Stormy Moonlight, florian +

[VICTOR E. HOWE]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,2,true][atrb=style, background: #69757c url(http://i.imgur.com/acXd7.png); background-repeat: repeat; padding: 10px; border: 1px solid # 808e96; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #575757; -moz-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #575757; -o-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #575757;] A night filled with dew and sparkle is where he found himself. Amidst the others within Briar Park he strode, taking a moonlit walk. The moon was not full, for that Sir Victor Howe was thankful for. He hardly was allowed to enjoy such nights as these. Usually cursed to spend the nights tied down and caged for fear of harming the innocents that filled the streets of London. On occasion he would take a pilgrimage toward the forests where he would spend the night amidst his fellow beasts if only to return the following morning in his human visage. Yet he has not had the fortune nor the time to take such time off from the grind of crime. For you see this untortured hero was one of the many men of the law, fulfilling their duties to the queen by solving and preventing crimes. Victor is proud of this duty and would not give it up for anything. He serves his country and his queen happily. “This world is filled with things that yield no reason,” He sighed to himself, eyes reflecting the light of the earth’s satellite. Frowning, he turned his coat flailed in the wind and the clack of his cane was sharp against the stone roads. It may have been an enchanting night but Victor has been dispelled for far too long that even the morning light glistening on the dew in the grass did not uplift him nor the laugh of a child. He was not a worrisome person but he saw situations and facts of the world as they are. Certainly he would try his best to fix problems but his mind was always clear. A gust of wind left the scent of a storm. His head angled toward the heavens and the rolling of clouds could be seen. He best hurry on home. His shoes clacked as he pulled his gloves tighter against his hands. Soon he was off. Passing the many shops, inns, and bars that closed up their windows preparing for the rain. He slipped toward his home as quick as the storm came and just as he stepped into the foyer a loud clap of lightning flash followed quickly by thunder and torrent of rain. He shut the door easily. The soft smell of beef wellington wafted to his nose and he smiled. To have beef in this era was a treat no doubt. Placing his top hat and coat on the hanger, he leaned his cane inside the umbrella stand before moving forward up the stairs. He pondered if his son was home before he called out in a soft voice, “Florian, my flower, are you in?” The housekeeper walked from the bathroom and bowed to him. He gave a head tilt to her and moved toward his son’s room. [style=background-color: #69757c; width: 450px; padding: 3px; font-family: arial; font-size: 9px; color: #f3f6e9; border-top: 1px solid #f3f6e9;][/style]

[florian howe]

To his own disdain, the young male had awakened just a bit earlier than he pleased. The burning daylight kept him in his room with dark curtains drawn. Another new housekeeper had come along, although he was fairly certain his father had done well to inform her his son's habitat was to be left alone, and tried tying back the indigo shades. Florian was quick to dissuade her otherwise, but still her attempt to do so left him somewhat sour for the rest of the night.

Stuck in his room until the sun was to set, he read what books he had on a relatively large shelf composed mostly of other author's literature rather than his own. He was content until nightfall, when he'd spent so much time cooped up his enthusiasm for the night-life was lost to him. So, he simply pulled the chair to his desk and began taking notes for poems. The inspiration to write on the death of a chambermaid was given him most graciously by the new housekeeper.

When he found he was focusing more on a gruesome method of killing, rather than a story itself he stopped himself from writing any longer. For the next few hours he sat back in his chair and fantasized of blood until the familiar chime of a man's voice rumbled into his ear. His hues immediately dropped on the paper before him marred by messy black ink that scribbled out his previous written words, and then graced his fingertips touched by the same black ink. Reasons unbeknownst to him, he took a finger in his mouth in an attempt to suck off the obstruction fully aware it would not work.

Calling back to the man's voice didn't enter his mind. He stood, with no other sound than that of the chair groaning against the flooring as he had pushed back from his desk. Soundless feet carried him to his door, prying it open with his nimble little fingers dressed to rob. "..." The aspiring poet gazed at the man from his doorway, wondering what time it was that he was returning home so late.

Of course, he was accustomed to the man coming home all hours of the night given his work, eagerly awaiting any chance to chastise the latter. He motioned as though pulling a watch from his pocket and looking at it for a moment before tapping his palm with the index finger of his latter hand. "It's late... Victoria."

Gentle slits holding pale blue hues narrowed indiscriminately. While he couldn't care less about the man arriving home at such an hour (and why would he? this was the time Florian spent awake), he was simply redirecting his annoyance toward the new maid that earlier tried pulling back his curtain. Which he subtly chose to reveal to Victor by passive-aggressively mentioning: "You know, father dearest, perhaps if you came home at more reasonable hours you’d have an abundance of time to teach these housekeepers how to clean proper. And then, perhaps you wouldn’t need to hire a new one every ten hours." He scoffed audibly, turning his straight lips upward into a scornful smile in acknowledgment of his own cleverness.

[VICTOR E. HOWE]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,2,true][atrb=style, background: #69757c url(http://i.imgur.com/acXd7.png); background-repeat: repeat; padding: 10px; border: 1px solid # 808e96; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #575757; -moz-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #575757; -o-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #575757;] The young face that met him made him smile. Of course the expression the young lad wore did not register. He gave the blonde a warm greeting and tilted forward for a hug but then Victor's son did the unthinkable. He used the feminine version of his name to refer to him. Ever since the child was little he would always resort to calling him "victoria" only when he was angry. It had come about as an accident of sorts. The boy letting slip the name Victoria when referring to his adoptive father. Of course Victor both disliked it and was thoroughly flustered by it. He was being called a female by his own son and he told him to never do it again. it came as no surprise the child ended up using the name to express his many negative emotions, be it discomfort, annoyance, anger or even disappointment. Victor became accustomed to being called Victoria whenever his darling Flower felt wronged by him. Raising his hand to his temple, eyes closed he could hardly stand to lecture the young actor about his use of the name once again. “What have I told you about calling me that?” he exasperated to the boy. It was not a problem but being referred to as a female version... it was odd as he was a male. Stepping close to his son, hands grazing over his shoulder. “I'm your father and you should refer to me as thus.” He continued, giving the teenager a once over. He stepped back and moved back down the hall. He had not a clue why the child was angry with him but he could surmise it had something to do with the maid. Eyeing his hands, he felt himself grow tense. “Florian, just tell me what the maid did that has warranted your annoyance toward her.” He spouted off walking toward his study, waving his arm for him to follow. He pulled at his tie, eyeing the family portrait hanging on the wall and the subsequent photos of Florian hanging along the wall. Entering the study, the fireplace crackling softly. His pot of tea sat on the desk wafting the scent of jasmine and camomille, an unusual combination and most expensive. Pouring out his tea, he sipped it appreciatively. The chef he had recently hired was to it. Strewn on the desk were papers of copies of what he had to review for the case he was working, books of references to symbols and anatomical studies. He eyed the book that lay open and closed it. He sat down on the couch waiting for his little flower to join him. [style=background-color: #69757c; width: 450px; padding: 3px; font-family: arial; font-size: 9px; color: #f3f6e9; border-top: 1px solid #f3f6e9;][/style]

[florian howe]

Of course the scowl on his delicate features went unnoticed. Victor never seemed very in-tune with emotions, and that fateful day he accidentally called him by the female-version of his name… well, it started innocent enough. Florian had asked what he did, why he would go out and be gone so long, and he was told it was to service her majesty, the queen. A child was he, Florian was confused and pieced together that Victor was secretly the Queen. And that was his job. He did his best to keep it a secret, but one day it slipped out. He accidentally called him ‘Victoria,’ and he was lectured for it. He felt like such a silly thing for making that strange connection that now didn’t make any sense to him. Tender blue hues dropped to the ever warm hand flitting over his shoulder. If he were to be honest, he probably came to use it more often because he liked getting some stronger emotion from his father than the usual indifference.

His lids closed, but perhaps the words he used and the pet names he was called by would suffice. A flower by any other name would carry the same scent, and most days the one Florian carried for Victor was a strong repugnance that would make the manure that stimulated his growth turn sour. He gave the man a defiant bow as he was invited to come along. “Yes, my queen…” the utterance, whether ignored or otherwise, he was glad it seemed to go without more lecturing. While he followed behind his precious father, he kept a fingertip carefully plunged within his mouth in continuance of the hapless effort to remove the ink that stained his deathly pale skin. Florian scoffed when the man finally put it together that he was mad at the maid rather than him. Without really meaning to, his eyes seemed to instinctively fall to Victor’s neck while they walked together.

It was by no fault of the boy that his eyes were drawn to such a tempting place. After all, he’d noticed Victor’s fingers prying at his tie, so his pupils subsequently found themselves meeting the thin layer of skin covering the throbbing artery pumping so much delicious sustenance through its wide corridor. There was something humorous about all this. While Victor looked on at family portraits and the great many of Florian aging to the young man he was now, that darling child was wondering how his father’s blood might taste. It was a ludicrous thought he was quick to put to rest, instead focusing that repression into complaining about the maid. “She didn’t do anything.” He began sassily, his eyes wandering over the copious amounts of paperwork set on his parent’s desk. And a book that Victor was quick to shut before Florian could fully come to terms with the glimpse of a human figure within. What was so bad about the human figure that Victor didn’t want him to see?

“Right, that is.” He sighed, plopping himself down on the sofa while he tried to ignore the awful scent of the delectable tea. “There I was, sleeping in my bed when she comes barreling in like…” His hands held out in front of him, fingers curling inward to further express his irritation (as though his snarling lips, the upper of the two lifted enough so that his canines displayed keenly, weren’t enough). When he spoke so passionately, Florian had trouble controlling his inappropriate gestures, and so while he explained with great exaggeration of the entire predicament, his mannerisms reflected his mounted aggression. “… well, anyway, she comes barreling into my chamber and draws back the curtain!” He looked to Victor with brows furrowed, seeking out some sort of comfort. It troubled him deeply, that even at his current age he still relied so much on his father to suppress his wild emotions with some sort of gesture. His brows evened, the reality of the sun's harmful rays suddenly coming to him.

“She could have killed me.”

[VICTOR E. HOWE]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,2,true][atrb=style, background: #69757c url(http://i.imgur.com/acXd7.png); background-repeat: repeat; padding: 10px; border: 1px solid # 808e96; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #575757; -moz-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #575757; -o-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #575757;] This child of his was quite insufferable with his insistence to make fun of his name. Eying the boy as he entered the study only to plop down on the sofa. He placed his cup on the coffee table, reaching for his booklet of cigars. He listened closely to Florian because occasionally he relies solely on the theatrics to prove his points. And like clockwork the boy began by explanation of what she did, including a hand gesture to show his utter discomfort by her. He wanted to chuckle if it weren't for the fact that had Florian been met with sunlight… he would most likely be drained of energy at this moment. He did the only thing a father could do. "There there, Florian." Shifting close to the young blonde, he pulled him into a warm embracing hug. Despite his lack of worry… he did see the problems the situation could have caused. His arms engulfed the boy, pulling his head to his chest. "She knows not…but if that is all she's done I will instruct her to not touch your curtains even if they need cleaning." he sighed over the boy's head, rubbing his shoulder. Needless to say…if he could, he would most likely be explosive right now, an appropriate reaction to any human but he had been born this way. His hands traveled upward, running his fingers through his son's hair, feeling the softness that they were. It always amazed him that even though technically Florian was dead, he still seemed to give off an aura of life and energy. It was truly amazing. "I'd never let anyone harm you, you must know this. However… if the maid is really bothering you… I can fire her and hire someone else if you wish." He mumbled downward toward his son., letting him go and grabbing a cigar to light up. He puffed it, letting the smoke permeate through the air before turning back to Florian. "Tell me Florian… have you eaten yet?" He presented a soft question, he wasn't worried but… if Florian did go without blood for too long it could become a problem as the youth would be far too weak to protect himself. "If you would like to accompany me to the tavern we can find you some supper." he snuffed out his half used cigar, leaving it in the booklet to smoke later. "Or would you like to drink from me instead?" [style=background-color: #69757c; width: 450px; padding: 3px; font-family: arial; font-size: 9px; color: #f3f6e9; border-top: 1px solid #f3f6e9;][/style]

[florian howe]

The young writer sighed against his adoptive father's chest while he reflected on his life up until this point. Those words meant to comfort him could only fall on deafened eyes to the empty consolation. It wasn't that he was mad at the maid, but that it shouldn't be the maid's duty to wake him to the night. When he was younger, Victor found time to do so... and it seemed like as he got older the man had less interest in him. Of course, he was growing up. He didn't need that kind of dependency. Florian shut his eyes as though it would mask his pent-up frustration, knowing not where it was stemming from.

Florian shook his head slowly, his body peeling away from his father when the man shifted to light a musky cigar. Such rancid things, did Victor think this was some sort of pub to muck up? The young male pointed his face away to hide his scowl. "She's not bothering me." He stated plainly, swiping away the heavy feeling of Victor's hand that managed to linger on his shoulder. "I was just trying to convey that... I should have to put a sign on my door to turn them away." His features scrunched all the more. "You're the one that hires them... during the day... you should properly explain how off-limits my bedroom is."

Elongated canines dug into his quivering bottom-lip. All of this emotional strife was probably the cause of his brimming hunger, and because it frustrated him that Victor probably sensed that about him. His hair whipped opposite of the swing of his head to return his irritated gaze on the older man. The tavern... Florian sneered. "Are you trying to get me dru--..." Wh-what kind of offer was that?! The young man stared at the latter wide-eyed in wonderment.

All his derision slipped away, now that his nostrils sipped at the gentleman Howe's strong scent--almost like that of the dirty wilderness. It was hard his first years here, growing accustomed to that odor, and it offer caused it to renew to his nose with gained fervor. Still so young, and quite thirsty, his jaw shook as it became slack. Those long, sharp teeth gleamed in the low-light of the study before becoming covered by a lithe, effeminate hand. Florian quickly moved away from Victor, fast footsteps approaching the door to leave. What kind of joke was that? He didn't know. It was troublesome.

"No." He with a muffled harshness to his tone. "I can feed myself just fine." The arrogant child tilted his head to one side and snapped it the other way, the pale mane of his shaking with it before he opted to depart from the room. "Victoria."