[ Like many others, that's how the evening starts. With honeyed words spoken casually to his servant into the darkness of a small, private room, while Vincent's absent fingers twirl a vial of something in his hands. A clear liquid swirls within it with each motion, something he doesn't know the name of and doesn't need to either, as long as it does what it should. Maybe it doesn't even have one as far as he's concerned.
It's only passed to the petite white-haired girl behind him, along with the photo of a woman. ]
There's a certain someone I'd just very much like to have on my game board, you see.
[ A woman who, just a predicted, can be found at the same event he's been invited for tonight. A commemoration of some sort, marking another decade in the lasting peace between humans and vampires, to those in the know -- a select few members of the nobility on each side, obligated like puppets to show up for the sake of decorum. Seeing as she's there as a guard, however, he much expects his target to be lingering in a corner, watching over her charge from a distance with a mixture of both discomfort from the venue and diligent dedication for her duty. At least, if his intelligence about her is correct.
The Hellfire Witch. Closer to a pet dog on a leash these days than the hound of prey she'd apparently once used to be, though Vincent doesn't care much about her past to be honest. All he cares for is his little scheme, which is the whole reason why at some point, later into the evening whilst her master is distracted, she'll find a young girl dressed in the same uniform as the rest of the servants approaching her with a tray. Mind you, even should she check, the girl is registered as a part-time worker for the event in the same manner as all the others, so there's nothing suspicious about her.
After offering the glass on the tray to Jeanne, she gives an expressionless bow and is content to withdraw without troubling her further. ]
...
[ According to Lottie, the concoction he's slipped into that drink should have the power to intoxicate vampires, much in the same way a particularly strong alcohol or some certain types of drugs might with humans. Not only that, it should serve to amplify their craving for blood, as well -- nothing too extreme, but as one might expect from a severely inebriated guest that has lost self-control. And so, Vincent need only wait and watch from a distance, careful not to seem too much like he's paying attention -- a feat easily achieved thanks to the numerous other addle-brained annoyances who would like nothing more but to dance with him. Then, if he plays his own cards right...
[Jeanne accepts the champagne flute with curiosity. Though the staff member disappears before she can ask what's in it, Jeanne sees plenty of other people with similar glasses. Though she's uncertain whether or not all the drinks are the same. There's a bit of guilt on her face from accepting it. Was she served because she was dressed up as a guest in order to not stand out too much? In order not to embarrass her Master Luca?
She looks down at herself. Dark hues of crimson and black accented with gold. Sprawling floral patterns reminiscent of roses. As if to remind her of the mark she leaves when she drinks blood so voraciously that she imbues another with her power. Her well put together state of dress does not seem to bring comfort to her.
In the end, Jeanne drinks. It would be rude not to. She finishes it, but holds onto the glass. She'd feel rude setting it down just anywhere, after all.
After about twenty minutes after ingesting the mystery liquid Jeanne feels off. A light, sort of giddy feeling. Accompanied by altered vision, and a gentle thirst (that may grow stronger as time goes on). Perhaps she just needs to hit the restroom. She'll make sure Luca is with someone trustworthy (a Queen's Fang) before ducking away quietly. Vincent may need to follow.]
[ Follow is something he can't quite do, exactly. Someone might happen to remember later on, after all, if they're spotted leaving by the same exit or in the same direction with all too similar timing. But that's the charm of such sprawling, overly grandiose manors like this one; they still trap mice just as well, but give them the illusion of having where to run first.
He uses the excuse of feeling a little tired as the current dance ends, a few moments later. The woman he'd taken as his partner unwittingly helps him -- eager to please, she remarks that indeed, Vincent looks rather pale and could use some fresh air perhaps. A suggestion he's all too happy to accept, with a smile and a promise that he'll return, as he couldn't possibly stay away from her side for too long. He won't though, not if he has anything to say in the matter. He's had enough of this charade, and was here for none of it in the first place.
Regardless, it's with such a solid excuse that he leaves the ballroom, through a door on the opposite side from his target. Nothing that could ever point out, in any way, that he'd even noticed her, much less had an interest.
But he knows. He's studied a blueprint of the venue beforehand, easy enough to obtain on the right market, and if memory serves... then by some fortunate coincidence, the route Jeanne chose to take should lead soon enough to an outer garden. There's a large fountain there too, if he recalls correctly, so for someone looking to clear their head, he imagines it might make quite the tempting destination once seen. And so, all he needs to do is change course as soon as he's alone in the corridors himself, eschewing the terrace he'd pretended to head for in favor of stairs. Once on the second floor, it should prove easy enough to find a window that overlooks the garden in question.
The perfect vantage to watch from, in more than one way. ]
[By the time Jeanne reaches the garden courtyard she's already starting to feel 'tipsy'. Her vision blurs and her world threatens to spin. Just short of stumbling, Jeanne makes it to the edge of the stone fountain. Suddenly she collapses there, leaning over the lip as if her body threatens to lurch and hurl. Instead she dunks her face into cool water, and when she surfaces she shakes her head like a dog shaking off a bath.
But it doesn't help. Her chest still heaves like she had run a marathon. Her fangs ache so much it almost makes her cry. All she can think about is warm, coppery liquid flowing down her throat as her fangs pierce soft flesh. In fact she's so overwhelmed by the thought that her hand crushes the stone edge of the fountain - leaving cracks and bits of rubble. Jeanne doesn't make a hole, but a modest kick could change that in an instant.
With no regard for the layers of lace ruffles at her sleeves, Jeanne dunks her hands into the water and desperately she tries drinking from the fountain. However it's clear it does not sate her in the least.]
i guess even mobile game hell has to reward us sometimes
The more he observes her, it's the only thing that still echoes through Vincent's mind past his rising annoyance. Can she not hold any liquor at all? It's not as if the drink he'd instructed Echo to send had been particularly potent; just whatever standard champagne the party had on hand, because the alcohol itself hadn't been the point. It was the poison he'd mixed it with, but instead of acting like an inebriated damsel in the way he'd thought, aimless and susceptible to influence without knowing, she's more like a cornered feral animal on a rampage.
Thanks to that, it's looking like he'll need to make more adjustments to his plan than he's accounted for. Forget about leading her with a trail of blood like he'd thought, or not showing his face until later when she's attacking guests -- if he doesn't do something now, who knows what scale of a commotion she might cause? This is useless to him if she draws too much attention.
... ]
Ah... Miss? Is everything in order? I'm sorry if I imagined it, but I could have sworn I heard a commotion of some sort.
[ With a concerned expression, he lets the words dangle carefully over the distance, through the window he's managed to open while Jeanne was having her fit. Being on the higher floor, it's just perfect for him to stick his head out as if trying to comprehend the situation, much like a man who's only arrived in a hurry instead of been there all along, and is now seeing something unexpected. The perfect act to complement his polite inquiry. ]
[The speed at which she whips around to look up at him may be terrifying. Compounded by the way her eyes glow an uncanny red in the moonlight. One might assume it's the reflection of her dress, but with how bright they are it's unlikely. And weren't... her eyes gold when he saw her in the ballroom?]
Iโ I'm sorry, [Jeanne calls after him, and there's genuine guilt in her expression.]
I just needed to get some air. I'm not feeling myself.
[ It does make him flinch, if only for a moment -- that crimson gaze of hers, though maybe not for the reasons she might think. After all, what greets her from Vincent's own side is a single red eye of his own, constant and unmistakable in its hue even while the other is clear gold. But it's not the same as a vampire's, that much is obvious. It's just a normal eye.
It takes him a moment to find words again. ]
...It's alright. You don't have to explain any further, I understand.
[ This one's on him. What with everything else on his mind, he's completely forgotten about this feature that vampires possess, rather inconsequential to present events. But it makes his act more believable, so he'll swallow the moment of weakness he showed if he must. This is salvageable, still. He just needs her more jumbled than this, her mind yet more muddled than now. Maybe the drug hasn't had enough time to reach full effect. ]
Why not chat for a bit? It might help calm you down.
[Jeanne almost declines, but with him so out of reach it's probably safe. Folding her hands over the edge of the fountain she rests her head and looks up at him.]
That... sounds nice. I appreciate the offer, but if you're troubled at any point feel free to leave.
[After all, she's naught but a tool. People shouldn't go out of their way to comfort someone second class.
At least the running water of the fountain is soothing. Slowly a comforting haze washes over her. She's not quite feeling giddy, but the terrifying force of her addiction is softened by other feelings coming to the forefront.]
Ah... what to do? I would love to be able to promise, it's just... I don't know how I could ever feel troubled. I'm rewarded with the company of such a beautiful lady, after all.
[ With a simple, soft laugh that makes it impossible to know if he's joking or not (or maybe genuinely trying to lighten the mood for her sake), he rests his elbows on the windowsill and leans forward, in a relaxed sort of perch that mirrors hers. Makes it feel like they're meeting in the middle, or something stupid of the sort. That's right, he reminds himself. She's just another brainless woman -- nothing is ever different about any of them. They're all selfish, fickle creatures who fall easily for such empty words, not a single thought in those heads of theirs, so long as he sounds convincing enough or they like his face. ]
Forgive me, though, but... I don't think I ever caught your name?
[Those compliments only serve to remind her of Lady Dominique. About how Jeanne insisted that dancing with someone like her would ruin such a high-standing lady's reputation. But Dominique dismissed her worries, told her she was like a blooming flower, and took her hand to the dancefloor anyway. A part of Jeanne is glad Dominique doesn't have to see her like this.]
It's Jeanne. May I have yours, monsieur?
[While she awaits his answer her hands begin to feel at her face. a fuzzy, tingling feeling begins to take her head. Is it the ache for blood, or did one flute of champagne really take her? Goodness.]
don't mind me throwing canon lore in the blender here lmao
...Of course. It's Vincent. Vincent Nightray, but I'd be happier without much formality, if you don't mind.
[ The pause he leaves is on purpose, giving the impression he was choosing his words with the utmost care before he speaks. He doubts she hasn't heard that family name before, after all, but this might be the first time it works in his favor for a change. The House of Nightray is one of the four ruling dukedoms in the world of humans, much in the manner several noble families rule Altus Paris, so naturally any vampires who set foot outside of their home would at least be familiar with that much. You can't very wisely go somewhere without knowing whose territory you're in.
Now, among those same humans however, the most that saying "Nightray" would earn is some wary apprehension, perhaps. It's the House rumored to have been suspected of treason a century prior, and as a result even now, they're entrusted with all of the murkier and less savory work that the other, pristine noble Houses can't stain their hands with. But naturally, for vampires, that also means a majority of the interactions with their kind, such as mediating between them and the Church -- so Nightray's politics towards Altus, in contrast, are rather solid. ]
Is the water not cold? I'm worried you'll catch sick if you keep doing that, so... please, accept this. I insist.
[ You know, because she's been dipping her hands in the fountain and now they're on her face -- and he's referring to the elegant, decorative handkerchief he's just pulled from the front pocket of his formal attire. He brings it out only slightly through the window, as if to place his intentions on honest display. ]
[It's not as cold as the snow in Gรฉvaudan, but she shouldn't be soaking the sleeves of the dress she was gifted. Jeanne nods as she quietly closes the distance to accept his kind offer.
As she gets closer insidious thoughts plague her. Like what would his blood taste like? Would it be sweet, or sting her tongue like citrus? How would it feel to sink her fangs deep into his flesโ
Ah, she shouldn't be thinking about that! Quickly Jeanne pulls her gaze off him, and begins dragging the handkerchief against her face. Sincerely she hopes the new texture and stimulation will distract her from the thirst.]
Thank you so much. But are you sure? Even if you're a human, you're still way above my station.
Edited (completely forgot the dialogue bit) 2022-05-17 15:03 (UTC)
i'm glad!! also sorry for slower tags for a bit, currently traveling
I'm willing to take some liberties with etiquette because it's you.
[ The light, suggestive words only hang for a second, before he easily laughs them off in a delicate voice, a hand coming up to cover and mask that as is proper. And of course, when fingers travel from there to sweep some of his hair backwards and fix the collar of his shirt, just happening to bare a portion of skin right above it, that's also a coincidence. He's simply cooling in the night air, or maybe fixing what the breeze through the window put out of order.
...He hadn't intended to make himself the target, but sometimes plans have to change. ]
I'm sorry. I couldn't resist teasing you for a second, but I really don't mind. I suppose some of my siblings might frown on it if they saw, but they aren't here, are they?
[ That's right. It's just them, anywhere they can see or hear at the moment. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
closed to jeanne (@feudelenfer)
[ Like many others, that's how the evening starts. With honeyed words spoken casually to his servant into the darkness of a small, private room, while Vincent's absent fingers twirl a vial of something in his hands. A clear liquid swirls within it with each motion, something he doesn't know the name of and doesn't need to either, as long as it does what it should. Maybe it doesn't even have one as far as he's concerned.
It's only passed to the petite white-haired girl behind him, along with the photo of a woman. ]
There's a certain someone I'd just very much like to have on my game board, you see.
[ A woman who, just a predicted, can be found at the same event he's been invited for tonight. A commemoration of some sort, marking another decade in the lasting peace between humans and vampires, to those in the know -- a select few members of the nobility on each side, obligated like puppets to show up for the sake of decorum. Seeing as she's there as a guard, however, he much expects his target to be lingering in a corner, watching over her charge from a distance with a mixture of both discomfort from the venue and diligent dedication for her duty. At least, if his intelligence about her is correct.
The Hellfire Witch. Closer to a pet dog on a leash these days than the hound of prey she'd apparently once used to be, though Vincent doesn't care much about her past to be honest. All he cares for is his little scheme, which is the whole reason why at some point, later into the evening whilst her master is distracted, she'll find a young girl dressed in the same uniform as the rest of the servants approaching her with a tray. Mind you, even should she check, the girl is registered as a part-time worker for the event in the same manner as all the others, so there's nothing suspicious about her.
After offering the glass on the tray to Jeanne, she gives an expressionless bow and is content to withdraw without troubling her further. ]
...
[ According to Lottie, the concoction he's slipped into that drink should have the power to intoxicate vampires, much in the same way a particularly strong alcohol or some certain types of drugs might with humans. Not only that, it should serve to amplify their craving for blood, as well -- nothing too extreme, but as one might expect from a severely inebriated guest that has lost self-control. And so, Vincent need only wait and watch from a distance, careful not to seem too much like he's paying attention -- a feat easily achieved thanks to the numerous other addle-brained annoyances who would like nothing more but to dance with him. Then, if he plays his own cards right...
He might see something fun. ]
no subject
She looks down at herself. Dark hues of crimson and black accented with gold. Sprawling floral patterns reminiscent of roses. As if to remind her of the mark she leaves when she drinks blood so voraciously that she imbues another with her power. Her well put together state of dress does not seem to bring comfort to her.
In the end, Jeanne drinks. It would be rude not to. She finishes it, but holds onto the glass. She'd feel rude setting it down just anywhere, after all.
After about twenty minutes after ingesting the mystery liquid Jeanne feels off. A light, sort of giddy feeling. Accompanied by altered vision, and a gentle thirst (that may grow stronger as time goes on). Perhaps she just needs to hit the restroom. She'll make sure Luca is with someone trustworthy (a Queen's Fang) before ducking away quietly. Vincent may need to follow.]
that's such a fitting dress for her, i love it
He uses the excuse of feeling a little tired as the current dance ends, a few moments later. The woman he'd taken as his partner unwittingly helps him -- eager to please, she remarks that indeed, Vincent looks rather pale and could use some fresh air perhaps. A suggestion he's all too happy to accept, with a smile and a promise that he'll return, as he couldn't possibly stay away from her side for too long. He won't though, not if he has anything to say in the matter. He's had enough of this charade, and was here for none of it in the first place.
Regardless, it's with such a solid excuse that he leaves the ballroom, through a door on the opposite side from his target. Nothing that could ever point out, in any way, that he'd even noticed her, much less had an interest.
But he knows. He's studied a blueprint of the venue beforehand, easy enough to obtain on the right market, and if memory serves... then by some fortunate coincidence, the route Jeanne chose to take should lead soon enough to an outer garden. There's a large fountain there too, if he recalls correctly, so for someone looking to clear their head, he imagines it might make quite the tempting destination once seen. And so, all he needs to do is change course as soon as he's alone in the corridors himself, eschewing the terrace he'd pretended to head for in favor of stairs. Once on the second floor, it should prove easy enough to find a window that overlooks the garden in question.
The perfect vantage to watch from, in more than one way. ]
thanks a million to mobile dress up games
But it doesn't help. Her chest still heaves like she had run a marathon. Her fangs ache so much it almost makes her cry. All she can think about is warm, coppery liquid flowing down her throat as her fangs pierce soft flesh. In fact she's so overwhelmed by the thought that her hand crushes the stone edge of the fountain - leaving cracks and bits of rubble. Jeanne doesn't make a hole, but a modest kick could change that in an instant.
With no regard for the layers of lace ruffles at her sleeves, Jeanne dunks her hands into the water and desperately she tries drinking from the fountain. However it's clear it does not sate her in the least.]
i guess even mobile game hell has to reward us sometimes
The more he observes her, it's the only thing that still echoes through Vincent's mind past his rising annoyance. Can she not hold any liquor at all? It's not as if the drink he'd instructed Echo to send had been particularly potent; just whatever standard champagne the party had on hand, because the alcohol itself hadn't been the point. It was the poison he'd mixed it with, but instead of acting like an inebriated damsel in the way he'd thought, aimless and susceptible to influence without knowing, she's more like a cornered feral animal on a rampage.
Thanks to that, it's looking like he'll need to make more adjustments to his plan than he's accounted for. Forget about leading her with a trail of blood like he'd thought, or not showing his face until later when she's attacking guests -- if he doesn't do something now, who knows what scale of a commotion she might cause? This is useless to him if she draws too much attention.
... ]
Ah... Miss? Is everything in order? I'm sorry if I imagined it, but I could have sworn I heard a commotion of some sort.
[ With a concerned expression, he lets the words dangle carefully over the distance, through the window he's managed to open while Jeanne was having her fit. Being on the higher floor, it's just perfect for him to stick his head out as if trying to comprehend the situation, much like a man who's only arrived in a hurry instead of been there all along, and is now seeing something unexpected. The perfect act to complement his polite inquiry. ]
no subject
Iโ I'm sorry, [Jeanne calls after him, and there's genuine guilt in her expression.]
I just needed to get some air. I'm not feeling myself.
no subject
It takes him a moment to find words again. ]
...It's alright. You don't have to explain any further, I understand.
[ This one's on him. What with everything else on his mind, he's completely forgotten about this feature that vampires possess, rather inconsequential to present events. But it makes his act more believable, so he'll swallow the moment of weakness he showed if he must. This is salvageable, still. He just needs her more jumbled than this, her mind yet more muddled than now. Maybe the drug hasn't had enough time to reach full effect. ]
Why not chat for a bit? It might help calm you down.
no subject
That... sounds nice. I appreciate the offer, but if you're troubled at any point feel free to leave.
[After all, she's naught but a tool. People shouldn't go out of their way to comfort someone second class.
At least the running water of the fountain is soothing. Slowly a comforting haze washes over her. She's not quite feeling giddy, but the terrifying force of her addiction is softened by other feelings coming to the forefront.]
no subject
[ With a simple, soft laugh that makes it impossible to know if he's joking or not (or maybe genuinely trying to lighten the mood for her sake), he rests his elbows on the windowsill and leans forward, in a relaxed sort of perch that mirrors hers. Makes it feel like they're meeting in the middle, or something stupid of the sort. That's right, he reminds himself. She's just another brainless woman -- nothing is ever different about any of them. They're all selfish, fickle creatures who fall easily for such empty words, not a single thought in those heads of theirs, so long as he sounds convincing enough or they like his face. ]
Forgive me, though, but... I don't think I ever caught your name?
[ a misogynist and a liar, what a catch ]
no subject
It's Jeanne. May I have yours, monsieur?
[While she awaits his answer her hands begin to feel at her face. a fuzzy, tingling feeling begins to take her head. Is it the ache for blood, or did one flute of champagne really take her? Goodness.]
don't mind me throwing canon lore in the blender here lmao
[ The pause he leaves is on purpose, giving the impression he was choosing his words with the utmost care before he speaks. He doubts she hasn't heard that family name before, after all, but this might be the first time it works in his favor for a change. The House of Nightray is one of the four ruling dukedoms in the world of humans, much in the manner several noble families rule Altus Paris, so naturally any vampires who set foot outside of their home would at least be familiar with that much. You can't very wisely go somewhere without knowing whose territory you're in.
Now, among those same humans however, the most that saying "Nightray" would earn is some wary apprehension, perhaps. It's the House rumored to have been suspected of treason a century prior, and as a result even now, they're entrusted with all of the murkier and less savory work that the other, pristine noble Houses can't stain their hands with. But naturally, for vampires, that also means a majority of the interactions with their kind, such as mediating between them and the Church -- so Nightray's politics towards Altus, in contrast, are rather solid. ]
Is the water not cold? I'm worried you'll catch sick if you keep doing that, so... please, accept this. I insist.
[ You know, because she's been dipping her hands in the fountain and now they're on her face -- and he's referring to the elegant, decorative handkerchief he's just pulled from the front pocket of his formal attire. He brings it out only slightly through the window, as if to place his intentions on honest display. ]
it's great and helps me a lot tbh
As she gets closer insidious thoughts plague her. Like what would his blood taste like? Would it be sweet, or sting her tongue like citrus? How would it feel to sink her fangs deep into his flesโ
Ah, she shouldn't be thinking about that! Quickly Jeanne pulls her gaze off him, and begins dragging the handkerchief against her face. Sincerely she hopes the new texture and stimulation will distract her from the thirst.]
Thank you so much. But are you sure? Even if you're a human, you're still way above my station.
i'm glad!! also sorry for slower tags for a bit, currently traveling
[ The light, suggestive words only hang for a second, before he easily laughs them off in a delicate voice, a hand coming up to cover and mask that as is proper. And of course, when fingers travel from there to sweep some of his hair backwards and fix the collar of his shirt, just happening to bare a portion of skin right above it, that's also a coincidence. He's simply cooling in the night air, or maybe fixing what the breeze through the window put out of order.
...He hadn't intended to make himself the target, but sometimes plans have to change. ]
I'm sorry. I couldn't resist teasing you for a second, but I really don't mind. I suppose some of my siblings might frown on it if they saw, but they aren't here, are they?
[ That's right. It's just them, anywhere they can see or hear at the moment. ]