Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Jun 7, 2011 2:08:50 GMT -5
[/u][/size]His little whispers. Love me. Love me. That’s all I ask for. Love me. Love me.
►► Francis Bonnefoy
Nation ► France
Human Name ► Francis Bonnefoy
Age ► 34
Gender ► Male
Species ► Human; High Class
Description ►
He battered his tiny fist to feel something. Wondered what it’s like to touch and feel something.
Likes ►
♥ Wine // Spirits // Alcohol
Francis enjoys drinking in social situations. It is rare to see him without a glass of something in hand whether he is entertaining some guests out on a yacht, in conversation at a party or under the flashing lights of a nightclub
Wine is sunlight, held together by water. ~Galileo
♥ Amour // Sex // Pleasure
There are few, if any, things that Francis has not experimented with when it comes to exploring the many aspects of sexual satisfaction. He is the sort of man that is willing to try anything once, provided that it sounds interesting enough. His morals are loose in this regard – not that Francis will whore around with just anyone. The Frenchman’s taste in potential partners is incredibly high in standards.
"Sex" is as important as eating or drinking and we ought to allow the one appetite to be satisfied with as little restraint or false modesty as the other. ~Marquis de Sade
♥ Power // Control // Domination
Power is a heady thing for Francis. He feels at his best when he is firmly in charge of people and situations. Since boyhood, the Frenchman has been trained to fulfill the role of mastering others rather than being mastered by another.
The measure of a man is what he does with power. ~Plato
♥ Flowers // Lilies // Roses
The scent, image and softness of flowers are things that Francis loves very much. This comes from his childhood, where he grew up running through colorful fields full of wildflowers. He associates those happy memories with all nature of flowers, though he clearly favors white lilies and French roses. Francis keeps his many homes and temporary residences full with them. The servants are regularly bringing fresh bouquets in to keep the old ones from drying out too much.
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns. ~Thomas Moore
♥ Beauty // Beautiful People // Beautiful Landscapes
Being one to be surrounded with the aesthetic, Francis withers if there is anything too garish or offensively ugly around him. He is almost capable of delusion, to deny the reality of that which doesn’t fit into his ideal Eden of flawless perfection.
Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. ~Khalil Gibran
♥ Food // Exotic Cuisine // Cooking
He is a master in the kitchen. Whether it is in preparing a staple of French cuisine, or to experiment with improving some foreign dish, Francis can often be found immersed in an apron and ingredients. The Frenchman is particular about how things taste, and the textures that he creates. He views cooking as an independent form of art.
I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food. ~W.C. Fields
♥ Art // Painting // Sculpting // Theatre // Opera
There are several studios that Francis spends his time in, either rented or at his residences. He has no particular style of art that he is fond of. Impressionist, Modern, Pop Art, Expressionist – Francis loves it all. He will scour museums all over the world to view works by artists that he enjoys. The Frenchman will also often be found in rundown lofts and trendy hipster bars, speaking to undiscovered talent that he might adopt as their patron. He’ll also be seen sobbing into a handkerchief in a box seat when moved by some stirring aria.
An artist is a dreamer consenting to dream of the actual world. ~George Santayana
♥ Smoking // Cigarettes // Cigars
Just another of his numerous vices. Francis is partial to his addictions. He likes to roll his own when he has the materials available, but lacking that opportunity the Frenchman likes thin, dark smokes. The flavored imports are ones that he enjoys, partial to clove.
But when I don't smoke I scarcely feel as if I'm living. I don't feel as if I'm living unless I'm killing myself. ~Russell Hoban
♥ Sin // Being Sinful // Voyeurism
Francis is the worth Catholic in the world. He loves sin, either his own or the sins of others. The Frenchman seems determined to constantly work in opposition of whatever ‘higher powers’ might exist in the universe. The man knows that he is destined for hell, so why not embrace every moment of his sinful human existence?
In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice. ~Marquis de Sade
♥ Mobility // Driving // Sailing // Vespas // Fast Cars
Not that his driving skills are safe for the public. Francis is as careless behind the wheel as he is in the rest of his life. Most of the time he can barely be bothered to pay attention to the road ahead of him, let alone obey some silly ‘speed limit’. He doesn’t have consideration for laws and will insist on taking the most direct route to his destination even when it isn’t allowed. Francis will often use his lighter to set his citations aflame right in front of the officer that gives it to him.
Driving is a spectacular form of amnesia. Everything is to be discovered, everything to be obliterated. ~Jean Baudrillard
♥ Wealth // Luxury // Entitlement
There has never been a moment that Francis has begrudged the privilege of his High Class life. He takes every advantage of his financial superiority. This leads Francis to believe that with that comes the right to expect others of lower status to defer to him for his higher position in the social hierarchy. He can be quite difficult and volatile when things don’t match his expectations.
Wealth is well known to be a great comforter. ~Plato
♥ Travel // Vacationing // Resorts
Francis rarely stays in one location for long. The Frenchman might hop on a jet just to find entertainment somewhere across the globe. Skiing in the Alps, gambling in Monte Carlo, catching a Broadway show in New York or attending some film premiere – Francis rarely allows his time to remain idle. He staves off boredom by remaining constantly on the move.
We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls. ~Anais Nin
♥ Collecting // Antiques // His ‘Menagerie’ of Pets
The Frenchman likes to surround himself with comforts, both material and social. He has built up and torn down several collections throughout his life depending on his changing interests. Francis is always seeking an escalation as he searches for some new level of quality or a new angle of interest.
Good as it is to inherit a library, it is better to collect one. ~Augustine Burrell
Dislikes ►
♣ England // British People // British Literature // British Culture
Having lived in the neighboring nation to the United Kingdom all his life, Francis contains the natural bittersweet attitude towards the English that many of his countrymen do and have throughout history. He tolerates socializing with Britons when it suits him, but is just as quick to fire some scathing remark about them as well. Francis finds that most of the British have all the qualities in themselves that he dislikes about people in general.
The whole strength of England lies in the fact that the enormous majority of the English people are snobs. ~George Bernard Shaw
♣ Prudes // Puritans
Whether religious zealots, judgmental American puritans or stiff British prudes, Francis despises them all for what he sees to be a grave hypocrisy in their attitudes. He cannot conceive that people who have a pulse do not thrill at the thought of sex. It is a primal function that he sees is part of everyone. When faced with prudish individuals, the Frenchman is likely to attempt seducing them purely out of spite.
I despise the ingenuous and I scorn the prude; the latter is too slow to give, the former gives too quickly. ~Anonymous
♣ Restrictions // Rules // Being Refused Things
Francis is not a man that enjoys being told he cannot do something. He believes himself to be a creature beyond limitations; the only way that he might discover the boundaries of self is by exploring every avenue with gusto. This leads him to be derisive towards those that seek to halt his actions, even if they are self-destructive.
It is the restrictions placed on vice by our social code which makes its pursuit so peculiarly agreeable. ~Kenneth Grahame
♣ Responsibilities // Obligations // Work
If called upon to do something, Francis will do just enough to satisfy before dropping the task. He has an aversion to work that borders on allergic. His belief is that there will always be people better suited to doing the work in his place, so why invest his own energy in that labor? Even the Frenchman’s family knows not to saddle him with obligations. Francis’s estate and financial affairs are handled by a lawyer through them -- leaving him without concern or consideration for such banal matters.
Hard work spotlights the character of people: some turn up their sleeves, some turn up their noses, and some don't turn up at all. ~Sam Ewing
♣ American Country/Western Music // British Pop Songs
The Frenchman doesn’t see beauty in these types of music. Considering his own dislike of the English language on principle, Francis finds it all grating on the ears. He does like the rock and roll from those countries, and some other styles. Mainly, he would be rather listening to dreamy French pop, ethereal trance music and smooth, sultry jazz. That is what Francis normally blasts out of his stereos.
Do I listen to pop music because I am miserable or am I miserable because I listen to pop music? ~John Cusack
♣ Ignorance // Bigotry // Closed Minds
If Francis encounters an individual with any one of these qualities, it is almost instantaneous hate at first sight. He cannot tolerate those who do not seek to expand themselves as individuals, to learn more about the world and all of its mysteries. Nor can he stomach people who cast some judgment upon others simply because they have not taken the time to educate themselves. Willing ignorance is a pariah to humanity – and Francis is likely to spit on their shoes.
The greatest ignorance is to reject something you know nothing about. ~Anonymous
Strengths ►
♠ Cunning // Sly // Calculating // Duplicity
Like a conductor of some human symphony, Francis likes to consider himself something of a mastermind. He is not above using lies to weave others into a carefully constructed web of his own design. Despite seeming like he is charging recklessly through everything, there are few times that he will move without thinking two steps ahead.
The weak in courage is strong in cunning. ~William Blake
♠ Charismatic // Persuasive // Seductive
Francis’s sexuality is something that he uses as a weapon, or at least a bargaining tool if it seems viable. He uses flattery, his natural charm and the benefit of being French to his advantage. Given that the French have a unique viewpoint on ‘amour’, this is sometimes all too easy. Dealing with him is similar to dealing with the Devil.
Charisma is a sparkle in people that money can't buy. It's an invisible energy with visible effects. – Marianne Williamson
♠ Passionate // Determined
He is a man full of passion. Francis can often channel this into a charge of determination to see his goals achieved. When his passion is stirred up in anger or in desire for something that he wishes to obtain, he will work tirelessly to get it – no matter the cost to himself or others.
When it becomes clear that no one else shares your level of passion, you are right where you belong. ~Placido Domingo
♠ Creative // Artistic // Talented
When it comes to matters of artistic merit, Francis is the man who one simply must get an opinion from. His creativity allows him to think of solutions that might not occur to others. He can think ‘outside of the box’, a quality that often provides him the upper hand in situations. Francis is capable of producing works of art that earn him considerable wealth – when he employs his energy towards seeing a project finished.
I put all of my genius into my life; I put only my talent into my works. ~Oscar Wilde
Weaknesses ►
♣ Vanity // Avarice // Pride
The Frenchman is obsessed with keeping his beauty intact. He knows that he is considered beautiful in the eyes of the world. Francis will not acknowledge any that wish to dismiss this as an invalid claim – it has been told to him often enough, and Francis has grown up living the privileged life of one who is beautiful. The man might often snub those who are not in his caliber as far as looks go.
Beauty’s sister is vanity, and its daughter lust. ~Proverb
♣ Cowardice // Fast to Retreat // Spineless
When it comes to being faced with violence, or if he is put into a difficult position, Francis is likely to retreat as fast as possible. He would rather swallow his pride in the face of an insult than to stand up for himself if he has no chance of winning against the other party. Francis will not stick his neck out for others – he is concerned only with his own well-being; a self-preserving opportunist.
To know what is right and not do it is the worst cowardice. ~Confucius
♣ Lack of Control // Uncensored // Raw
The Frenchman has no brakes. He doesn’t bother with the social filters that others find important. His mind will be spoken bluntly. Nor does Francis have much regard for reserving his saltier language in the company of those who might not appreciate it. His mentality is that they can just go away if they are offended.
Man must be disciplined, for he is by nature raw and wild. ~Immanuel Kant
♣ Emotional // Easily Offended // Temperamental
Francis wears his heart on his sleeve. He seems unable to protect his emotions from outside stimulus. This makes him prone to mood swings -- melancholy, giddiness, anger. Whatever the moment calls for. The Frenchman has absolutely no qualms about weeping openly in front of others and has a tendency to laugh during moments that make it seems insensitive.
The best remedy for a short temper is a long walk. ~Joseph Joubert
♣ Not Masculine Enough // Too Feminine // Physically Weak
He wasn’t born with the brute strength many other men have. Francis was always just slightly too delicate for the rough-and-tumble play that other boys had. This puts him at a disadvantage in situations where he has to defend himself. He tries to avoid physical confrontations for just that reason – it would be too easy for him to be overpowered.
Nothing is either all masculine or feminine except having sex. ~Marlo Thomas
Dreams ►
♥ Immortality // Eternal Youth // Eternal Beauty
Ideally, he would love to be able to make a claim of these things without having to make such a major trade. While he is able to currently enjoy these dreams, it is at the cost of a nightmare life. Francis cannot be completely happy while living with the shadow of this burden.
A man has only one way of being immortal on earth: he has to forget he is mortal. ~Jean Giraudoux
♥ Tricking the Devil // Breaking His Pact
If he could find a way to break free of the pact he has entered into out of desperation to keep his beauty and youth, Francis would do so in a heartbeat. He is always seeking some loophole that might be able to get him out of it. There is, unfortunately, the fact that maintaining his youth and appearance outweighs his freedom in this regard. Francis knows that he cannot have it both ways, and that alone is a source of considerable frustration.
Beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and the Devil are fighting there, and the battlefield is the heart of man. ~Fyodor Dostoevsky
♥ Finding The One // Settling Down // Love
Despite his loose morals and inability to stay anchored to one person, this is only due to the danger that this would put the other person in because of his pact. It is easier for Francis not to put anyone in that position and maintain his bachelor lifestyle. What he needs is for someone to be able to balance him out against his own numerous flaws.
All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name. ~Andre Breton
♥ Achieving Contentment // A Sense of Fulfillment
He hopes to one day manage to find whatever might succeed in filling the void that is within him. This restlessness is taxing to him, and Francis despairs of ever being able to find what he needs to finally be at peace.
Be content to be what you are, and prefer nothing to it, and do not fear or wish for your last day. ~Marcus Valerius Martial
Fears ►
♣ Losing his beauty // Getting wrinkles // Death
This was a fear of the Frenchman’s even before he made his pact. In fact, it was what drove Francis to make the deal to begin with. Ever since he was a child there was a fear in him of encountering the unknown beyond life. Francis avoids reminders of things dealing with the issue of death. The mere thought of dying puts enough fear in him to paralyze the Frenchman. He cannot handle his own mortality.
Death borders upon our birth, and our cradle stands in the grave. ~Joseph Hall
♣ Becoming Powerless // Poor // Destitution
Francis has become comfortable in his pampered lifestyle. There is always a chance that he could get disowned from the Bonnefoys for his behavior, and his income could get taken away. This is probably his only motivation for why he actually still has any interaction with his family at all.
Ordinary riches can be stolen; real reaches cannot. ~Oscar Wilde
♣ Gaining a Conscience // Overwhelmed By Regrets
His sins are many. Not only does he have the burden of being an accessory to countless lives being lost in exchange for his sustained life; he also knows that the way that he has chosen to live his life is despicable in the eyes of many other people. Francis must absolutely not begin to feel remorse for all of these sins, or else he is afraid that the weight of all that regret might crush him.
A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams. ~John Barrymore
♣ Not Having Control Of People // Situations // Himself
Since Francis is already technically enslaved due to his own actions in the past, he is afraid to relent control to anyone else. If things seem to be getting too chaotic, he will retreat from it rather than deal with things getting out of hand. Francis will avoid the effort of having to fight to regain his control over his environment; rather than struggle, he’d prefer just to let it all fall to ruin.
One ought to hold on to one’s heart; for if one lets it go, one soon loses control of the head too. ~Friedrich Nietzsche
Personality ►
Francis Bonnefoy is a man for which duplicity is second nature, as ingrained in him as the need to draw breath. Many have sought to decry him as a Devil in the guise of a man, yet Francis is ready with a simpering laugh and sly smile to provide evidence of a long line of French aristocracy to prove that he is quite human – though he never directly denies the accusation. His answer for everything is a flash of white teeth and blue eyes, either dancing with amusement or hardened by anger.
The Frenchman’s temperament is unpredictable, subject to transition without warning at a moment’s notice. It seems that Francis is incapable of restraining himself when it comes to the shifting mood of the environment around him. He is naturally flamboyant, a born entertainer, and with that facet of his personality the man is driven to behave depending on the ambience. One minute he might be carrying on a perfectly civil conversation in pleasant, reserved tones. The next is all impassioned shouts, burning blood and a zealous march of rebellion -- a pacifier of the peace and then a radical libertine in the blink of an eye.
He does not know how to do anything halfway. Francis throws everything that he has into things that claim his interest. If he feels that it is some benefit to him, or suspects it will be something enjoyable, the Frenchman will work tirelessly to acquire it for his own. This is true of material objects -- paintings, vehicles, clothes, and other possessions to suit his lifestyle of luxury. People are also worth collecting. Francis has had a fair share of pets throughout his life; born into a family where the creatures were a household staple amongst the branches of his relations, the idea of obtaining them was natural to him from boyhood.
That’s not to say that Francis has kept most of them. The Frenchman is just as infamous for his fickle, fleeting interest. He does not hesitate to abandon anything once he’s grown bored with it. Many a pet has been ditched for something new and more fascinating. Francis is one of those rare individuals that can dominate without loving; and is fine not to be loved by those under his control. He is a master that deals with pets as he does with paintings – purely for their aesthetic merit.
Mostly, Francis operates in life as a man who enjoys living. He refuses to be chained by anything. This is a blessing and a curse on those rare occasions when melancholy surfaces. These times offer a glimpse into the inner psyche of the Frenchman. There might be something wounded in there behind the exterior shell of the charming seducer, at home in a core that is very dark in nature. His melancholy, when he is not waxing poetic about the profound mysteries of life, goes hand in hand with a thirst for violence.
When it comes to dominating with pain, Francis has it tuned to an art form. This comes from his family roots, and a particularly infamous Marquis amongst the Bonnefoy heritage that had published several pieces of literature on the subject. The game of Dominance and submission is merely par for the course in his life. But that doesn’t mean that Francis is a cruel master. He doesn’t need to exert force over the unwilling. He enjoys the consensual thrill of those who enjoy suffering under his hands.
Those that humor him in this regard are treated exquisitely well. The Frenchman can be just as gracious as he is greedy. It provides him delight to see the radiance of happiness on the faces of others just as much as it does to witness their pain. Francis has even been known on occasion to perform a random act of generosity. Naturally, this is to provide himself with that sense of satisfaction and is therefore motivated by greed, but it does earn him social favor.
It is important to Francis that the illusions he has spun around himself remain intact. It allows him to get close to others without having to reveal much in return – an imbalanced exchanged of self, where he can pick and choose what he wants. Francis is unobtainable when it comes to those that seek to build something solid with him as far as relationships go. He comes and goes like the wisps of smoke puffing out of the cigarettes he favors.
History ►
If asked, Francis would gleefully joke that he was born from the foam of the sea like Venus. He was always telling such exaggerations, even when he was a small child running through the open green fields of vineyards along the coastline of France. He’d always had that impishness about him that made him willing to pull even the most childish pranks on others. His mother was encouraging in much of his endeavors. In his youth, she would assist him so that Francis could playfully run about in dresses just as often as pants, delighted to leave others guessing what to make of such an androgynous beauty. The girls had always giggled when Francis would reveal himself as some disguised conqueror; and with the boys the reactions varied as to whether he would end up entertained, hit or chased off. Then he would spend the night with his mother in whispered, conspiratorial conversations about his successes and failures.
This behavior in no way improved as he grew up. Francis established himself as the charming Devil of the Bonnefoy line. His ancestral line might have been dotted with Casanovas and seducers -- famous and infamous -- but it was Francis that seemed the culmination of all those previous sources. He quickly gained a reputation because of it. Then Francis grew bored of the local scene and began to travel the world in earnest once he’d hit his teenage years.
He became enraptured with the idea of seeking beauty from all corners of the globe. Francis declined all suggestions to attend some form of University. It was his intent to educate himself through the world, to become a veteran of knowledge through the experiences of his life. He explored as much as he could before Francis had even reached his twenties. This was a period of constant momentum; the Frenchman would purchase pets to entertain himself with, or throw himself into art studios to fill with paintings that he’d abandon, and jet across the world just because he could.
Francis was chasing after something in the world, trying to hunt down the answer to a riddle that had been puzzling him since birth.
Everything changed when Francis turned twenty.
He’d returned to France on a rare visit upon hearing word that his beloved mother had taken ill. Francis had arrived on scene with a bouquet of roses and a bottle of wine to cheer her up. Unfortunately, by the time he had shown, the cancer in her body had already left the woman ravaged. It left the Frenchman incredibly disturbed to see the woman that he had thought more beautiful than anyone in such a withered condition. That was the moment that a sliver of fear had sliced itself into Francis’s heart and lodged there.
Francis became obsessed with the idea of immortality. He began to fret over the loss of his own beauty as the inevitable death of his mother caused the Frenchman to fall into a deep depression. All of his spirit for life was choked beneath the weight of fear. His lifestyle became one of self-destruction, as Francis began to despair that if he could not keep his beauty, he made up his mind that he would rather die young while it was intact.
It was during this time of drugged dazes, alcoholic blackouts and deliberate isolation that Francis encountered him. On a darkened, drunken evening when he had crashed his luxury sports car into a tree along a winding road in Nice, he had stumbled from the wreckage of the vehicle to collapse down on the grass nearby. Francis had looked upon the mangled figure of his unlucky passenger without any feeling – no pity, remorse, sorrow – just a detachment to the twisted limbs and blood that the Spaniard who had been his company for the night had become.
He had thought it a hallucination of impending death when Francis saw the dying body get swarmed by darkness. It was surreal to watch some creature seemed to suck all the colors out of that attractive Spanish were-lion that the Frenchman had been mildly looking forward to breaking in later. Francis could not even rouse up terror at this scene playing out before his eyes. When the inky blackness tore away from the Spaniard and came in his direction, all that the Frenchman could do is laugh. Laugh unhinged and freely to think that Death had finally come for him to cure all his ills.
Francis fell back to the ground when it had reached him, waiting for death to claim him. That darkness had washed over him and the Frenchman had felt something like substance to it as it pressed him to the earthen grass like an eager lover. The lips had taken hold of his mouth in what Francis thought would be his final kiss. As it lingered, all of the pain in the Frenchman’s body seemed to drift to some faraway place. His mind receded soon afterwards. Francis knew this was death at last.
So when he’d woken up in his hotel room the next morning with the sunlight pouring in across his face, the Frenchman had been expectedly astonished. Aside from a trace hangover there was no evidence left of any injuries. Francis had staggered into the washroom to look at his image in the mirror. The mystery was added to when the minor lines that Francis had been absorbed in were vanished. He’d spent an hour touching the smoothness of his face as if this brittle illusion could shatter.
That night was when the Incubus approached him for real. It had explained to him that it had been watching Francis for several years. Somehow, the Frenchman had managed to win the heart of the devil through no intentions of his own. And the Incubus was very clear about what it could give Francis in exchange for his love. That the beauty and vitality that had been restored to the Frenchman through their kiss could become permanent. If Francis agreed to it, then immortality was as good as his.
And Francis, in his eager need to have all of the things this solution seemed to promise him, naïvely agreed to this pact. It wasn’t until he had sealed it with his body and his words that the Frenchman had even begun to understand the price that he had paid. The heaviness of it hit him the next time he had gone to seek out a lover, only to have the Incubus swarm over them and steal their life essence. This became the regular ritual for his life; Francis securing sources of food for the Incubus, and the demon in turn keeping the Frenchman’s beauty from slipping.
Fourteen years managed to pass like this. The Frenchman would note each passing birthday with depression. He got what he wanted. Francis did not look a day over twenty years. This lack of aging made it impossible for him to remain in France any longer due to the growing suspicions of his relatives. So he began to travel again.
This time, Francis wasn’t chasing after anything. He was running, as far and as fast as he could in an effort to escape his situation. There was simply no escaping.
He only recently settled into a semi-permanent residence. Francis decided that it was time to try some more domestic living. He has been sticking in that single location for several months now while trying to build up a proper household. Seeking pets for companionship, since those creatures alone are off-limits to the Incubus. The Frenchman still goes out on a regular basis to find prey for his demonic shadow. Though he can enjoy the illusion of normality much of the time.
Monster, how should I feel? Creatures lie here, looking through the window…
Roleplay Sample ►
Tonight was a blur of flashing neon lights, too much alcohol and a frenzied mess of dancing bodies. Francis had emerged from that smoky interior with an exquisite gem on his arm. Her name was Coco – or was it Chanel? – something that resembled a brand name for some product he knew. The Frenchman was more concerned with her image than something as personal and unimportant as a name.
Make up your mind
Decide to walk with me
Around the lake tonight
Around the lake tonight
By my side
By my side
Her hair was a full chestnut that smelled of spices. Their taxi ride back to his suite provided Francis every opportunity to recall why he had pinpointed this beauty as his conquest for the evening. Nibbling the smooth column of a mocha-skinned neck, he caught the taste of cinnamon and was unable to differentiate if it was her flavor or the lingering aftertaste of his clove cigarettes. The taxi driver received an unbroken view of an illicit affair in the backseat before they’d even arrived. He’d tipped the man handsomely for being so tolerant, flashing an impish wink in a knowing exchange between men before vanishing behind shining glass doors.
I'm not gonna lie
I'll not be a gentleman
Behind the boathouse
I'll show you my dark secret
It wasn’t like their ascent to his suite lacked its own share of risqué behavior. Francis had already begun to rebuild their passion for a second round in the lift when a round-bodied cleaning woman caught them in the act. They stumbled out together with Francis giggling unhinged and unapologetic as ever. He took his time guiding her to the door his suite, pretending to fumble with his room key like the alcohol hadn’t already started to wear out of his system, to shower her with kisses while she fawned over his roguish grin. Brittany – or was it Christina? – was proving talented with her mouth.
I'm not gonna lie
I want you for mine
My blushing bride
My lover, be my lover, yeah...
Once he had her inside his suite, Francis wasted no time before he had her deposited on the bed. It was easy to get caught up in tasting more of her mouth to expose all of its secrets; he was only able to tear himself away when the pressing need to rinse his own free of the taste of cloying wine. He was not so thoughtless a lover as not to make sure he was fresh for his partner. She deserved only the best. Francis parted reluctantly from the clutch of her hands and retreated to the washroom.
Don't be afraid
I didn't mean to scare you
So help me, Jesus
Francis opened the hinged mirror to get himself the supplies that he would need to see the rest of the night through. He splashed on some fresh, subtle cologne to match her perfume. Then he danced his fingers across the rows of boxed protection to decide what type he might use for the occasion. Francis felt in a celebratory mood, so he opted for colorful neon with a gleeful grin. Perfect. Then he swung the mirror shut with the intent to brush his hair and tie it back out of the way. As his eyes locked onto the reflection, Francis let out a terrified yelp and dropped everything in his hands.
I can promise you
You'll stay as beautiful
With dark hair
And soft skin...forever
Forever
It was there in the mirror. Right behind his shoulder like some menacing shadow. The Frenchman reluctantly forced himself to fix his gaze back on that reflection, swallowing down his terror. He had seen the Incubus more than enough times that the sight of it no longer affected him. The issue was that the demon had a habit of making dramatic entrances just like this. Francis hardened his eyes so that they glinted steely. “Merde! You think you’re funny, frightening me half out of my wits like that?”
Make up your mind
Make up your mind
And I'll promise you
I will treat you well
My sweet angel
So help me, Jesus
Francis felt more than heard the whispery rustle of its laughter echoing through the washroom around him. Its head slowly twisted to the side, red eyes glittering with a sense of impatience. The Frenchman watched in the mirror as one of its limbs flowed up like living ink, and spindly claws of considerable length began to fan against the door with a silent demand hanging between them. He knew what it wanted. Francis’s mouth twisted into a downward curl of disappointment. So much for keeping this one for myself tonight, he thought with bitterly.
Give it up to me
Give it up to me
Do you wanna be
My angel?
So help me!
He reached into the back pocket of his designer trousers to retrieve his cigarette case and lighter. Francis grumbled to himself as he lit it up, ignoring the hotel’s policy on smoke inside. His lean frame twisted to lean back against the basin of the sink, eyes rolling aside to the shower with irritation. “Fine. Get to it if that’s what you want. She’s right outside. And try not to make a mess this time!” Francis didn’t need to check the mirror once he felt the energy in the washroom change. The Incubus had already gone.
Be my angel
Paris – or was it Nicole? – barely had time to scream.
Be my angel
It only took a few minutes. Francis let himself out of the washroom and back into the bedroom. His eyes were distantly thoughtful as he viewed the rigid figure on the bed where he’d left her. The husk on the bed was barely recognizable as the exotic beauty he’d nabbed for his own devices. Even her hair had lost its sheen, like every ounce of vitality had been sucked out through the Incubus. Her skin had turned ashen. He poked a finger down to her skeletal cheek and watched a hole crumble through the surface. Nasty, just like usual.
Do you wanna die?
Francis sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. He’d just lit another cigarette. Times like this made him chain-smoke. Cerulean eyes rolled up from beneath loose wisps of hair to glare accusingly up at the Incubus. The demon had taken enough energy to manifest now. It stood before him, looming with equal parts menace and satisfaction. Francis broke their silent staring contest first and reached into the dead woman’s clutch.
I promise you
I will treat you well
My sweet angel
So help me, Jesus
He tracked down her identification, holding that card with its clinical information in the air above him. “Hm. Her name was Chastity? My guesses were way off track. But we can both appreciate the irony can we not, mon amour?”
Jesus
The Frenchman felt the demon’s delight swell with that endearment, even as mocking as the delivery came. He resisted the urge to shudder as its claws knocked the identification out of his hand hard enough to leave his fingers jarred. Francis drew on his cigarette to filter it deep in his lungs. As the Incubus surged down towards him, the Frenchman tauntingly blew that full cloud of smoke into its face. It was his form of rebellion against the grudging ritual that was about to happen.
Jesus
Francis flinched as he was pressed back across the crumbling figure of the former woman behind him. The weight on him felt suffocating enough without the ash that went clouding up from the collision. He squirmed beneath the demon’s form, internally railing against his own powerlessness in the moment, and when the Incubus pressed its lips over his mouth to flow that vitality into his body, the taste was nothing but that of bitter cold.
Jesus...
*Lyrics are from Possum Kingdom by The Toadies
Make up your mind
Decide to walk with me
Around the lake tonight
Around the lake tonight
By my side
By my side
Her hair was a full chestnut that smelled of spices. Their taxi ride back to his suite provided Francis every opportunity to recall why he had pinpointed this beauty as his conquest for the evening. Nibbling the smooth column of a mocha-skinned neck, he caught the taste of cinnamon and was unable to differentiate if it was her flavor or the lingering aftertaste of his clove cigarettes. The taxi driver received an unbroken view of an illicit affair in the backseat before they’d even arrived. He’d tipped the man handsomely for being so tolerant, flashing an impish wink in a knowing exchange between men before vanishing behind shining glass doors.
I'm not gonna lie
I'll not be a gentleman
Behind the boathouse
I'll show you my dark secret
It wasn’t like their ascent to his suite lacked its own share of risqué behavior. Francis had already begun to rebuild their passion for a second round in the lift when a round-bodied cleaning woman caught them in the act. They stumbled out together with Francis giggling unhinged and unapologetic as ever. He took his time guiding her to the door his suite, pretending to fumble with his room key like the alcohol hadn’t already started to wear out of his system, to shower her with kisses while she fawned over his roguish grin. Brittany – or was it Christina? – was proving talented with her mouth.
I'm not gonna lie
I want you for mine
My blushing bride
My lover, be my lover, yeah...
Once he had her inside his suite, Francis wasted no time before he had her deposited on the bed. It was easy to get caught up in tasting more of her mouth to expose all of its secrets; he was only able to tear himself away when the pressing need to rinse his own free of the taste of cloying wine. He was not so thoughtless a lover as not to make sure he was fresh for his partner. She deserved only the best. Francis parted reluctantly from the clutch of her hands and retreated to the washroom.
Don't be afraid
I didn't mean to scare you
So help me, Jesus
Francis opened the hinged mirror to get himself the supplies that he would need to see the rest of the night through. He splashed on some fresh, subtle cologne to match her perfume. Then he danced his fingers across the rows of boxed protection to decide what type he might use for the occasion. Francis felt in a celebratory mood, so he opted for colorful neon with a gleeful grin. Perfect. Then he swung the mirror shut with the intent to brush his hair and tie it back out of the way. As his eyes locked onto the reflection, Francis let out a terrified yelp and dropped everything in his hands.
I can promise you
You'll stay as beautiful
With dark hair
And soft skin...forever
Forever
It was there in the mirror. Right behind his shoulder like some menacing shadow. The Frenchman reluctantly forced himself to fix his gaze back on that reflection, swallowing down his terror. He had seen the Incubus more than enough times that the sight of it no longer affected him. The issue was that the demon had a habit of making dramatic entrances just like this. Francis hardened his eyes so that they glinted steely. “Merde! You think you’re funny, frightening me half out of my wits like that?”
Make up your mind
Make up your mind
And I'll promise you
I will treat you well
My sweet angel
So help me, Jesus
Francis felt more than heard the whispery rustle of its laughter echoing through the washroom around him. Its head slowly twisted to the side, red eyes glittering with a sense of impatience. The Frenchman watched in the mirror as one of its limbs flowed up like living ink, and spindly claws of considerable length began to fan against the door with a silent demand hanging between them. He knew what it wanted. Francis’s mouth twisted into a downward curl of disappointment. So much for keeping this one for myself tonight, he thought with bitterly.
Give it up to me
Give it up to me
Do you wanna be
My angel?
So help me!
He reached into the back pocket of his designer trousers to retrieve his cigarette case and lighter. Francis grumbled to himself as he lit it up, ignoring the hotel’s policy on smoke inside. His lean frame twisted to lean back against the basin of the sink, eyes rolling aside to the shower with irritation. “Fine. Get to it if that’s what you want. She’s right outside. And try not to make a mess this time!” Francis didn’t need to check the mirror once he felt the energy in the washroom change. The Incubus had already gone.
Be my angel
Paris – or was it Nicole? – barely had time to scream.
Be my angel
It only took a few minutes. Francis let himself out of the washroom and back into the bedroom. His eyes were distantly thoughtful as he viewed the rigid figure on the bed where he’d left her. The husk on the bed was barely recognizable as the exotic beauty he’d nabbed for his own devices. Even her hair had lost its sheen, like every ounce of vitality had been sucked out through the Incubus. Her skin had turned ashen. He poked a finger down to her skeletal cheek and watched a hole crumble through the surface. Nasty, just like usual.
Do you wanna die?
Francis sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. He’d just lit another cigarette. Times like this made him chain-smoke. Cerulean eyes rolled up from beneath loose wisps of hair to glare accusingly up at the Incubus. The demon had taken enough energy to manifest now. It stood before him, looming with equal parts menace and satisfaction. Francis broke their silent staring contest first and reached into the dead woman’s clutch.
I promise you
I will treat you well
My sweet angel
So help me, Jesus
He tracked down her identification, holding that card with its clinical information in the air above him. “Hm. Her name was Chastity? My guesses were way off track. But we can both appreciate the irony can we not, mon amour?”
Jesus
The Frenchman felt the demon’s delight swell with that endearment, even as mocking as the delivery came. He resisted the urge to shudder as its claws knocked the identification out of his hand hard enough to leave his fingers jarred. Francis drew on his cigarette to filter it deep in his lungs. As the Incubus surged down towards him, the Frenchman tauntingly blew that full cloud of smoke into its face. It was his form of rebellion against the grudging ritual that was about to happen.
Jesus
Francis flinched as he was pressed back across the crumbling figure of the former woman behind him. The weight on him felt suffocating enough without the ash that went clouding up from the collision. He squirmed beneath the demon’s form, internally railing against his own powerlessness in the moment, and when the Incubus pressed its lips over his mouth to flow that vitality into his body, the taste was nothing but that of bitter cold.
Jesus...
*Lyrics are from Possum Kingdom by The Toadies
OOC Section[/u][/size]
Alias ► Hat.
Time Zone ► Pacific Standard Time
Contact Method ► PM here.
Favorite Pairings ►
FrancexWorld -- WorldxFrance
WorldxWorld; because there is never enough amour on the earth.
I also like Ben and Jerry's Blueberry Cheesecake
Profile coded by Neko. Lyrics are from Monster by Meg and Dia. You are not able to use this profile anywhere else.
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