Post by Thomas Lucre on Dec 13, 2010 20:16:23 GMT -5
A film of dust, veiling his furniture and coffin, appeared to be all that took place in his room.
Casual, relaxed, though all the same mindful of his surroundings, Thomas Lucre allowed himself a tour of the Castille, wondering what had taken place during his sojourn around the countryside. Tufts of his hair wisped down his neck as he regarded the suits of armor that lined the walls as he passed, the furniture that often was seen with white cloths upon them. In many ways it seemed more like this place was merely haunted, rather than bustling with nocturnal aristocracy.
However, not all was silent, as the main chamber had ladies and gentlemen of the night, chatting about their latest meals and travels. Some even brought their food to nibble upon slowly, apparently confident enough that their "pets" were too loyal to betray the location of their masters' home to the authorities. Given the air of tension that pervaded the countryside in regards to his fellow nightkin, it was rather bold even by Lucre's standards.
Smiling and chatting with some old acquaintances for a few minutes, they divulged all-too-casually how little the routine of vampires around here had truly changed. Some even succumbed to hibernative sleep, just for the gamble that they might awake to more interesting happenings in the future. It appeared Lucre had....not missed out on much. Save for his beloved Victoria, as well as the Prince whom nearly died on a late-night venture. Neither of these bits of news were particularly pleasing.
Leaving them to their devices and gossip, Lucre glided slowly up the wide, spiraling staircase that lead to the higher sanctums of the mans. His wound-up trench coat slacked as he undid it, his skin shining porcelain even in the darkness. Returning to his room, he had been met with one small surprise: the layers of dust, upon closer inspection, had been regularly disturbed. Smudges of fingerprints had lined his clothing case at the foot of his coffin, the walls dotted with hand prints....had Victoria been staying here all this time?
But why? She had free reign to sleep wherever she pleased in this castle.
He longed to see her, but yet wasn't sure he had the right to. After all, it was Thomas that had failed her when he first inducted her into this family, selfishly, for all his own reasons. His hand glided upon a dresser, with a photo laying face down. A portrait of him and Victoria, from back when he had taken her out for feeding one night. He grimmaced a bit, what likely would have accounted as a sob if he was still physically and emotionally capable of doing so.
Heaving a shaky sigh, Lucre pulled a Desert Eagle from his coat, attained from one of the last times he had called on any assistance from his family. They couldn't imagine why their son, a supposed wizard, would need a gun. He stared at the side frame of the pistol, glistening in the moonlight of the window. The handle was cold as steel, as his hand had no warmth or sweat to heat it. It was what he thought would be needed for survival, as he no longer had a practical means to fight from a distance. He pocketed it back in his coat, wondering what his next move should be.
Casual, relaxed, though all the same mindful of his surroundings, Thomas Lucre allowed himself a tour of the Castille, wondering what had taken place during his sojourn around the countryside. Tufts of his hair wisped down his neck as he regarded the suits of armor that lined the walls as he passed, the furniture that often was seen with white cloths upon them. In many ways it seemed more like this place was merely haunted, rather than bustling with nocturnal aristocracy.
However, not all was silent, as the main chamber had ladies and gentlemen of the night, chatting about their latest meals and travels. Some even brought their food to nibble upon slowly, apparently confident enough that their "pets" were too loyal to betray the location of their masters' home to the authorities. Given the air of tension that pervaded the countryside in regards to his fellow nightkin, it was rather bold even by Lucre's standards.
Smiling and chatting with some old acquaintances for a few minutes, they divulged all-too-casually how little the routine of vampires around here had truly changed. Some even succumbed to hibernative sleep, just for the gamble that they might awake to more interesting happenings in the future. It appeared Lucre had....not missed out on much. Save for his beloved Victoria, as well as the Prince whom nearly died on a late-night venture. Neither of these bits of news were particularly pleasing.
Leaving them to their devices and gossip, Lucre glided slowly up the wide, spiraling staircase that lead to the higher sanctums of the mans. His wound-up trench coat slacked as he undid it, his skin shining porcelain even in the darkness. Returning to his room, he had been met with one small surprise: the layers of dust, upon closer inspection, had been regularly disturbed. Smudges of fingerprints had lined his clothing case at the foot of his coffin, the walls dotted with hand prints....had Victoria been staying here all this time?
But why? She had free reign to sleep wherever she pleased in this castle.
He longed to see her, but yet wasn't sure he had the right to. After all, it was Thomas that had failed her when he first inducted her into this family, selfishly, for all his own reasons. His hand glided upon a dresser, with a photo laying face down. A portrait of him and Victoria, from back when he had taken her out for feeding one night. He grimmaced a bit, what likely would have accounted as a sob if he was still physically and emotionally capable of doing so.
Heaving a shaky sigh, Lucre pulled a Desert Eagle from his coat, attained from one of the last times he had called on any assistance from his family. They couldn't imagine why their son, a supposed wizard, would need a gun. He stared at the side frame of the pistol, glistening in the moonlight of the window. The handle was cold as steel, as his hand had no warmth or sweat to heat it. It was what he thought would be needed for survival, as he no longer had a practical means to fight from a distance. He pocketed it back in his coat, wondering what his next move should be.