grinning wickedly at Jean, Jayme replied, “Now, that is a chance I’ll just have to take isn’t it?” Jean-Claude knew just as well as Jayme that cigarettes did not affect a vampire’s appearance or health one bit, just look at Asher. He had been a smoker for centuries and he still looked as glorious as the day he was turned. The only mournful regret Jayme had was similar to the French vampire’s, they could not drink alcohol, though that is where it ended. Jayme missed the hot, fiery rush rum, whisky and vodka gave. Jean merely wished for wine, which Jayme had never cared for much really.

Jayme nodded reverently at the praise his maker doted upon him, referring to his ability to not tremble in Zalika’s mere presence. If Jean had left him there any longer, he might have. But he was glad he was not given the chance to find out… he hoped never to be with the princess of nightmares alone ever again. He knew her maker, and was not interested to see what her offspring could do to one such as he. Snapping back to reality, he listened carefully to the polite instructions the Master gave him, and bowed as he disappeared behind the door into the Circus.

Picking his way carefully down the stairwell, Jayme allowed his aura to wander, searching for Buzz’s distinct one. It was amazing and nearly impossible, but after 25 years being dead, Buzz wasn’t nearly as strong as Jayme was in his 2 years, and he seemed somewhat bitter over it, but that didn’t stop him from liking the younger vampire. Once Jayme detected the weaker aura he touched it to alert Buzz, he found him already in the living room as soon as he entered and cast him a toothy grin.

“The Master wishes for a willing pomme to service the previous Master of New York.”

Buzz nodded and replied.

“She’s a tough broad if I ever saw one, I’d steer clear of her if I were you Tisdale. She’s bad news…” The vampire shook his head and continued, “I think Nathaniel or Jason are still here, they had the night off. One of them usually stays for Jean-Claude, you can check in Jason’s room.” Jayme nodded a thanks and headed down the south passage towards Jason the werewolf’s room. Lengthening his stride, Jayme hastened down the narrow hallway, he wouldn’t dare keep his master waiting, oh no, that would not do.

Reaching out, Jayme knocked on the door with the back of his knuckles, the sound resounded in the desolate hallway. Sighing some, he stared at his boots with bored eyes until the door opened. Viridians stared at the slender, blond haired, blue eyed vision that was Jason. The fellow stripper was in his blue satin bikinis and nothing else. Smiling at him, Jayme said warmly, “Well, you’re looking fine these days Mr. Schuyler, maybe my groupies will start to glomb onto you, and leave me the hell alone.” Winking at him mischievously, the vampire leaned against the doorway. They always bantered back and forth who was the most attractive, and who had the best body, it was an old game between the two. Jason just laughed heartily but let Jayme continue, “The Master has need of you in the living room, he has a….guest that wishes to feed. I warn you my friend, she is like Damian’s Morvoren, beware her gift of fear.” Jason gulped. He hadn’t had the best of experiences with fear and vampires combined, having vamps rot on him had caused him to lose his nerve these days. Jayme patted Jason’s muscled shoulder, “It will be alright Jason, Jean-Claude would not allow such harm to come to his favorite pomme.” Jason nodded and added hesitantly, “I guess your right… “
“Of course I am.” Jayme reassured him.

Jayme and Jason walked side by side down the hall way and back into the living room. Jayme strode across the cream colored carpet and sat comfortably on one of the black couches, and patted next to him for Jason to sit. Stiffly Jason followed him and sat as close to Jayme as he could possible get, their sides touching from shoulder to hip. Jayme understood the lycanthrope’s need to touch others, and obliged him willingly. Just recently, Jayme had accepted his bisexuality that he had not before. Jason had helped him figure it out, so he was most comfortable with his close companion. Jayme rested his hand lightly on Jason’s leg and squeezed reassuringly, awaiting the vampires descent from above.

ooc// 1,307 words. i beat you both. I WIN! -does winning dance-