Post by Laevinus Caesar Forsyth on Feb 28, 2013 17:40:21 GMT -5
[style=float: left; font-family: georgia; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: -2px; color: #1D1D1D; margin-top: 210px; margin-right: 235px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #090909; width: 500px;]LAEVINUS CAESAR FORSYTH
counting bodies like sheep,
“Avis Leah Mahala.” The man’s level and unwavering voice resembled one of a humble but fierce aggression, words curt and concise, as though cut short in facing some form of time restraint. It was a bold request, and Laevinus was aware of that fact—as was the man on the other side of the line, it seemed, who hesitated, breath hitching within the back of his throat. “I beg your pardon, sir?” The Monarch paused at that moment, his hand constricting tightly around the phone as he clutched it nearby his bronzed facial features, lips pursing and jaw flexing in a blatant sign of his provoked infuriation. The man of whom he spoke to was an inferior, a peasant—he deserved not to talk to the King, let alone regard him with such insolence. Questioning his word would only bring him nothing shy of death. “You heard me.” Although the lyrics were quietly-spoken and hardly audible, Laevinus’ tone was vicious and inescapably hostile; like the blade of a sharpened sword, it sliced through the silence with the abruptness of an enraged grizzly. The man on the other man gave a start, or so it sounded, before uttering several pathetic and meek apologies, as though they would make up for his wrongdoings. If only he knew. “Arrange that her address be given to my driver. I suggest you do so efficiently.” The vampire continued as he rounded a corner, gracefully descending down one of the citadel’s brilliant though seemingly everlasting flight of steps.
“You have two minutes. Disappoint me, and you will suffer the consequences.” His dismissal was a cold one, dripping with underlying warning, but it was fitting, nonetheless.
Laevinus closed the phone and slipped it into the pocket of his ebony blazer, before extending both hands to swing open the front doors of his residence, and proceeding out towards his waiting vehicle. Perhaps he should hire new, more respectful record-keeping employees. They, surely, wouldn’t question his requests—no matter who he wished to visit. Laevinus smirked, faintly, and nodded towards his driver in silent greeting as the man propped open the door to the vehicle, bothering not to thank him nor pay him any sort of respect. He had been driving for Laevinus since the takeover, and thus knew better then to expect any sort of pointless, “thank you, I appreciate it.” That was one thing, albeit rare, that the Monarch loved about the elderly man. He was silent. If only the rest of the world could follow his example.
The ride was a short one, all things considered, and Laevinus found himself subtly pleased when, as asked, the driver’s location system updated with the address of his current target. Target, victim, unfortunate—theatrical titles, perhaps, but certainly appropriate. Surely, by the end of the evening, Avis would consider herself nothing less.
That is, unless she took the opportunity and made use of it.
See, Laevinus was a man of business and, therefore, when a chance arose he could do little else then exploit it. Upon hearing word of the socialite’s seemingly flawless, he became immediately aware of the fact that Avis could prove to be far more useful than any of his current employees—add that with the fact rumour had implied she was a ravishing woman, and it equates to a fairly driven, motivated Laevinus. Funny, how things work.
Before long the vehicle slowed to a stop, and Laevinus peeled his eyes away from the seat in front of him to instead regard the woman’s home, his eyes narrowing, jaw wiring closed as he observed the quiet residence. It was late, far into the wee hours of the night, and thus it made sense for the woman to be long asleep—the thought, however, appealed to his more masculine, primal side with an unfathomable intensity. Being alone with one of the opposing sex was tempting as is, let alone with such high stakes, and with a femme of such class and sophistication. But, there was business to be done.
That said, Laevinus was never opposed to mixing business with pleasure.
Slipping from the vehicle and closing the door behind him, the Monarch proceeded unwaveringly towards the household, dull and pallid eyes sweeping the premises once, twice, before he came to a steady halt at the door, gaze running down the lengths of the stretch of wood. He needed inside, that much he knew, and yet didn’t want to risk awakening the woman, just yet. Laevinus’ brows drew together, forehead creasing, before he released a short, irritated little sigh. Fuck it. He slammed into the door, repeatedly, shoulder ramming savagely against the wood in the most uncivilized and disruptive of manners. These were not the actions of a Monarch or King, surely, but instead the actions of a dangerous and severely angered man—and, it showed. The surface began to give within moments and, finally, with a last, valiant heave against the door, the surface cracked upon impact, sending Laevinus through the door and into the home. He was a sight to behold, chest heaving and testosterone pumping, and though he relished in the feeling of embracing such aggression, the man was quick to straighten his suit and release a laboured breath, walking forwards into the lavish home in search of the kitchen.
Helping himself to the accommodations of which her kitchen provided, Laevinus wasted no time in pouring himself a scotch, before heading to where he imagined the bedroom to be. Vague thoughts as to whether or not she would have company occupied his mind, very briefly, but were quickly dashed with the force of his unethically large ego—surely, even if she was with a man, no aggression would be displayed towards him. Such a thought was preposterous, even for a girl so well-known. With that, the Monarch made his way into the dark room and, after waiting a moment in order to allow his eyes to adjust, he located a chair near her beside and, without reservation, moved in order to seat himself, scotch in hand. Slight surprise had long woven its way into the forefront of his mind, mostly concerning the fact that she was still sleeping, though he hardly bothered to address said emotion—it was not beneficial, and thus was of no concern. Instead, the husky individual focused on the task at hand and, clearing his throat in a manner that would hopefully rouse her, he spoke, while idly swirling the glass in hand. “I suggest you awaken, Love.” His voice, authoritative and domineering, attacked the previous silence mercilessly, shattering it without a moment in hesitation. “We have much to speak about.”
A suave, heinous little smile curved his lips with the words, eyes narrowing in feint challenge.
To dance with the devil, or turn a blind eye—such Avis’ choice, but Laevinus had a feeling his offer was most desirable to one of her kind.
[/style]“You have two minutes. Disappoint me, and you will suffer the consequences.” His dismissal was a cold one, dripping with underlying warning, but it was fitting, nonetheless.
Laevinus closed the phone and slipped it into the pocket of his ebony blazer, before extending both hands to swing open the front doors of his residence, and proceeding out towards his waiting vehicle. Perhaps he should hire new, more respectful record-keeping employees. They, surely, wouldn’t question his requests—no matter who he wished to visit. Laevinus smirked, faintly, and nodded towards his driver in silent greeting as the man propped open the door to the vehicle, bothering not to thank him nor pay him any sort of respect. He had been driving for Laevinus since the takeover, and thus knew better then to expect any sort of pointless, “thank you, I appreciate it.” That was one thing, albeit rare, that the Monarch loved about the elderly man. He was silent. If only the rest of the world could follow his example.
The ride was a short one, all things considered, and Laevinus found himself subtly pleased when, as asked, the driver’s location system updated with the address of his current target. Target, victim, unfortunate—theatrical titles, perhaps, but certainly appropriate. Surely, by the end of the evening, Avis would consider herself nothing less.
That is, unless she took the opportunity and made use of it.
See, Laevinus was a man of business and, therefore, when a chance arose he could do little else then exploit it. Upon hearing word of the socialite’s seemingly flawless, he became immediately aware of the fact that Avis could prove to be far more useful than any of his current employees—add that with the fact rumour had implied she was a ravishing woman, and it equates to a fairly driven, motivated Laevinus. Funny, how things work.
Before long the vehicle slowed to a stop, and Laevinus peeled his eyes away from the seat in front of him to instead regard the woman’s home, his eyes narrowing, jaw wiring closed as he observed the quiet residence. It was late, far into the wee hours of the night, and thus it made sense for the woman to be long asleep—the thought, however, appealed to his more masculine, primal side with an unfathomable intensity. Being alone with one of the opposing sex was tempting as is, let alone with such high stakes, and with a femme of such class and sophistication. But, there was business to be done.
That said, Laevinus was never opposed to mixing business with pleasure.
Slipping from the vehicle and closing the door behind him, the Monarch proceeded unwaveringly towards the household, dull and pallid eyes sweeping the premises once, twice, before he came to a steady halt at the door, gaze running down the lengths of the stretch of wood. He needed inside, that much he knew, and yet didn’t want to risk awakening the woman, just yet. Laevinus’ brows drew together, forehead creasing, before he released a short, irritated little sigh. Fuck it. He slammed into the door, repeatedly, shoulder ramming savagely against the wood in the most uncivilized and disruptive of manners. These were not the actions of a Monarch or King, surely, but instead the actions of a dangerous and severely angered man—and, it showed. The surface began to give within moments and, finally, with a last, valiant heave against the door, the surface cracked upon impact, sending Laevinus through the door and into the home. He was a sight to behold, chest heaving and testosterone pumping, and though he relished in the feeling of embracing such aggression, the man was quick to straighten his suit and release a laboured breath, walking forwards into the lavish home in search of the kitchen.
Helping himself to the accommodations of which her kitchen provided, Laevinus wasted no time in pouring himself a scotch, before heading to where he imagined the bedroom to be. Vague thoughts as to whether or not she would have company occupied his mind, very briefly, but were quickly dashed with the force of his unethically large ego—surely, even if she was with a man, no aggression would be displayed towards him. Such a thought was preposterous, even for a girl so well-known. With that, the Monarch made his way into the dark room and, after waiting a moment in order to allow his eyes to adjust, he located a chair near her beside and, without reservation, moved in order to seat himself, scotch in hand. Slight surprise had long woven its way into the forefront of his mind, mostly concerning the fact that she was still sleeping, though he hardly bothered to address said emotion—it was not beneficial, and thus was of no concern. Instead, the husky individual focused on the task at hand and, clearing his throat in a manner that would hopefully rouse her, he spoke, while idly swirling the glass in hand. “I suggest you awaken, Love.” His voice, authoritative and domineering, attacked the previous silence mercilessly, shattering it without a moment in hesitation. “We have much to speak about.”
A suave, heinous little smile curved his lips with the words, eyes narrowing in feint challenge.
To dance with the devil, or turn a blind eye—such Avis’ choice, but Laevinus had a feeling his offer was most desirable to one of her kind.
to the rhythm of war drums.
[/style]
