#monbellemonstre

[brightreporterwithapointofview]

@monbellemonstre liked for a starter in my Journalistic Curiosity verse.

Daniel was fascinated with everything about Paris from the moment he arrived off the boat. It felt like a world away from San Francisco, a universe all of its own. Daniel had never been anywhere like it before. Back on the West Coast, things felt so modern and new. Industry everywhere you looked. But this city... this city felt ancient, housing a million stories, a million mysteries. It was war-scarred and worn, but alluring all the same. Cobblestone streets, dimly lit cafes, and centuries-old architecture. Every bit of it enthralled Daniel.

For the first few weeks he was there, Daniel did nothing but wander. He tried to visit somewhere new every day. Taking in different businesses, churches, and faces. Soaking it all up, waiting for the city to tell him where a story lived. Daniel had always enjoyed going where others thought he shouldn't, and held a love for telling the stories of those that society liked to overlook. What better people to find those stories from than Parisians?

It was only inevitable then that he would find himself drawn to Théâtre des Vampires. The perfect place to witness a whole new kind of art. Mesmerizing stories, wild effects. Actors that seemed ethereal, otherworldly even in the darkest of makeup and costumes.

The perfect place to unearth a story truly worth telling. Now, Daniel just needed to find someone who would be willing to share it with him. So he took to hanging around the theater after the performances were over. Taking longer than most to exit, loitering around outside waiting to see if he could run into one of the actors or the director. And in the meantime, he made notes- chicken scratch scribbles that documented all his latest insights.

[2ndhalflife]

A case for Revenge

@monbellemonstre

The scent of cooking filled the tower's penthouse. It wafted from a kitchen that should have been unused, through the halls, towards the bedroom that held one Louis de Pointe du Lac.

Outside, the sun was just beginning to set; and any vampires within Dubai's boarders would slowly begin to rouse themselves from sleep.

Nicholas Vail, son of two Talamasca agents, stood in the kitchen, slowly working on making a hearty meal with fresh local ingredients.

There were a few things that should be noted.

One. Nicky had gone shopping.

Two. Nicky was cooking.

Three. This was not Nicky's home.

In fact, Nicky didn't know the penthouse's soul inhabitant. At least not personally.

Yes, he had read the biography written by Daniel Molloy. Yes, he had read all Talamasca files related to Louis. It was best to know one's enemy after all. Yet Louis was not Nicky's enemy; though he had lived with his enemies for many years.

First with Lestat, his former lover. Then with Armand, the man who had driven him insane and helped him set the flames that had consumed his body.

But that was a literal life time ago for Nicky. He had died, turned to ash. He had been reborn and lived a life with a family that made sure that he was happy. And he had been. For much of his life he had thrived being risen by the Vail family in a way that he never had when he had been a member of the Lenfent family. The Vail's urged him to follow his dreams. Now he was part of a popular indie band called '2nd Half Life'.

Indie.

He was happy that way.

But Lestat had resurfaced in a major way. He had taken the stage and gained fame in a very short time.

Nicky wanted to see him suffer.

Which brought him here. To the home of one Louis de Pointe du Lac; where he was cooking himself dinner as he waited for Louis to awaken so that he could speak to him...and offer him a position in his scheme against Lestat.

Upon sensing that he was no longer alone, he pointed towards the refrigerator with his spatula.

"The files stated your preferred blood type. I have several bags of it in the fridge waiting for you. Would you like me to heat it up?"

[strxgxi]

Continued from here.

Daniel’s terribly impatient as he stands in a gray sweater that falls off the left shoulder, revealing his porcelain skin. Lestat pulled that ribbon ever so slowly, deliberately just to annoy him a bit, but it was all worthwhile for the intense reaction the vampire felt free to give as his eyes filled with blood at the creation.

The only way Daniel had seen the coat was through the sharing of memory, which he much enjoyed. However, he knew nothing about the thing that night they were naked and chasing wolves and foxes like wild animals. Daniel had loved that night.

He’d struck him speechless for quite a while, which he knew was a damn hard thing to do as he still stood there in casual gray pajama bottoms and that sultry shoulder top. He tilted his head as he tried it on, smiled even as it seemed to fit him perfectly, and just then, his new maker seemed to be taller, despite his voice being softer.

“ Yeah well, it was a great night. One of the best ones of both my mortal life and my new life. Something told me I needed to keep some mementos. “ He let out a soft sigh in remembrance, his violet eyes sparkling silver.“ Alors oui. J'y suis retourné. J'ai pris la meilleure partie de notre chasse, outre le sang que nous avions déjà bu. “ His French was getting better.

Daniel smiled softly, reaching out to run his fingers over the fur, just covering his chest. “ It suits you, birthday boy. “ Now, he offered a playful smirk.

[minaharkerdailymirror]

Mina had been doing some work in the slums in Paris when the disappearances caught her attention. She’d heard it being discussed between two policemen in a tavern; a man had disappeared, the same height, weight and coloring as ‘the other ones’ which had caught her interest. Mina sometimes dealt with a human kill if needed, it came with more guaranteed reward money than a monster hunt did.

The scene of the kidnapping immediately told her it wasn’t a human behind this. Whomever had done it had broken through the window, ripped him away from his wife in a matter of seconds and took the air practically.

And Mina knew what she was dealing with.

Once she was on his scent, she found him easily. He was an old one, and he had his eye on a certain French actor that was peacocking around the stage.

Mina had to get him away before he took him to the tower. Old ones were clever, old ones set traps in the house. Old ones kept people in there for food. That’s why Mina couldn’t just storm in and burn it all down with him inside while he slept. She had to be smart. She’d lost many a friend because they thought since it was daylight, it was safe.

She struck first before the presence did, she found the actor at the tavern, celebrating his newest play. The dark headed companion that was with him had already gone home, telling him he would see him in their rooms

That was interesting.

“He’d be wise to be more cautious about saying such things,” Mina said, breaking the silence after the others left, “There are those that wouldn’t understand.”  

@monbellemonstre

[vampvoices]

From (x) @monbellemonstre (Louis.)

Oh, how he loathed Louis du Lac. His attitude, the way he moved, his manner, the air he carried with him – all of it. With time, that irritation only grew. Claudia was a different story entirely. Despite tolerating him at first, it continued to simmer into something to be endured. The vampire was intolerable at best.  

Seeing him made him forget that he was supposed to be doing his makeup in that moment, the show just an hour away. It felt irrelevant in the realm of his thoughts. He could have it done quickly after all, it was not a bother to him in the slightest. The jealousy almost took full precedence. His arms remained crossed, chin lifting lightly with a clenched jaw as he approached the stage.

“Well you’ve already done that,” he remarks, quickly interjecting at his initial words. Sarcasm coating every syllable of his words. By simply being here. “And oh, don’t fret, I am overwhelmingly disappointed on both fronts.”  

Santiago bites his lower lip as he walks just past him, rolling his eyes to the point where he was sure Louis could feel it even though he was behind him. “Suppose you could just leave and never return, but I suppose we both don’t get what we want, do we?”

[leroilestat]

About Love

@monbellemonstre @leroilestat Last time on the VC's Lestat X Louis Rue Royale Rp

monbellemonstre

Louis lies still in the velvet-lined coffin, green eyes following every single movement Lestat makes. The familiar cadence of that voice, irritated yet pleading and always so certain of itself even in frustration, washes over him like the memory of sunlight. The accusation stings because it's true, or true enough. His stomach twists, a familiar ache that has no true name, one that belongs to neither the living nor the dead but to some liminal space he's occupied since the night Lestat made him. He hears the rustle of fabric and the soft thud of boots against the floor followed by that single word hanging in the air between them: Well? "I'm listening," he says quietly as he sits up, a glimmer of affection and longing in his eyes despite the somewhat stoic expression on his face. His hunger is stirring at the mere suggestion of feeding, stomach twisting inside as his throat aches. He lifts himself from the coffin with the same preternatural grace they both share, approaching the wardrobe once both bare feet are on the floor. "Love doesn't end with death, I'm incapable of showing affection… I always listen to you, Lestat." As he speaks he smooths down the white button down that managed to remain on his body, reaching for his dark slacks and pulling them on just after. He does not miss the way his Maker's shoulders slouch for a moment before pride reasserted itself, does not miss the challenge in that cocked head, in the frustration radiating from Lestat like body heat. He approaches his paramour slowly and intentionally, a pair of leather-soled shoes dangling by the tongues in one hand while the other hand lifts to brush a bit of golden curl behind Lestat's ear. "Where do you want to go to hunt, cher?"

"Do you really listen Louis?" Lestat asked because it at times felt like he did not really listen. "You are listening now." He smiled, "Stay with me here." He watched Louis dress admiring his beauty. Still as beautiful as the day he found him, maybe more, he thought. He stilled as Louis approached him. He forgot for a moment what he had in mind when he felt his lovers hand brust his hair gently. "I was thinking about going to take the little drink on Bourbon Street. Maybe join them in the garden at Pattie O's. I love watching you gave at the water and flame in their fountain as the music plays there." Lestat touches his face gently, "You are looking paler than normal. Unless you have other idea's, mon amour? He gently lowered his mouth to Louis' neck brushing her lips to it. He pulled away mirth in his eyes. "Does that sound good or do you have a better idea?"

[knot-ee]

The fireplace at the head of the living room roared with a healthy fire to fill the starved room with warmth, spices of cinnamon and clove drove out the smell of blood, and the blood itself was fresh, ruby red, and thick... yet there was nothing appealing about the blood or the night. The last traces of the sun died in his emerald eyes, so he pleasured himself watching the fire, wishing it was the sun. The tails of his coat whirled around as he jumped out of his lounging chair with sudden restlessness.

The viscous blood was tossed out from the long stemmed glass and into the fire. The resulting smell was rather nasty but far from the worst he had smelled. Smoke curled black momentarily as its tongue-like appendages licked up and burned the blood. Olrox was bored again. Listless. Lonely. Not caring for the state of his dress, he bent at the waist and reached forward into the fire to try to capture that warmth. To be sunbathing in the sun. Like a snake on hot rock, or a dragon on-- gentle rain patter surrounding the city dampened the sound of wandering steps, but there was not an intruder waiting hoping to take down a mark.

Vintage bell of the manor chimed that a guest was awaiting Olrox and certainly not an enemy. His anemic staff of humans were off for the night so it was up to the ancient vampire and him alone to make sense of an unexpected guest. He was bored as most nights tended to filled with more thoughts and company. He seemed to glide through the quiet and warm manor from top floor to bottom. At the door the smell of blood tickled his nose and if he really focused, there was no beating heart on the other side.

Of course it was a vampire-- who else would seek him out? It was a little crass answering his own door but it was thrown open nonetheless. Olrox was always prepared like a jungle cat on primed legs except he looked more like a bored house cat. One of his many skills. Pale skin like milk, hair like butter, and ALL of that blood @monbellemonstre. Someone had a fun time. Olrox's eyebrow curved with amusement and interest.

“Don't you know to eat with a bib when at a buffet? Are you here to hide or here to boast. What was that name again.. Spike?”

The young vampire looked more like a stray cat. Olrox kept quiet about that; vampires were tender creatures despite their fangs and longevity. What did the English vampire expect out of Olrox? He wouldn't turn him away but he wasn't exactly opening his arms for dirty company.

“If you drive me out of this beautiful french home, you will not like how the debt is repayed.”

[artreveals]

Plotted starter for Lestat de Lioncourt

@monbellemonstre

B. Hallward

The air still felt oppressive, even at this hour of night. Basil hoped that this heat spell would lift up soon. He had never been too good with hot weather, but that was not what was keeping him up at night. No - he had been restless long before the weather had turned tropical.

After having watched the hours tick away for what felt like an eternity, he had decided to give up on sleep altogether and his restless mind had all but forced him out on the streets at this ungodly hour. In the beginning, Basil had turned to alcohol and other substances in an attempt to calm his mind, but alcohol made him melancholic and - more often than not - sick. In the end, all his feeble attempts at escapism had brought him so far was more discomfort.

So he found himself walking empty streets, keeping a brisk pace even though he had no goal in mind. He had forsaken his coat, but kept a linen scarf tied around his neck, obscuring the jagged scar that ran right beside his artery by a hair's width, and every now and then, his fingers gingerly brushed over the fabric.

He turned right, following a dimly lit road that led him past the park and slowed his pace. He wouldn't venture to go through it in the middle of the night, but he still enjoyed how the light of the streetlamps played on the leaves of the large oaks that lined the perimeter, quietly musing about how he could capture the effect on a canvas until he had come to a full stop.

Basil hadn't so much as touched a brush since leaving London. Whatever his own part in all of this might have been, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. But perhaps he should try to paint something again. Shame he hadn't brought his sketchbook. After all, he would have to find a way to replenish his funds sooner or later. The money he had brought from England would hold him up for a few more months - if he kept to a modest living - but it certainly wouldn't last him a lifetime, and the artist couldn't quite picture himself trying his hand on a desk job.

Caught up in his own musings, he was all but blind to the outside world.