Rain streamed down the large window that opened the office up to the city, giving the street lights and neon a melted look. He had asked not to be disturbed, though it had been an odd request for him. Usually he remained in the bustle of things, weaving his essence into everything, everyone he came into contact with. Magic, the darkest kind. The kind that enveloped you and had you worshipping at another persons altar, knelt down for devotion or death you just couldn't care which. That was his gift. The darkness gifted them all in different ways. For him it had reached down into his core and marked him as master. Enslavement, passion, devotion, darkest wishes usually kept hidden so deep even you won't admit to them though you desire it beyond measure. Incomplete and afraid. He could give you what you denied yourself, denied to yourself.
He could take the liar you were and bring you to truth. Shine the darkness through your mind until there was nothing left but to sate the need. Beg him to give that. His own path demanded it just as your darkest heart wanted him unbearably. A word, a touch... acknowledgement of any kind that you were worthy his time.
It was becoming blurred to him as he aged. He couldn't want you if you weren't flawed beyond measure, so dazzlingly beautiful in your sins you were a beacon flared bright against the Dragon gaze he viewed the world with. Something worthy of his collections, each person catalogued and remembered by that certain something that caressed his own darkness. The good, the pure were uninteresting to him. So blinded by whimsy and false beliefs they had become the biggest of liars. Denying themselves anything that would make them special, alluring, desirable. It amused him that everyone strove to show that innocence, goodness to the world in any way they could. Dressing up their boring worlds with facebook halo's, instagram perfection. Never understanding it was the very things they tried to cover, to hide from even themselves in their scrapbooks of lies that made them Gods.
Yes, his gift was to take them, rule them, and scar them into perfection. Reborn to lead, rebirthed to enthrall, the Allurist was what the devil was supposed to be. Before the world had painted his face with clownish whimsy. Mocked him and relegated him to television shows and sex. That was fine with the Dragon. He loved showing them the error of their ways. Showing them the things under their beds really did want to eat them. Turning them inside out until they too worshipped desire and dark grace. Became what they wanted to be when no one could see. But he could see...
He turned from the window then, his tall frame beautifully formed. Sculpted into something most could only imagine touching, forever lost in longing. He was something that haunted you after he had gone, not by beauty alone.. no... every Allurist was beautiful. Not every Allurist carried the darkness with his aplomb, his innate grace. Burned into your inner eyes until you compared every future lover to him, forever left to lacking. He took what he was and embraced it, owned it. He was not a good man. But he was a very good vampire.
Stopping at his desk he looked for a long moment at the top drawer, his fingers spread out over the gleaming mahogany surface as he bent for his inspection. He didn't know how long he remained this way, he lost himself for a time. Finally he pulled a key from his waistcoat, the elegant cut of his suit a masterpiece of House Armani the Italian geniuses responsible for men retaking their place as glorious, as Apollos in a sunless world. He opened the drawer and reached in, taking the manila envelope from the depths.
He once more went still, his fingers giving the slightest tremor until he mastered himself into stillness. Then he opened the light brown shell and withdrew the contents... a single picture, a glossy 8x10 and a small slip of paper with words he did not want to read. He closed his eyes, the dragon gaze going dark as they were hidden behind fluttering lids, he took a deep unneeded breath and then looked at the photograph.
She was beautiful. Beyond that really, breathtaking could be used but it too fell short. Incomparable... a diamond of the first water.
Goddess.
He let his eyes drink her in, the raven hair, the patrician lines of her face... skin that seemed to pour moonlight from the inside. Her eyes... the blue so rich as to be termed lavender.. everything about her was exquisite. Everything about her made her untouchable for him. Not unobtainable... no they had had their time once. Until he had felt his life becoming hers. His love taking her for his own, to claim her... he knew her so many times in so many lives, he was sure of it. Just as he knew he would corrupt her. He knew he would inhale her, breathe her in until she became lost in him, part of his own soul and nothing left of her but him.
So he had left her. He wished he could say he had left without a backward glance but he never lied to himself. What good was being the patron of lies if you couldn't see the truth through them? He had watched her for a time, hadn't been able to stop himself. He'd seen the weeks of tears he had reduced her to. Seen the heartbreak and deterioration that comes from it. Even in her pain she was beautiful, tragic. It took every ounce of will to keep from sweeping back into her life, laughing with her that it was all just a horrible dream he hadn't really ever gone...
would never go...
It was then that he had taken the job offer here in Harpers Rock. It was here that he could not even look at a woman who bore one single comparable trait to her. He embraced the cliche playboy, seeking only the light haired to her dark, vapid to her depth... sins to her saint. It was she that had formed even this feeding insanity. Forever looking for her perfection. Forever denying himself that perfection, instead diving into others depths of sin and beautiful darkness as if he could wash himself of her with blood and sickness.
His fingers trembled once more as he lowered the picture and lifted the note. Handwritten by his mother. Simonetta Vaughn, consummate beauty herself, consummate lover and wife. More lies painted in perfection.
"Enzo my darling son. I am sorry to be the bringer of such sad tidings but I wanted you to know from someone who loves you. Vivian passed away last night. I hope you get this before you see on the news, she was murdered. I am sorry my beautiful boy, they have not found the killer. Do come home, your father and I are here for you. ~Mother"
There was silence in the office as an hour passed, and then another. Time moving forward even though his own world had ended. This was not how it was meant to be. She was meant to move on, get over him... find an untainted man and have children, fill her life with the richness, the goodness he couldn't give her. She was love as sure as he was death.
A single tear escaped lashes that hadn't tasted such since he was a child. His head leaned back as he allowed this one moment of weakness, this one thing he could give her.
And then he dropped to his knees, head bowing and a fervent prayer upon his lips.. not to any God, there were no such creatures. Enzo prayed to her...
He prayed a vow, and nothing short of the world's ending would keep him from it. Keep him from the vengeance he swore to. And as his chest felt broken open, exposed and numb all of the same time, he retook his feet, steeled his face... Someone had stolen from a Dragon. They would repay it for lifetimes.
A thousand years...
-
Enzo Dragomir
- Registered User
- Posts: 475
- Joined: 24 Mar 2016, 01:31
- CrowNet Handle: The.Devils.Halo
- Location: Savaging the soothed beast
- Contact:
A thousand years...
Last edited by Enzo Dragomir on 15 Apr 2016, 17:57, edited 1 time in total.
-
Enzo Dragomir
- Registered User
- Posts: 475
- Joined: 24 Mar 2016, 01:31
- CrowNet Handle: The.Devils.Halo
- Location: Savaging the soothed beast
- Contact:
Re: A thousand years...
Bertram quietly went about setting the service for the guest that would soon be arriving to the poshly furnished apartments. His movements were efficient and if he were to be momentarily vain, fluid and graceful. Well practiced to keep himself seen but not seen, such grace was necessary. He stepped back from the Waterford crystal tumblers, the bottle of Royal Scotch at a fine tilt so as to loose the aroma, the box of Havana cigars a masterpiece of wormwood, the humidor carried a warm undertone of gold that blended well with the scotch's labeling.
Long schooling and upbringing had taught him that proper settings would always make or break the tone of meetings. And going by his masters mood it was a vital meet that was to be happening this evening. Bertram would do all in his formidable power to see that sir had his way. When Enzo Dragomir won, well Bertram won by extension. It was every manservents dream to serve the powerful and elite. He knew his master was well on his way to such heights and he was proud to be upon the same road.
Finished with his last minute fussing he turned and walked toward sir's private suite. The bedroom was done with minimalist style and taste. A few beautiful pieces of hand carved wood graced the room, portraits of sir's esteemed family upon the walls, the colours subdued and screaming old money in slate and creams. Master himself was standing at the mahogany floor stand tie rack, buttoning the cotton silk blend of his shirt. Bertram quietly approached and began to run a brush over the suits finely tailored lines before helping sir slip it over his shoulders. He picked the lavender and black tie that complimented the charcoal power suits lines and subtle striped pattern, forming a double windsor under masters chin. Satisfied with his work the manservant stepped back with a respectful half bow before once more leaving the pensive sir to his own musings.
Returning to the front receiving room he quickly looked over everything until sure it was the setting that master desired, then turned the stereo on, setting the music to the somber sounds of a Bach symphony. Dark and powerful, the music barely there... just breaking the silence and lending itself to the overall mood. He had just finished when the speaker buzzed from the doorman downstairs and he went to answer it.
"Mister Grayson here to see Mister Dragomir." was the simplistic comment, the doorman also one to keep with efficiency and order. "Thank you Rupert, send him up please." Bertram responded and then stepped back to await the door.
Bertram knew something of monumental proportions had happened recently to his master. He did not know what it was, and though of course curious what could have stabbed his sir so keenly, he kept his own counsel and waited his questions out. He would know in due time, though he suspected there was little he could do to ease things for sir... he could at least make the master comfortable in a well run home. The thrall's face remained impassive as the knock finally came upon their door, he counted to 25 before moving to answer it.. it would never do to seem eager from the start.. and opened it with a wide sweep.
"Good evening Mister Grayson." he said with a formal half bow, moving his arm outward as he held the door. "Let me take your coat sir." the man was short and slim, his features reminiscent of a rodent including the lack of chin. Thinning nondescript brown hair was neatly brushed and pomaded, and the suit was his most elegant feature in dove gray, as if he had decided to wear his name.
"Thank you." he said simply as Bertram relieved him of his overcoat and guided him into the sitting room. He motioned toward the desk and leather seats saying simply "Please make yourself comfortable, master will be with you momentarily and I will serve refreshments." He turned and walked out, hanging the coat in the proper closet so as not to have contact with any of masters things, Bertram returned to pour the scotch and open the humidor with a flourish. Mister Grayson availed himself of both and once completely settled the manservant bowed out once more.
From his vantage point in the remodeled butlers alcove he could watch and be quickly at hand when he was needed, so it wasn't long before his master was once more in sight. Enzo walked with a feral grace, a stride that owned everything around him. It was pitiless and powerful the way he carried himself, and for the past few nights there was an undercurrent of darkness that only added to the danger you felt when near him. Not that Bertram ever feared. His master was a gentleman and new how to handle a proper manservant with aplomb.
Enzo took the mousy little man's hand in a brief handshake before sitting opposite his guest at the desk. "What do you have for me?" was all sir said as he picked up his own waiting glass and took a long swallow. His tone boded ill for the smaller man if he answered wrong, and Bertram hoped there wouldn't be too much of a mess after this meeting. Blood was difficult to properly clean from the fine rugs scattered over the hardwood.
For his part, Mister Grayson paled, clearly understanding he was on dangerous footing if he misstepped. Then after clearing his throat, his English accent not as fine as sir's or even Bertrams, the man obviously from lower beginnings and worked to up to his position, he gained a small measure of his confidence back. "I have the police reports and my entire team investigating the murder site."
Bertram watched his masters gaze darken imperceptively at the mention of murder, and the manservant hoped it was not family he had lost. "Good. I've set up lines of communication between us that should keep you from having to make another trip to Canada. If I am needed in London I have already made arrangements to get there." Enzo's words were crisp and adding nothing that wasn't needed, but Bertram could tell master had no wish to remove himself to the English city.
Grayson nodded his understanding and pulled open his briefcase to hand over a large amount of files to Enzo, clearly this case was priority for the London police. It must have been someone of import that had been killed. Having passed over the information Grayson took a sip from his own glass while master looked through the files, Enzo's face completely unreadable as he ignored the guest, his attention fully upon what he was reading.
"I expect further reports to be as quickly given as this Grayson." he said without looking up and the small man nodded heartily, clearly relieved his offerings were enough for now. "Yes sir, we shall get to the bottom of this quickly. Lady Vivian's murder shall not languish in cold case."
Lady Vivian? Bertram had heard of her from society pages and he backtracked through his memories of such until he recalled master had been romantically placed with her a few years ago. Lovely woman, she had been a philanthropist, using her families name and clout to aid her pet cause child trafficking. It had been said she was so very good at raising awareness and money she was becoming quite the thorn in trafficking circles. Bertram imagined that was as good a place as any to begin looking for the poor womans killer. Such a pity. She had been as beautiful on the inside as she was exquisite on the out.
Bertrams heart nearly broke for his master then, it was clear sir still was deeply in love with the aristocratic young woman. Where there was life there was hope even if you could never obtain your desire. With death? It not only took the loved one from you, but it robbed you of even the most secret of hopes.
It was the death of his masters shut in hopes that Bertram mourned. He vowed then and there he would use his own downstairs connections to aid in any way he could... and that was saying quite a bit. Servants knew everything that went on in a house. If you needed answers, that is where a smart man would question. And Bertram was a very smart man.
Long schooling and upbringing had taught him that proper settings would always make or break the tone of meetings. And going by his masters mood it was a vital meet that was to be happening this evening. Bertram would do all in his formidable power to see that sir had his way. When Enzo Dragomir won, well Bertram won by extension. It was every manservents dream to serve the powerful and elite. He knew his master was well on his way to such heights and he was proud to be upon the same road.
Finished with his last minute fussing he turned and walked toward sir's private suite. The bedroom was done with minimalist style and taste. A few beautiful pieces of hand carved wood graced the room, portraits of sir's esteemed family upon the walls, the colours subdued and screaming old money in slate and creams. Master himself was standing at the mahogany floor stand tie rack, buttoning the cotton silk blend of his shirt. Bertram quietly approached and began to run a brush over the suits finely tailored lines before helping sir slip it over his shoulders. He picked the lavender and black tie that complimented the charcoal power suits lines and subtle striped pattern, forming a double windsor under masters chin. Satisfied with his work the manservant stepped back with a respectful half bow before once more leaving the pensive sir to his own musings.
Returning to the front receiving room he quickly looked over everything until sure it was the setting that master desired, then turned the stereo on, setting the music to the somber sounds of a Bach symphony. Dark and powerful, the music barely there... just breaking the silence and lending itself to the overall mood. He had just finished when the speaker buzzed from the doorman downstairs and he went to answer it.
"Mister Grayson here to see Mister Dragomir." was the simplistic comment, the doorman also one to keep with efficiency and order. "Thank you Rupert, send him up please." Bertram responded and then stepped back to await the door.
Bertram knew something of monumental proportions had happened recently to his master. He did not know what it was, and though of course curious what could have stabbed his sir so keenly, he kept his own counsel and waited his questions out. He would know in due time, though he suspected there was little he could do to ease things for sir... he could at least make the master comfortable in a well run home. The thrall's face remained impassive as the knock finally came upon their door, he counted to 25 before moving to answer it.. it would never do to seem eager from the start.. and opened it with a wide sweep.
"Good evening Mister Grayson." he said with a formal half bow, moving his arm outward as he held the door. "Let me take your coat sir." the man was short and slim, his features reminiscent of a rodent including the lack of chin. Thinning nondescript brown hair was neatly brushed and pomaded, and the suit was his most elegant feature in dove gray, as if he had decided to wear his name.
"Thank you." he said simply as Bertram relieved him of his overcoat and guided him into the sitting room. He motioned toward the desk and leather seats saying simply "Please make yourself comfortable, master will be with you momentarily and I will serve refreshments." He turned and walked out, hanging the coat in the proper closet so as not to have contact with any of masters things, Bertram returned to pour the scotch and open the humidor with a flourish. Mister Grayson availed himself of both and once completely settled the manservant bowed out once more.
From his vantage point in the remodeled butlers alcove he could watch and be quickly at hand when he was needed, so it wasn't long before his master was once more in sight. Enzo walked with a feral grace, a stride that owned everything around him. It was pitiless and powerful the way he carried himself, and for the past few nights there was an undercurrent of darkness that only added to the danger you felt when near him. Not that Bertram ever feared. His master was a gentleman and new how to handle a proper manservant with aplomb.
Enzo took the mousy little man's hand in a brief handshake before sitting opposite his guest at the desk. "What do you have for me?" was all sir said as he picked up his own waiting glass and took a long swallow. His tone boded ill for the smaller man if he answered wrong, and Bertram hoped there wouldn't be too much of a mess after this meeting. Blood was difficult to properly clean from the fine rugs scattered over the hardwood.
For his part, Mister Grayson paled, clearly understanding he was on dangerous footing if he misstepped. Then after clearing his throat, his English accent not as fine as sir's or even Bertrams, the man obviously from lower beginnings and worked to up to his position, he gained a small measure of his confidence back. "I have the police reports and my entire team investigating the murder site."
Bertram watched his masters gaze darken imperceptively at the mention of murder, and the manservant hoped it was not family he had lost. "Good. I've set up lines of communication between us that should keep you from having to make another trip to Canada. If I am needed in London I have already made arrangements to get there." Enzo's words were crisp and adding nothing that wasn't needed, but Bertram could tell master had no wish to remove himself to the English city.
Grayson nodded his understanding and pulled open his briefcase to hand over a large amount of files to Enzo, clearly this case was priority for the London police. It must have been someone of import that had been killed. Having passed over the information Grayson took a sip from his own glass while master looked through the files, Enzo's face completely unreadable as he ignored the guest, his attention fully upon what he was reading.
"I expect further reports to be as quickly given as this Grayson." he said without looking up and the small man nodded heartily, clearly relieved his offerings were enough for now. "Yes sir, we shall get to the bottom of this quickly. Lady Vivian's murder shall not languish in cold case."
Lady Vivian? Bertram had heard of her from society pages and he backtracked through his memories of such until he recalled master had been romantically placed with her a few years ago. Lovely woman, she had been a philanthropist, using her families name and clout to aid her pet cause child trafficking. It had been said she was so very good at raising awareness and money she was becoming quite the thorn in trafficking circles. Bertram imagined that was as good a place as any to begin looking for the poor womans killer. Such a pity. She had been as beautiful on the inside as she was exquisite on the out.
Bertrams heart nearly broke for his master then, it was clear sir still was deeply in love with the aristocratic young woman. Where there was life there was hope even if you could never obtain your desire. With death? It not only took the loved one from you, but it robbed you of even the most secret of hopes.
It was the death of his masters shut in hopes that Bertram mourned. He vowed then and there he would use his own downstairs connections to aid in any way he could... and that was saying quite a bit. Servants knew everything that went on in a house. If you needed answers, that is where a smart man would question. And Bertram was a very smart man.
-
Enzo Dragomir
- Registered User
- Posts: 475
- Joined: 24 Mar 2016, 01:31
- CrowNet Handle: The.Devils.Halo
- Location: Savaging the soothed beast
- Contact:
Re: A thousand years...
Police files spilled over the large hand carved desk, covering the gleaming surface with suspects, questionings, minute by minute doings to prove they were doing something.. anything to solve this case. The usual organization he maintained was set aside as he went through each folder, paper by paper. Tireless in his search to see something others had missed. Tireless in his efforts to put off looking at one last file.
Enzo leaned back, his hand rubbing over his face then through his hair, staring at nothing and everything. He needed to disconnect. Find his empty well. It was a struggle to think as his rage continued to threaten everything, his fury unchecked would mean losing everything.
He'd already lost everything...
She was supposed to have been saved from the only danger stalking her life. Saved from corruption and bleak landscapes of disappointment, great sucking wounds that never heal enough to scar... saved from him. He could see now that his presence had been what kept her alive. His father's ties. The elder Vaughn was a formidable enemy when dealing in legalities. When delving into the illegal... well that was his kingdom. No one could touch his son, and by extension his son's close ones. The moment he had 'saved' Vivian from himself by leaving her was the moment he signed her death warrant.
He'd just been too caught up in his own self denial and pain to see it. Caught up in shutting it all down. Enzo looked over to the unopened file set to the far side of his desk. He felt nothing as he stared at it, no revulsion, no sorrow. Just the void he was digging deeper into himself. Plowing away at his soul until he hit bottom and could bury everything he was in an unmarked grave. Picking up his glass of scotch he took a long drink, breathing in the heady fumes that had he been human would unlock the senses and allow the alcohol to better dance through his mind. He was afforded no such luxuries now, the only highs to be had now were made upon victories and blood.
Not so different from who he had been after all.
There was nothing left to excuse his not opening that file aside from cowardice and that he couldn't tolerate, so he reached over and slid it towards him with a single finger. His jaw set as he fought to keep his anger in check, his revulsion and sickness... his pain... he opened the folder.
She spread out before him in glossy windows overlooking death. If he remained dispassionate he could almost admire the superb precision in which this murder was committed. The beast in him could resonate it's approval for every well thought knife wound, every ligature mark... the way her face was left untouched, perfect as the rest of her body had been slowly flayed, the skin carefully folded and set neatly beside her. The child at her feet who had been whipped to death most likely while she was made to watch. Unable to save what she had fought for her entire life. Helpless and alone in her struggles. He was not so vain as to think perhaps she had called out for him though he wished he could think she held hope for him somewhere in her dying mind.
As he would for her. How do you replace the moon?
The Dragon forced himself to go through each crime photo, every wound imprinting itself onto him as if he could take them for her. Memorizing every detail of the misfortune for comparison against other murders, other assassins works. And this -was- professional. There was no doubt it was a calling card that carried a very high paycheck for the one who took it. He also knew that to find the puppet master he had to find the puppet. It wasn't as if there was only one faction of the slave trade Vivian had rankled. She had been nothing if not an equal opportunity pain in the *** of every countries syndicate. Child trafficking was second only to arms trade when it came to profits, beating even drugs for the number two spot. Entire backwards countries made gains off the ill gotten money, pumped back into economies as it was washed clean of the children's blood that had made it.
She had the clout, the looks, the money and the love of the media to back her. Her success had spelled her ultimate self failure... though she would never have seen it as such. He knew she would sacrifice herself a thousand more times if her death made even one more person aware of the harsh truth that slavery had not ended after America's civil war. Pure idiocy that millions thought as much.
When people bandied the saying 'sex sells' around, they had no idea how right they were.
Enzo had been charmed by her zealous devotion. She made him feel clean after having been born into filth, guilt by heredity. Now? Now he could not indulge in such fallacies. Could not pay into the goodness she represented. To avenge her he would have to become the monsters she despised. He would never be the man she had wanted.
He would be the man she didn't know she had needed. He knew he had only one thing he could be thankful for. She had died without realizing she had been protected from evil by evil. She had died without knowing he was evil.
To her he was just a cold hearted ********.
Enzo leaned back, his hand rubbing over his face then through his hair, staring at nothing and everything. He needed to disconnect. Find his empty well. It was a struggle to think as his rage continued to threaten everything, his fury unchecked would mean losing everything.
He'd already lost everything...
She was supposed to have been saved from the only danger stalking her life. Saved from corruption and bleak landscapes of disappointment, great sucking wounds that never heal enough to scar... saved from him. He could see now that his presence had been what kept her alive. His father's ties. The elder Vaughn was a formidable enemy when dealing in legalities. When delving into the illegal... well that was his kingdom. No one could touch his son, and by extension his son's close ones. The moment he had 'saved' Vivian from himself by leaving her was the moment he signed her death warrant.
He'd just been too caught up in his own self denial and pain to see it. Caught up in shutting it all down. Enzo looked over to the unopened file set to the far side of his desk. He felt nothing as he stared at it, no revulsion, no sorrow. Just the void he was digging deeper into himself. Plowing away at his soul until he hit bottom and could bury everything he was in an unmarked grave. Picking up his glass of scotch he took a long drink, breathing in the heady fumes that had he been human would unlock the senses and allow the alcohol to better dance through his mind. He was afforded no such luxuries now, the only highs to be had now were made upon victories and blood.
Not so different from who he had been after all.
There was nothing left to excuse his not opening that file aside from cowardice and that he couldn't tolerate, so he reached over and slid it towards him with a single finger. His jaw set as he fought to keep his anger in check, his revulsion and sickness... his pain... he opened the folder.
She spread out before him in glossy windows overlooking death. If he remained dispassionate he could almost admire the superb precision in which this murder was committed. The beast in him could resonate it's approval for every well thought knife wound, every ligature mark... the way her face was left untouched, perfect as the rest of her body had been slowly flayed, the skin carefully folded and set neatly beside her. The child at her feet who had been whipped to death most likely while she was made to watch. Unable to save what she had fought for her entire life. Helpless and alone in her struggles. He was not so vain as to think perhaps she had called out for him though he wished he could think she held hope for him somewhere in her dying mind.
As he would for her. How do you replace the moon?
The Dragon forced himself to go through each crime photo, every wound imprinting itself onto him as if he could take them for her. Memorizing every detail of the misfortune for comparison against other murders, other assassins works. And this -was- professional. There was no doubt it was a calling card that carried a very high paycheck for the one who took it. He also knew that to find the puppet master he had to find the puppet. It wasn't as if there was only one faction of the slave trade Vivian had rankled. She had been nothing if not an equal opportunity pain in the *** of every countries syndicate. Child trafficking was second only to arms trade when it came to profits, beating even drugs for the number two spot. Entire backwards countries made gains off the ill gotten money, pumped back into economies as it was washed clean of the children's blood that had made it.
She had the clout, the looks, the money and the love of the media to back her. Her success had spelled her ultimate self failure... though she would never have seen it as such. He knew she would sacrifice herself a thousand more times if her death made even one more person aware of the harsh truth that slavery had not ended after America's civil war. Pure idiocy that millions thought as much.
When people bandied the saying 'sex sells' around, they had no idea how right they were.
Enzo had been charmed by her zealous devotion. She made him feel clean after having been born into filth, guilt by heredity. Now? Now he could not indulge in such fallacies. Could not pay into the goodness she represented. To avenge her he would have to become the monsters she despised. He would never be the man she had wanted.
He would be the man she didn't know she had needed. He knew he had only one thing he could be thankful for. She had died without realizing she had been protected from evil by evil. She had died without knowing he was evil.
To her he was just a cold hearted ********.
-
Enzo Dragomir
- Registered User
- Posts: 475
- Joined: 24 Mar 2016, 01:31
- CrowNet Handle: The.Devils.Halo
- Location: Savaging the soothed beast
- Contact:
Re: A thousand years...
Bertram didn't know which was worse, those horrible photographs of Lady Vivian or his master's statue like stillness upon seeing them. Sir had not moved from his desk for the past hour, his face set with dark menace. So much so that even Bertram was staying back, allowing whatever thoughts were going through the Dragomir's mind to wind their course. Worry began to speckle through the manservents own thoughts and he silently backed from the study, closing the French doors behind him.
He stopped and looked around the entryway and then made his way down the hall toward the kitchen. Tying on a chef's apron he busied himself with the finger delicacies his sir still enjoyed with his drink. He knew he would be contacting his acquaintance Roland who was the valet for Lady Vivian's father, the two high stationed servants often sharing a dram at pub on their Sunday once a month off. Roland was a good sort, of proper birth and training and would be the obvious choice for Butler of the Warwick once the current manservant was put to pasture with a comfortable pension and thank you for decades of service.
As Bertram worked, his hands easily moving through the preparations with little thought required, he began to mentally catalogue his 'to do' list. The time difference between Harper's Rock and London was significant and he would have to wait until far later in the evening to contact Roland, but that was a must. Sir had begun making the years plans before the dreadful business of murder had taken over their tidy lives. Plans that included starting his own Marketing Firm, Dragonal. Bertram had been sent out for the past few weeks to look over properties in the downtown district, narrowing down the choices for master to go and inspect for spring purchase. He had found several though the files sat languishing on master's bed where sir had tossed them with a murmured thanks.
The manservents brows knit together as he placed the small edible offerings upon a salver of silver design, a Revere stamped beauty that seemed to amuse master. More than likely the thought of being served tidbits of dainty's from the revolutionary to some, traitor to others, work. That was not an uncommon practice back home across the pond.
Sir had also tasked him with finding and purchasing a blooded wine that he had tasted at his cousin Mortll's establishment. That had not been overly difficult and he had his order ready to place upon his trip to the winery Saturday day. Bertram had carte blanche when it came to the costs but he would still do his best to make the best deal possible. Master was coming up in the world quickly, his pockets becoming deeper with every day and Bertram was there to make sure the funds continued to grow against spendature.
Putting the silver dome over the food Bertram then pulled an unopened bottle of Royal scotch from the pantry stores and placed it with it's accompanying crystal rocks glass. Master had also tasked him with finding a premiere event planner, part of the opening of his own business was to put a good foot forward and clean faced front... sir would be hosting charity events for the elite of Harper's Rock, those of sir's own ilk and it needed nothing but the best working on it. This went hand in hand with preparing to find an interior decourator for the business complex. Enzo Vaughn Worthington Dragomir moved with deliberate steps, his time carefully planned and every nuance gone over with a fine toothed comb. Bertram nearly swelled with pride at having such a man to serve, none of that frivolous brat offspring living off of fathers money here. Though it would have been well within master's rights to begin stepping into his families shoes... which to an extent he had... if one counted the illegal activities the fortunes of Vaughn were founded upon.
Finished with the nightly offering, the manservant washed his hands, dried them and pulled on his white house gloves after removing his apron. Setting is suit and tie into proper order he picked up the Revere salver with one hand and made his way back to sir's study. Quietly opening the door he noted that master had at least moved and was now standing on the balcony overlooking the city. Bertram set the serving tray down on the butler's table and removed the lid, then poured sir a scotch neat. "your refreshments sir." he said simply as he backed from the room once more.
"Thank you Bertram." came Enzo's response, followed with the well practiced "Will that be all sir?" from the butler.
A moment passed, and then another before sir turned to look at Bertram, the handsome lines of his face saying nothing of his thoughts or mood. Sir stood like that for several more moments before answering as he walked back into the study. "Yes Bertram. In one hour telephone my father's business associate Mister Remizov. Tell him Enzo Vaughn requests his services in Harpers Rock Friday of this week."
Master picked up the scotch glass and upended it, taking every drop of the finger and half of liquid before setting it back down with a soft thump. Pouring another he pulled a sobranie from it's case and lit it as Bertram bowed from the waist "As you wish Sir."
Remizov... the name alone was enough to make Bertram shudder. Known as the dissembler he was who you called when you needed someone gone in a very painful way and in many parts.
It was good to see the Master back to himself.
He stopped and looked around the entryway and then made his way down the hall toward the kitchen. Tying on a chef's apron he busied himself with the finger delicacies his sir still enjoyed with his drink. He knew he would be contacting his acquaintance Roland who was the valet for Lady Vivian's father, the two high stationed servants often sharing a dram at pub on their Sunday once a month off. Roland was a good sort, of proper birth and training and would be the obvious choice for Butler of the Warwick once the current manservant was put to pasture with a comfortable pension and thank you for decades of service.
As Bertram worked, his hands easily moving through the preparations with little thought required, he began to mentally catalogue his 'to do' list. The time difference between Harper's Rock and London was significant and he would have to wait until far later in the evening to contact Roland, but that was a must. Sir had begun making the years plans before the dreadful business of murder had taken over their tidy lives. Plans that included starting his own Marketing Firm, Dragonal. Bertram had been sent out for the past few weeks to look over properties in the downtown district, narrowing down the choices for master to go and inspect for spring purchase. He had found several though the files sat languishing on master's bed where sir had tossed them with a murmured thanks.
The manservents brows knit together as he placed the small edible offerings upon a salver of silver design, a Revere stamped beauty that seemed to amuse master. More than likely the thought of being served tidbits of dainty's from the revolutionary to some, traitor to others, work. That was not an uncommon practice back home across the pond.
Sir had also tasked him with finding and purchasing a blooded wine that he had tasted at his cousin Mortll's establishment. That had not been overly difficult and he had his order ready to place upon his trip to the winery Saturday day. Bertram had carte blanche when it came to the costs but he would still do his best to make the best deal possible. Master was coming up in the world quickly, his pockets becoming deeper with every day and Bertram was there to make sure the funds continued to grow against spendature.
Putting the silver dome over the food Bertram then pulled an unopened bottle of Royal scotch from the pantry stores and placed it with it's accompanying crystal rocks glass. Master had also tasked him with finding a premiere event planner, part of the opening of his own business was to put a good foot forward and clean faced front... sir would be hosting charity events for the elite of Harper's Rock, those of sir's own ilk and it needed nothing but the best working on it. This went hand in hand with preparing to find an interior decourator for the business complex. Enzo Vaughn Worthington Dragomir moved with deliberate steps, his time carefully planned and every nuance gone over with a fine toothed comb. Bertram nearly swelled with pride at having such a man to serve, none of that frivolous brat offspring living off of fathers money here. Though it would have been well within master's rights to begin stepping into his families shoes... which to an extent he had... if one counted the illegal activities the fortunes of Vaughn were founded upon.
Finished with the nightly offering, the manservant washed his hands, dried them and pulled on his white house gloves after removing his apron. Setting is suit and tie into proper order he picked up the Revere salver with one hand and made his way back to sir's study. Quietly opening the door he noted that master had at least moved and was now standing on the balcony overlooking the city. Bertram set the serving tray down on the butler's table and removed the lid, then poured sir a scotch neat. "your refreshments sir." he said simply as he backed from the room once more.
"Thank you Bertram." came Enzo's response, followed with the well practiced "Will that be all sir?" from the butler.
A moment passed, and then another before sir turned to look at Bertram, the handsome lines of his face saying nothing of his thoughts or mood. Sir stood like that for several more moments before answering as he walked back into the study. "Yes Bertram. In one hour telephone my father's business associate Mister Remizov. Tell him Enzo Vaughn requests his services in Harpers Rock Friday of this week."
Master picked up the scotch glass and upended it, taking every drop of the finger and half of liquid before setting it back down with a soft thump. Pouring another he pulled a sobranie from it's case and lit it as Bertram bowed from the waist "As you wish Sir."
Remizov... the name alone was enough to make Bertram shudder. Known as the dissembler he was who you called when you needed someone gone in a very painful way and in many parts.
It was good to see the Master back to himself.
-
Enzo Dragomir
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- Posts: 475
- Joined: 24 Mar 2016, 01:31
- CrowNet Handle: The.Devils.Halo
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Re: A thousand years...
He walked through the dark easily, the warehouse empty but for dust and the occassional rodent. There was nothing here but silence and hadn't been for several years now. The building standing amongst many in such disarray, the falling economy taking it's toll in this part of the city, shutting down dreams as quickly as closing the doors after bankruptcy. He could still make out the faint scent of diesel, boxes and packing silicone that once permeated the building, though that too was deserting the hollow shell of concrete and steel.
His graceful stride left very little evidence of his arrival, silent as a fox on loam and just as hungry, he moved swiftly toward the back where offices once commanded the army of workers. Taking in everything that could possibly twitch in the shadows, he was well prepared for any occurence from supernatural to the mundane homeless mugger. Montante strapped to his back, he was dressed in dark gray wool slacks, a black Italian knit turtleneck and black leather overcoat, soft as butter and flexible in all the ways he would need should he have to pull his semi or sword. He had been rabid in his training lately, spending every moment of free time working on honing not only his skills but his body until there was nothing left but lean taut muscle and grace. There were many things that needed killing and he was more than happy to volunteer.
Halfway through the warehouse his keen senses picked up the sound of a heartbeat followed quickly by the scent of human laced with vodka. The liquor was faint, making it obvious it was no drunkard waiting, but rather someone who just enjoyed the warmth it offered. The Dragon could relate as he lived in perpetual cold... not that his body noted it either way, just a feeling of numbness as if his flesh couldn't be bothered with anything other than registering the frost of it offhandedly. His lips took a grim downturn, thinning with determination as he closed the distance. The Dissembler was punctual as always and waited his newest employer with respectful silence.
Enzo reached the door and opened it without ceremony, owning the very air in the room as he confidently strode into the office inhabited by one of the most talented human killers in the world. Had he been human himself he still would have let no hint of weakness show, it did no good to show a wolf your belly. As things were, he was far more than just a killer and could easily take the man and finish him without thought or remorse and that showed as he sized up the Russian assassin for several silent minutes. Remizov for his part remained respectfully quiet, rising to his feet from the single chair in the room, and waiting his new masters bidding. Enzo inclined his head finally and pulled his Sobranie case from his coats pocket, offering one to the killer then taking one for himself. They stood that way for another minute, inhaling the blue smoke of the Russian cigarettes with a modicum of enjoyment.
"I trust I do not need go into the reasons you are here." the Dragon finally broke the silence. The Russian was so well connected that it was a given he already knew the story from many angles. Remizov inclined his head giving the only answer Enzo would have accepted. "Your circle is a small one Remizov, there are only so many in the world with talents such as yours, and whoever took the Warwick job." it stung him to his core to reduce Vivian to 'the warwick job' but he could not give in to even that weakness if he was to remain the biggest shark in the tank. Not even a hint of emotion broke through his cool accent, he used it to the fullest, letting it drawl with supreme British indifference bordering on boredom. "Find who took the hit."
There was nothing more to be said after that, once the Russian had located the culprit he would contact Enzo and receive the rest of his operative. Remizov dropped his cigarette onto the floor, and once more inclined his head "As you wish." was said with clipped and staggeringly heavy accent. "I will be in touch by end of week." he finished. Enzo had no doubts the job would be done well in such a short amount of time, you get what you pay for every time.
"See that you do." was the only acknowledgement from Enzo before he turned and made his way back out of the warehouse without sparing another look at his most recent acquisition. His orders had been given and beyond that he didn't care what the Russian did to make it so...
He would be present when the puppet was caught and brought to him. He would sate his need to know which crime family had ordered the hit, but he would not participate in the extracting of said information. He could not allow himself that luxury, he could not allow anyone knowing how personal this was to him...
The garish underground world would soon know that Enzo Vaughn Dragomir was nothing more than business, and even this horror brought nothing but the expected response of swift and cold retaliation. Nothing more than another move in the greater game.
No one would know he had left Vivian because he loved her. He would remain that callous ******** and win. What did it matter in the end? Love wouldn't get the job done so he'd leave it to wrath and move on as if this was nothing more than a chore that needed doing. And maybe with time even he would believe it.
His graceful stride left very little evidence of his arrival, silent as a fox on loam and just as hungry, he moved swiftly toward the back where offices once commanded the army of workers. Taking in everything that could possibly twitch in the shadows, he was well prepared for any occurence from supernatural to the mundane homeless mugger. Montante strapped to his back, he was dressed in dark gray wool slacks, a black Italian knit turtleneck and black leather overcoat, soft as butter and flexible in all the ways he would need should he have to pull his semi or sword. He had been rabid in his training lately, spending every moment of free time working on honing not only his skills but his body until there was nothing left but lean taut muscle and grace. There were many things that needed killing and he was more than happy to volunteer.
Halfway through the warehouse his keen senses picked up the sound of a heartbeat followed quickly by the scent of human laced with vodka. The liquor was faint, making it obvious it was no drunkard waiting, but rather someone who just enjoyed the warmth it offered. The Dragon could relate as he lived in perpetual cold... not that his body noted it either way, just a feeling of numbness as if his flesh couldn't be bothered with anything other than registering the frost of it offhandedly. His lips took a grim downturn, thinning with determination as he closed the distance. The Dissembler was punctual as always and waited his newest employer with respectful silence.
Enzo reached the door and opened it without ceremony, owning the very air in the room as he confidently strode into the office inhabited by one of the most talented human killers in the world. Had he been human himself he still would have let no hint of weakness show, it did no good to show a wolf your belly. As things were, he was far more than just a killer and could easily take the man and finish him without thought or remorse and that showed as he sized up the Russian assassin for several silent minutes. Remizov for his part remained respectfully quiet, rising to his feet from the single chair in the room, and waiting his new masters bidding. Enzo inclined his head finally and pulled his Sobranie case from his coats pocket, offering one to the killer then taking one for himself. They stood that way for another minute, inhaling the blue smoke of the Russian cigarettes with a modicum of enjoyment.
"I trust I do not need go into the reasons you are here." the Dragon finally broke the silence. The Russian was so well connected that it was a given he already knew the story from many angles. Remizov inclined his head giving the only answer Enzo would have accepted. "Your circle is a small one Remizov, there are only so many in the world with talents such as yours, and whoever took the Warwick job." it stung him to his core to reduce Vivian to 'the warwick job' but he could not give in to even that weakness if he was to remain the biggest shark in the tank. Not even a hint of emotion broke through his cool accent, he used it to the fullest, letting it drawl with supreme British indifference bordering on boredom. "Find who took the hit."
There was nothing more to be said after that, once the Russian had located the culprit he would contact Enzo and receive the rest of his operative. Remizov dropped his cigarette onto the floor, and once more inclined his head "As you wish." was said with clipped and staggeringly heavy accent. "I will be in touch by end of week." he finished. Enzo had no doubts the job would be done well in such a short amount of time, you get what you pay for every time.
"See that you do." was the only acknowledgement from Enzo before he turned and made his way back out of the warehouse without sparing another look at his most recent acquisition. His orders had been given and beyond that he didn't care what the Russian did to make it so...
He would be present when the puppet was caught and brought to him. He would sate his need to know which crime family had ordered the hit, but he would not participate in the extracting of said information. He could not allow himself that luxury, he could not allow anyone knowing how personal this was to him...
The garish underground world would soon know that Enzo Vaughn Dragomir was nothing more than business, and even this horror brought nothing but the expected response of swift and cold retaliation. Nothing more than another move in the greater game.
No one would know he had left Vivian because he loved her. He would remain that callous ******** and win. What did it matter in the end? Love wouldn't get the job done so he'd leave it to wrath and move on as if this was nothing more than a chore that needed doing. And maybe with time even he would believe it.