He had survived...but had he really? In and out of mental asylums. In an out of hospitals. In and out of trouble. So drunk he couldn't walk as he stumbled out of any establishment that would let him in. He wouldn't let anyone touch him, which caused him to offend almost every woman that looked his way. He would look and when he wouldn't see her, his Lillian, he would explode in anger or in tears. Either way, he was usually thrown out of the establishment for causing a spectacle. Patrons didn't like spectacles.
It wasn't until one night, he had wondered into the opera of all places. He had never been in this building before and had no clue whee he was going. For all he knew, he was looking for a place to take a piss. He wandered aimlessly, not knowing what was behind each door that he stormed through until he picked a door that was left unlocked that led him to the back of the stage. There were people rushing everywhere. No one seemed to pay the slightest attention to him. He was in an expense suit, that was true, but the expression on his droopy face showed how lost in booze he was.
As he wandered without being noticed, somehow, he found himself on the stage looking like a total buffoon as he tripped over a prop and went sprawling on his stomach to the edge of the stage. Some people laughed; others just felt embarrassed for him. Lord Raphael LaBlanc was quite notorious by this time - all the wealthy knew the story of the love lost young man and how he was trying to kill himself, but just hadn't been successful yet. He was the talk of all the parties. The whispered sad story. The warning to the young about falling in love with trash. Mind you, if he had heard any of these rumors, he would have gotten himself arrested for assault. Was it true he had fallen in love with someone who was considered below his station? Yes. But she had contained more class and manners then any of the old hags that talked about him now. But fate was cruel, and he was lost in a sea of misery. Laying on the stage his eyes gazed down into the orchestra pit, and he spied a violin sitting there. Anxiously, he grabbed for it several times before he was successful, but once he had it in hand he stood. He couldn't think of what to play so he just let his heart choose the notes.
When he pulled the bow across the strings he turned melancholy to music. The honesty of his playing and the sorrow attached to it struck the audience into stunned silence. His agony pulled the bow and placed his fingers on the strings. He couldn't tell you what he played, only that it was the sound of his broken heart. When Raphael was done, he received a standing ovation from the audience that would certainly spread the word of his playing at every party they attended. Another layer of the Lord LeBlanc's melodrama. His parents attended these parties, but they never reprimanded Raphael for his behavior. They could only watch their son do everything in his power to survive another day.
Raphael made another spectacle of himself when he laid back down on his belly on the stage to return the violin to where he had found it. He ended up dropping it, which made a wretched noise, and he stood up fast to dust himself off and try to find his way off the stage. He had just stepped backstage when was approached by the theater's manager. Raphael didn't give a flip if he was about to be yelled at, punched, arrested. He didn't care! Though, he was mildly surprised when the manager asked him if he would come by each night and perform any song he wished before the performance.
Raphael gave a drunken burp of a laugh and left the building. However, Raphael did return to the theater night after night, his own violin in hand, to perform his misery for the waiting audience. This became his nightly therapy, though once he was done playing the depression took him all over again and he sought solace at the bottom of a bottle.
It wasn't until one night, he had wondered into the opera of all places. He had never been in this building before and had no clue whee he was going. For all he knew, he was looking for a place to take a piss. He wandered aimlessly, not knowing what was behind each door that he stormed through until he picked a door that was left unlocked that led him to the back of the stage. There were people rushing everywhere. No one seemed to pay the slightest attention to him. He was in an expense suit, that was true, but the expression on his droopy face showed how lost in booze he was.
As he wandered without being noticed, somehow, he found himself on the stage looking like a total buffoon as he tripped over a prop and went sprawling on his stomach to the edge of the stage. Some people laughed; others just felt embarrassed for him. Lord Raphael LaBlanc was quite notorious by this time - all the wealthy knew the story of the love lost young man and how he was trying to kill himself, but just hadn't been successful yet. He was the talk of all the parties. The whispered sad story. The warning to the young about falling in love with trash. Mind you, if he had heard any of these rumors, he would have gotten himself arrested for assault. Was it true he had fallen in love with someone who was considered below his station? Yes. But she had contained more class and manners then any of the old hags that talked about him now. But fate was cruel, and he was lost in a sea of misery. Laying on the stage his eyes gazed down into the orchestra pit, and he spied a violin sitting there. Anxiously, he grabbed for it several times before he was successful, but once he had it in hand he stood. He couldn't think of what to play so he just let his heart choose the notes.
When he pulled the bow across the strings he turned melancholy to music. The honesty of his playing and the sorrow attached to it struck the audience into stunned silence. His agony pulled the bow and placed his fingers on the strings. He couldn't tell you what he played, only that it was the sound of his broken heart. When Raphael was done, he received a standing ovation from the audience that would certainly spread the word of his playing at every party they attended. Another layer of the Lord LeBlanc's melodrama. His parents attended these parties, but they never reprimanded Raphael for his behavior. They could only watch their son do everything in his power to survive another day.
Raphael made another spectacle of himself when he laid back down on his belly on the stage to return the violin to where he had found it. He ended up dropping it, which made a wretched noise, and he stood up fast to dust himself off and try to find his way off the stage. He had just stepped backstage when was approached by the theater's manager. Raphael didn't give a flip if he was about to be yelled at, punched, arrested. He didn't care! Though, he was mildly surprised when the manager asked him if he would come by each night and perform any song he wished before the performance.
Raphael gave a drunken burp of a laugh and left the building. However, Raphael did return to the theater night after night, his own violin in hand, to perform his misery for the waiting audience. This became his nightly therapy, though once he was done playing the depression took him all over again and he sought solace at the bottom of a bottle.
One half of a pair of star crossed lovers hadn’t been the only loss felt the night of April 14th, 1912. Hundreds of lives had been lost, and even now, one year later, the losses were still reeling the world. For one second class citizen, her entire world had been lost upon that ship. Lydia Gavlont was a nineteen year old, high second class proper woman when she boarded Titanic. Upon taking a wrong turn, she had run into a young stoker who was also lost, and fireworks had formed in minutes. She spent every minute she could down in the firemen’s crew, and she remembered seeing another first class passenger down there. She remembered thinking hers must not be the only forbidden romance going on.
When the ship hit the iceberg, she had been with her stoker. They were having dinner after he got off his four hour shift. She remembered how tired he was, how gorgeous he was, and she playfully fed him before she started to take him to bed. When the alarms shrilled, they had both gotten dressed, and he forced her to go back up to second class when he realized how serious it was. He brought her to the stairs, he made her promise not to come back down, kissed her, told her he loved her, and waited until she went back up stairs. That was the last time she ever saw him.
Four months after the sinking, which she kept her promise and got to safety as soon as possible, even though she was bawling her eyes out, she met another charming man. She was still terribly depressed, but he managed to charm her, and steal her heart. They were married in a matter of months, but as it turned out, he had been a liar. He had cheated on her, and deeply broken her heart. When she tried to leave him, he attacked her, biting her neck as she screamed and struggled against him, draining her blood. Just before death, he seemed to take some kind of pity on her, and cut his wrist to feed her from it. The next time she woke up, she was alone, and terrified. The wound had healed, but her torrid lover had gone. She wandered the small town, not recognizing where she was. But she could hear everything. See everything. Smell everything. Her emotions were out of control, and the grief that hit her when she saw a headline of Titanic drove her mad. Murder was instinct, and soon, she drank her way through every single villager, leaving their bodies artfully arranged in signature pieces that shocked the world.
Four months had passed since her changing. She had gained minimal control over her powers, but none over that never ending hunger. She’d honed the way she killed, each more artful and gruesome than the last. She honed the ability to control the human mind, the ability to make her victims do exactly what she wanted. She could make them forget what she did. That was the most useful, she quickly found out, and continued to use it to get everything she wanted. She would use it now as she pulled her fangs out of the arm of the young lady she’d been stalking.
Her bloody eyes would return to her normal greenish blue as her sensitive ears heard a very sad tune. Turning to the woman, she told her to forget and go on about her day before the blond turned towards the sound. Her feet carried her into a theatre, an opera house to be exact. She manipulated her way into the audience to listen to the song, her heart breaking as she listened to the pain behind the song. It was haunting, and before she knew it, she found herself feeling that grief all over. As a vampire, that grief quickly turned to rage, but she had learned some control. At least enough to keep her there until the end of the song.
Halfway through it, she realized who the violinist was. Curiosity got the better of her bloodlust, and when his performance was over and he left, she followed him in the shadows until she was able to confirm that he was the very same. “Lord LaBlanc?” She called out, pure curiosity burning.
When the ship hit the iceberg, she had been with her stoker. They were having dinner after he got off his four hour shift. She remembered how tired he was, how gorgeous he was, and she playfully fed him before she started to take him to bed. When the alarms shrilled, they had both gotten dressed, and he forced her to go back up to second class when he realized how serious it was. He brought her to the stairs, he made her promise not to come back down, kissed her, told her he loved her, and waited until she went back up stairs. That was the last time she ever saw him.
Four months after the sinking, which she kept her promise and got to safety as soon as possible, even though she was bawling her eyes out, she met another charming man. She was still terribly depressed, but he managed to charm her, and steal her heart. They were married in a matter of months, but as it turned out, he had been a liar. He had cheated on her, and deeply broken her heart. When she tried to leave him, he attacked her, biting her neck as she screamed and struggled against him, draining her blood. Just before death, he seemed to take some kind of pity on her, and cut his wrist to feed her from it. The next time she woke up, she was alone, and terrified. The wound had healed, but her torrid lover had gone. She wandered the small town, not recognizing where she was. But she could hear everything. See everything. Smell everything. Her emotions were out of control, and the grief that hit her when she saw a headline of Titanic drove her mad. Murder was instinct, and soon, she drank her way through every single villager, leaving their bodies artfully arranged in signature pieces that shocked the world.
Four months had passed since her changing. She had gained minimal control over her powers, but none over that never ending hunger. She’d honed the way she killed, each more artful and gruesome than the last. She honed the ability to control the human mind, the ability to make her victims do exactly what she wanted. She could make them forget what she did. That was the most useful, she quickly found out, and continued to use it to get everything she wanted. She would use it now as she pulled her fangs out of the arm of the young lady she’d been stalking.
Her bloody eyes would return to her normal greenish blue as her sensitive ears heard a very sad tune. Turning to the woman, she told her to forget and go on about her day before the blond turned towards the sound. Her feet carried her into a theatre, an opera house to be exact. She manipulated her way into the audience to listen to the song, her heart breaking as she listened to the pain behind the song. It was haunting, and before she knew it, she found herself feeling that grief all over. As a vampire, that grief quickly turned to rage, but she had learned some control. At least enough to keep her there until the end of the song.
Halfway through it, she realized who the violinist was. Curiosity got the better of her bloodlust, and when his performance was over and he left, she followed him in the shadows until she was able to confirm that he was the very same. “Lord LaBlanc?” She called out, pure curiosity burning.
It had become custom that after Raphael played, he would be given a bottle of whatever they had backstage, usually something made in a bathtub. Tonight, it was Gin, bathtub gin. The kind of bathtub gin that can take the enamel off the sides of the tub. He hated Gin. But he took the bottle and drank it down as fast as he could. “You’re gonna kill yourself, lad,” one worrisome gent commented as Raphael behaved too carelessly. "One can only hope, my good Sir. One can only hope.” He marched off into the street, the booze just starting to have an effect on him. He began bumping into the wall of the alley that he turned down. He liked to walk down allies. The darker the better. Moe chance of running into the unsavory sort. Every horror or murder story one hears or reads about in the papers happens down a dark alley. He had taken almost every dark alley in town, and he had yet to come across even one where danger lurked. Why is it that when you find bliss, bad things always strike? But when you do nothing but pray for the end to come, you are met with only peace from everything around you?
He was becoming overwhelmed with the grief again, tears spilling down his flushed cheeks and he looked for even a carriage or car to jump in front of. He just wanted it to be over. He wanted to stop hurting. He wanted to join his Lillian but hadn’t had the courage or opportunity. As he hovered at the mouth of the alley debating on which way to go and what trouble he could get into he heard, well not his name but a name associated with him. “You want my father. There is no lord here.” As he spoke, he would turn to face the blonde bombshell of a woman, but he was too broken to notice. He was clearly intoxicated and visibly distraught. “I’m not a lord anymore. I’m not capable any longer. I’m…I’m…” he sat down hard on the wet, dirty sidewalk and slumped against the wall. Unconsciousness would be an underserving kindness but only a temporary one.
He was becoming overwhelmed with the grief again, tears spilling down his flushed cheeks and he looked for even a carriage or car to jump in front of. He just wanted it to be over. He wanted to stop hurting. He wanted to join his Lillian but hadn’t had the courage or opportunity. As he hovered at the mouth of the alley debating on which way to go and what trouble he could get into he heard, well not his name but a name associated with him. “You want my father. There is no lord here.” As he spoke, he would turn to face the blonde bombshell of a woman, but he was too broken to notice. He was clearly intoxicated and visibly distraught. “I’m not a lord anymore. I’m not capable any longer. I’m…I’m…” he sat down hard on the wet, dirty sidewalk and slumped against the wall. Unconsciousness would be an underserving kindness but only a temporary one.
The response that met her had her raising an eyebrow. It was no secret that the famous Lord Raphael LaBlanc had fallen into a world of despair, but she had no idea he’d fallen this low. Honestly, she sympathized. Inside the monster, the grief could be crippling. It was the reason she’d chosen to shut it off. It was easier, even if flicks of it still hurt the vampire.
As he slumped down, the blonde moved further into the alley with him. She knelt, her gloves hand lifting his chin slowly. “Calm yourself,” She whispered, her words inducing a feeling of still and calm within him immediately, so much so that even the mention of his beloved wouldn’t cause a stir. “Stand now, my good sir. She wouldn’t want you to wallow.” Everybody in the world knew by now, as Lady LaBlanc had put out a special printed obituary on the young woman, so the world knew her name. But Lydia. Lydia had actually seen her. It was true that Lydia had judged her, severely judged her and judged Raphael in the same way the social circles had, but…she had actually seen them together a few times, and she could see how happy they made each other.
She studied him, seeing a bit of herself in him. He was calm and still now, but she compelled him anyways. “Tell me the truth. Do you truly believe she’s dead? Feel. Really feel for her.” She’d done this everywhere she went, and though she had found his family members, she’d never been able to feel her stoker again. But true love didn’t really die. “Look deep, Raphael.”Her voice was as smooth as glass, and adorned with a thick English accent.
As he slumped down, the blonde moved further into the alley with him. She knelt, her gloves hand lifting his chin slowly. “Calm yourself,” She whispered, her words inducing a feeling of still and calm within him immediately, so much so that even the mention of his beloved wouldn’t cause a stir. “Stand now, my good sir. She wouldn’t want you to wallow.” Everybody in the world knew by now, as Lady LaBlanc had put out a special printed obituary on the young woman, so the world knew her name. But Lydia. Lydia had actually seen her. It was true that Lydia had judged her, severely judged her and judged Raphael in the same way the social circles had, but…she had actually seen them together a few times, and she could see how happy they made each other.
She studied him, seeing a bit of herself in him. He was calm and still now, but she compelled him anyways. “Tell me the truth. Do you truly believe she’s dead? Feel. Really feel for her.” She’d done this everywhere she went, and though she had found his family members, she’d never been able to feel her stoker again. But true love didn’t really die. “Look deep, Raphael.”Her voice was as smooth as glass, and adorned with a thick English accent.
The tears that welled in his grey eyes still fell, rolling down his sallow checks. He was probably easy to control, the weak always were and Raphael had nothing in him to make him strong. Even though she calmed him, caused his heart to stop hammering, and his mind to stop racing though there was nothing that could stop the tears that rolled and moistened his collar. She lived in his tears if she did nowhere else. She would rise, blossom and fall. So had she in life and so would she forever in his eyes. She had always been drawn to his eyes. So, it seemed only right that his eyes should mourn the hardest.
“My wallowing makes everyone uncomfortable, and I don’t care.” His words were calm but harsh, she was having that effect on him, and he was answering honestly. But his words were forever sad and empty. His grey eyes met her blue-green eyes, and he was reminded of his Lillian. For an instant, just one instant he wondered if the reason she asked such a question was because she was his Lillian. Tears ever falling he asked in a choked voice, “Lillian? Your eyes are like the ring…” He glanced at her hand but saw no ring. Lillian never would have lost his ring. In that instant he knew that though they might share a similar hue of the eye, they did not share a soul. “I don’t want to believe her dead. But I have no choice.” He placed both his hands on his chest, over his heart, “I don’t feel her anymore. I’d be able to feel her if she were alive, right?” More tears overpowered her influence of calm, which should show the vampire just how all-consuming his loss was. Death would certainly be the more merciful option for one so low.
“My wallowing makes everyone uncomfortable, and I don’t care.” His words were calm but harsh, she was having that effect on him, and he was answering honestly. But his words were forever sad and empty. His grey eyes met her blue-green eyes, and he was reminded of his Lillian. For an instant, just one instant he wondered if the reason she asked such a question was because she was his Lillian. Tears ever falling he asked in a choked voice, “Lillian? Your eyes are like the ring…” He glanced at her hand but saw no ring. Lillian never would have lost his ring. In that instant he knew that though they might share a similar hue of the eye, they did not share a soul. “I don’t want to believe her dead. But I have no choice.” He placed both his hands on his chest, over his heart, “I don’t feel her anymore. I’d be able to feel her if she were alive, right?” More tears overpowered her influence of calm, which should show the vampire just how all-consuming his loss was. Death would certainly be the more merciful option for one so low.
“Your wallowing is one of grief. Everybody’s comfort be damned.” The vampire said musically. She studied the young lord for a while, and though he was calm under compulsion, his eyes still showed the depths of his grief. In them, she saw the blonde from the ship, as if she were alive and well infront of them. It was a powerful love. Lydia wasn’t quite as convinced as he was, she just believed he couldn’t see past his own misery. Then again, perhaps it was the projection of her own loss that made the decision for her.
“You wish for death?” She asked him as she circled him, as if inspecting him, her midnight blue dress barely making a noise as it passed by him. “A reprieve from this? Or do you wish for a chance to prove yourself wrong?” Behind him, her fangs extended for a moment, the rush of blood calling her, nearly blinding the vampire before the woman pulled it back. It was rude to eat in the middle of a conversation, she reminded herself.
“Tell me, young lord. What if she is? Just....different than you might imagine.” Perhaps it was the fact Lydia hadn't decided what to do with him yet, except play, but she was definitely prolonging the inevitable, poking and prodding as she sometimes did with her victims. “What would you do then?”
“You wish for death?” She asked him as she circled him, as if inspecting him, her midnight blue dress barely making a noise as it passed by him. “A reprieve from this? Or do you wish for a chance to prove yourself wrong?” Behind him, her fangs extended for a moment, the rush of blood calling her, nearly blinding the vampire before the woman pulled it back. It was rude to eat in the middle of a conversation, she reminded herself.
“Tell me, young lord. What if she is? Just....different than you might imagine.” Perhaps it was the fact Lydia hadn't decided what to do with him yet, except play, but she was definitely prolonging the inevitable, poking and prodding as she sometimes did with her victims. “What would you do then?”
Moderators: Eros_Calls TheCaffeineQueen