#poitoucorrillaut

[xdarc-moved-blog]

@poitou-corrillaut

❝Mes excuses, monsieur.❞ Jeanne was quick to apologize, jolted out of thought from running right into the man, and offered him a small, albeit bashful, smile. ❝I was trying to find a church and I... wasn’t looking, I’m sorry... Did I step on your shoes?❞

[thyhumbleservant-archive-blog]

Would you have sex with Etienne?

Yes - but it’s complicated.

[thyhumbleservant-archive-blog]

Have you ever thought about murdering your maker?

Why in the world would I hurt Etienne? I love him.

[thyhumbleservant-archive-blog]

send a ❂ to get a moodboard for our muses.

--> poitou-corrillaut & thyhumbleservant

// a perfect summary of the maker & fledgling relationship between these two.

[devilsfool]

*sprawls languidly on Lestat's couch*

Etienne. It’s been awhile. 

*sits in the bergère*

Wherever did you get those shoes?

[thyhumbleservant-archive-blog]

Does it sadden you to know that your maker would probably give up life with you if it meant he could have a better one? You probably would have died like you should of.

I’ve always been a people pleaser...given the line of work I was involved with - I think that is given. I can be pretty selfish and childish at times but if there is one thing that I know for certain, it’s that I love Etienne. I want Etienne to be happy and if it meant that he would have had a different path in life, that he’d be fine and happy - so be it. I would perish.

[thyhumbleservant-archive-blog]

I was wondering where is your maker now?

Etienne often goes on business trips. He runs businesses you know, sometimes it involves travelling and being away from me...even if he doesn't like that. He's on another business trip.

[poitou-corrillaut]

London After Midnight {Marius}

Etienne allowed himself to be jostled about on the dance floor, dodging club security as though it were little more than an annoyance.  Indeed, in his present situation, it was.  The thrumming beat of the music was no match for the pounding in his head - all mortal affairs were blotted out by its omnipresent signal.  He hardly noticed the heat of the bodies pressed against him, the pulsing of their veins failing to entice him as they usually did.  He glanced around wildly, searching for an escape.  This was no mean feat, for how was he to escape an entity whose position was not known? For all he knew, each step he took could be leading him closer to the source of the agonizing heartbeat.

The bouncer began to gain on him, breaking him from his reverie and sending him ducking through the crowd.  At least this danger could be escaped; all he had to do was blend in.  He swept his hair back and tucked it under a simple knit hat in hopes that without his hair as a giveaway the burly security guard would lose him among the intoxicated masses.  When the bouncer’s back was turned he slunk up the stairs to the mezzanine overlooking the dance floor.

He allowed himself a moment’s pause to reassess the situation.  The pounding had not subsided - indeed it had been joined by a point of blinding fire not far from the club.  He could see it even as he saw the walls that obscured its source from mortal eyes.  All at once the beating signal took on meaning; whoever was sending it had no intention of letting him go.  Trembling, he turned to face the ethereal flame. The tongueless meaning of the pounding began to coalesce into words - a request for company.  Etienne bit his lip, steeling himself for whatever was to come.

"Who are you?"

[mariusthevampire]

Marius waited, silent and still, amongst the mortal revelers.  Their jostling hardly moved him, and he only stepped away from the crowd to protect their tender mortal bodies from bruising against his own.  His hunger had since subsided, subsumed by his curiosity.  His mere presence, the reputation of the ancients as a whole, preceded him, and so he felt no animosity toward those who were cautious at his approach.  So many had died by his fire and mind, but only those young nuisances who fed like monsters and treated humans more like sport to hunt and brutally kill than as beautiful and finite things to treasure and admire.

Had he, Marius, ever been young, weak and frightened?  Yes, when he was first made, before Akasha intoxicated him with her blood, and in doing so infused him with power beyond his fledgling years.  Discovering his power piece by piece had been a wonderful venture, and he still did not know the extent of his power.  Perhaps when the time came, but this time was not now.

The smell of alcohol and drugs sweating out of hot mortal pores made Marius feel a bit disgusted, so he escaped the dance floor.  Besides, his purpose resides above, in the mezzanine that looked far less crowded and disruptive.  He ascended the steps patiently, sliding his gloved hands up the railing, which was warm even through his tight gloves.  On his way up, a young girl with bouncing brown hair passed, brushing against him but otherwise not noticing him, and Marius paused for a moment to watch her descent-- her hair, so familiar in style, so lovely in the way it fell and swayed, caught in her movements, and his hunger peaked dangerously.  

But no.  He was no creature to give in to temptation on a whim.

Marius, his mind sent, introducing him in advance of his arrival.  He didn’t blend and yet he did.  His skin was too white and flawless, not a wrinkle or line to be found, not even on his palms, his eyes too pale blue like an ocean frosted over, his lips like the pink of petals and not the red of mortals.  But his clothing fit in, and he broadcasted a signal from his very core to all that nothing was amiss.  Not a single human would look twice at him and think him odd.

“Is London your territory?” he asked the beautiful immortal politely, his low voice easy for the others immortal ears to catch.  “I do not mean to intrude; I am only a traveler, a wanderer.  I mean no harm nor do I seek residence.”