#loxelace

[serdtsa]

Silence crawls for a stretched moment, Caleb not moving nor speaking, gaze fixated on century old stains of burgundy upon silk fabric. He is like a statue, frozen in the way that he ceases animation, true to the nature of something that should be, for all it is worth, dead, and six feet under. But inside, there is movement. Thoughts race as fast as he can move when he wants to, and suddenly he is standing directly beside the Russian prince. "We can create red." He looks at nothing in particular.

As there is more silence again, as it stretches wide between the two of them, Aleksei spends a moment eyeing his own spawn. The one of the two sons he has, that always comes back when he runs. Aside from that filthy stain on his pride that never seems to want to go away. But much more than the mere fact that Caleb always returns, gives the Russian King pride in his child. He resembles him, in bits of pieces, creates chaos flawlessly. And although their name is not shared, as it looks in this very moment. The word of his fatherhood is spreading like wildfire. " Create red..." Aleksei repeats with a silent hum, drawn from his lips as if instinctive. Although completely improvised. " Creating red, sounds like good entertainment. But we'll have to travel. "

[velvetvampires-rp]

                          The House of Velvet is pleased to welcome Caleb Lovelace.

          Winter. Caleb remembers snow, so much beautiful white blanketing the horizon that if he stood atop a mountain, that was all he would see. He felt more alive than he ever had, stronger than he ever had, but for what he had gained physically and supernaturally, he lost morally and spiritually. A once tender and kind young man had been turned into nothing but a beautiful killer with a bloodlust that brought upon insanity.

          Caleb was the flower boy of his country, the young son of a rich man who wielded power within the royal kingdom of England. Caleb was beautiful - some would have said, more beautiful than the fairest lady, and to match such an angelic appearance, he had the most gentle of hearts. He fell in love once, with a man who would only meet with him behind closed doors and after dark. By this man, his heart was unavoidably broken, as they were to settle in an arranged marriage with a woman.

          Winter. He remembers hair as blonde as his own, skin as fair as the snow and almost as cold to the touch. A piercing gaze that fell upon him was cast amber in certain lighting, and he fell in love again. He remembers pleasure, but he remembers pain just the same, white hot pain that struck him in the dark of one frozen night, a sensation that started at his neck and spread to every limb of his body, took over every nerve until he was nothing but a screaming and writhing mess, waiting for it to end.

          Awakening, memories were fragmented into shattered pieces of things that ceased to hold their meaning, insignificant tales in a storybook that could be ripped out and thrown into a blazing fire. That blond hair and cold, white skin, those amber eyes that were a bold vision within his memoirs - they made up his sire. But for such an old being, his sire had miscalculated. Once bitten and transformed for eternity, Caleb’s soul seemingly vanished; every ounce of sympathy and empathy, compassion and humanity had been drained from him and he was no longer the shy and gentle young lad everyone was so fond of. No, he was Caleb Lovelace, prodigy of a bloodthirsty Russian prince.

          And to this day, he continues to be so. He is the ghost of a pretty young man, a rich English family’s son, who disappeared one night in 1768, and was frequently spotted afterwards with blood smeared across his mouth, covering his hands and pooling at his feet. He was insane - out of control and it was only mere nights after being turned that he fled the presence of his sire, set out on his own to chase bloodlust that was so strong that it consumed him for 246 years. The amount of what he could have was lessening, the bloody journey he’d set out on in 1768 was coming to an end by the early to mid 1900’s. Insecurity and selfish fear drove him to track down his sire, searching for some sort of solace as he quickly felt eerily alone the more that the world advanced and changed around him.

          Autumn of 2014 marks when Caleb was reunited with his sire in Seoul. It also marks when he met a Hungarian crusnik that he immediately took high interest in, and whom takes a strong interest in him as well.

                    ♔ House of Velvet ♔ The House ♔ Guidelines ♔ Applicant? ♔

[serdtsa]

At the sight of expected blue, Caleb still freezes in place, tilts his head ever so slightly as he takes in hues that he had never witnessed in the irises of his own sire. He remembers gold, he remembers red, he even remembers silver; but he does not remember blue. It is jarring, uncomfortable in a way that makes Caleb shift his position where he is perched. "We are not fond of blue, sire..." Amber is cast down at the tattered doll held within his arms instead. "She says it does not suit you."

Notion is of course taken, to the way the other freezes in place. Because Aleksei never misses a detail, wether his mind is on the edge of relapse or not. It makes him tilt his head just in the faintest. " Nobody, is fond of the blue. " He states calmly, the mere shadow of a smile playing upon his lips for a moment before he chuckles. Not as melodically as usually, no of course not. It is a dark, twisted version of what he usually gives off. " But alas, it cannot be helped. As much as I wish, there is currently no cure. "

[serdtsa]

Do you remember? The sight of blood as it spreads through vast whiteness... I remember.

A brow quirks, hues of light blue shooting open for a sliver of a second. Merely to behold the sighting of his son, one he takes pride in at that. It renders him calmed, pulled away from his own turmoil for a moment at last. ” I do. ” He states with ease as slim fingers run through his own blond strands of a tad too long hair — letting them settle in the manner they wish ; freely. ” And it is one of the prettiest sights I know. “