black rain cloud [florian]

[SACHA ANTOINE LEROUX]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]700 WORDS FOR FLORIAN so, before writing this post i nearly fell asleep doing school work... now i'm off to do more. huzzah. DREAM [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Saying that Sacha was in a panic was severely underestimating his predicament. He had woken that morning completely hung over from his drunken state, and it had taken all of his effort to drag his sad self to his family's shop that day to sell goods. The previous night, he'd stayed out late at the tavern despite nearly getting robbed a few nights before hand. However, the full moon was at hand, and Sacha planned to work himself into exhaustion in hopes that his next change wouldn't be so bad. But when he'd gone to take out his book in order to write down one of his more melancholy poems, he realized that he didn't have it on him. He'd nearly scared a few customers in the store when he'd yelled a little too loudly and had to apologize, covering miraculously by saying that they had gotten in a new shipment of items and he was surprised because they weren't supposed to come in for a few weeks. At least he hadn't tried to cover it with a rodent excuse, but he didn't need any more false rumors spreading around. He'd recently written to his father explaining the lack of sales was due, in part, to the loyalty to the White family, but he had yet to hear a response. There was no way that he could possibly leave the store in his current state, he would have to wait until the shop closed. The hours would be agonizing, and he would try to remember where he left it. That book was one of the most important things to him. If he could just remember the previous night's events... He took a woman's order for a particularly hard to find Greek relic and promised they would look into it and contact her as soon as possible. Another man bought one of the Indian rugs for his home, and Sacha was pleased to see that some of the items in the store were finally beginning to sell. No, it wasn't a terrible town to live in, but the young merchant was self-destructive, and now that he was on his own, it meant that he was drinking in far more excess and not keeping to moderation. He would have to be more careful. He couldn't risk leaving his book anywhere- it wasn't that he thought that his works were good enough to steal, but they were very personal and some of them... if anyone caught the sexual subtexts of them... he would be mortified. The paranoia in his mind grew until, finally, it was time to close up shop and return to the tavern. This time, however, he had no intention of drinking. If anything had happened to his book, it would have been here. He vaguely recalled writing in it while drinking heavily. If he remembered right, he had just drank an abnormally large amount of absinthe which likely contributed to his foggy memory. He frowned at the thought that he had drank so much he didn't remember what happened. Perhaps he really should start slowing down like his butler suggested. He sat down at the table he had taken a seat at the night before and began to search around. He asked the bartender but was informed nothing of the sort had been turned in nor found the next day. Most of these people were, thankfully, illiterate which meant that if it had been one of them to find it, they wouldn't have been able to read it and thus wouldn't have considered it of any value to them. He was tempted to drink, but no, he had to keep vigilant watch. He hoped that someone had found it and, maybe, with some luck, they'd be visiting again to return it- maybe they knew it was his and wanted to see it fall into the right hands. Well, he could hope. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[florian howe]

It was for another consecutive night that the fair vampire had awakened to only the pale moonlight streaming through his bedroom window. Although he wasn’t around to monitor his father during the day, the young man always knew there was a new servant when his curtains were drawn back upon his rise. It pressed nearly every button within him there was to press. Florian jumped onto his feet, ripping the curtain off the rod and heading down to find the newbie helping the chef wash a large pot used to brew bath-water. Was Victor home? His rage temporarily subsided as he turned on his heels to seek out the older male, his journey slowly mounting into a storm that dragged him throughout the house, room-to-room to no avail. He wondered how late it must be; surely his elder would have been home already… unless he was out drinking.

Florian narrowed his eyes at the moon through the window, trying to determine the approximate time by the position of the pale-faced planet looming through the window. He brooded ever so slightly. Regardless of the time, he was awake now and thus Victor should be home to keep him company. That’s how the dynamic should be… that man had the audacity to always refer to Florian as his most precious thing, and yet had no qualms leaving him alone in such a large home. With an exasperated sigh, it was clear if the young man wanted any socialization he’d have to go out and find. It was at the tavern he’d seen a familiar face sitting at the bar, though he wasn’t quite sure where he knew him from. He was obviously drunk off his ass as he stumbled away, by the time Florian made to greet him, he was dissuaded. Surely, that couldn’t be a man he knew… ah, but what was that he’d left behind?

Once the blonde peeled apart the pages, he was immediately taken by the mysterious author. Yes, he could have tracked the guy down and returned the book, but Florian was so much more interested in reading it for himself. This terrible little tavern wasn’t the place to do it. He hurried home, locking himself in his room (so he could, hopefully, go undisturbed by those ditzy maids). All night he spent reading the texts, breaking the code of this secretive person’s penmanship. Was he sad, was he alone? The way he stumbled out of the pub, that musky scent coming off his breath that Florian could almost taste if he focused his memory enough on that one, mysterious silhouette of a man. He hugged the book near his chest, dropping it back into his lap so he could read it again.

The naïve male would memorize every word before he thought to return the novel to its owner. There was something curious about him he recalled, like he’d met the man before somewhere that disinterested him… ah, but how could anyone that had written this book be involved in anything boring? Florian, to say the least, was smitten. Needless to say, he was sheltered his entire life. He had never seen another nude person (aside from paintings, but Victor was always so quick to avert his gaze from anything too racy), he had never been told a particularly explicit story—much less read one (as you may have guessed, Victor carefully chose the books that Florian could have). Sometimes he knew the pleasure of himself, but never had his mind thought to wander into realms of enthrallment or rapturous intercourses. He was perfectly sheltered.

Such a precious thing to have lost, Florian thought it was commonsense that the owner would return to the tavern to claim it. As much as he hated the place for its ruckus and strong smells, he really wanted to possibly meet the person that wrote these stories that had so much raw emotion dragged through every loop of calligraphy. His hues glanced from one side of the room to another, the book hugged securely against his chest while he tried to squirm around the tavern patrons without being much noticed. A tiny sigh of relief escaped his lips when he made it to the table he was fairly certain had been the one where he found the book. Oh, but there was a man sitting there already… He didn’t get a good look at him (his vision was much too busy glancing here-and-there hoping to find the male that would match the self-made appearance he’d concocted in his fantasies of running into him). “Excuse me,” his voice managed to permeate through the noise despite its soft qualities, “… had a man chanced by here searching for a book?” What a strange question to ask someone…

_{ooc: haha, sorry this took so long. </3. i wrote it so late, once i wake-up and read it again I'm going to realize how horrible it is, I just know it. xD so i'm apologizing in advance~}

[SACHA ANTOINE LEROUX]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]681 WORDS FOR FLORIAN psh. it sounded just fine! and it's not late at all. my writing has been atrocious today, i'm sorry D:. DREAM [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Sacha itched to taste the burn of the alcohol, but he was trying to resist. He didn't fully admit it, but he was addicted to the substance. He knew that he was drinking too much too often- he drank every night as it was- but he didn't want to come to the realization he needed to stop. And now, it wasn't as if he had anyone to tell him "no" as he did when he was with his parents. He needed to learn more self control. Granted, he did have self control when it came to most situations, so it wasn't even that in truth. It was the fact he had became dependent on it as a coping mechanism. He felt alone and isolated in the world, and it was, in part, due to himself. He'd never sought out help or answers to his condition before. He was too afraid that he would run into him again. Now that he was in London, he had the opportunity to seek them out, but he still didn't have the confidence to. It seemed he would rather drink himself to death than face the fact that he was stuck with his cursed form for the rest of his life. He was about to pull out the flask of absinthe from his coat pocket, too weak to resist any longer, when someone approached him. He was startled, but did his best to hide it as he looked up at the person. He had to say person because he wasn't quite sure if the other was male or female. Of course, he would never want to insult them by asking, so he supposed he would have to look for social cues in case the other decided to stick around. It intrigued him, but he had heard of effeminate males of the lower class who were, apparently, popular with the aristocrats. Not that he was judging the boy by appearance- no he did seem clean and well-kept, so he couldn't say for sure if he was from one of the lower class ranks or not. But he didn't hold the appearance of the thief that had attacked him, so he felt slightly more relaxed. There was also an unfamiliar scent that he couldn't quite place, though it made him curious, intrigued, and a little wary all at the same time. Sacha had grown used to this, though. It was just a part of life for him after he had been turned into a werewolf. Since he couldn't find any reliable literature on the myths, he had to assume that he had enhanced senses. At least, he hoped it was that. He gave the other male a hopeful smile that turned into a look of eagerness and surprise when it was mentioned a book. "Yes! I've been looking for it all day! I must have dropped it here the other night. It's very important to me..." he cleared his throat after he realized how young and juvenile he must have sounded then. "Do you happen to know where it is?" he asked, this time more dignified than the last. He wasn't accustomed to getting so excited about things. In fact, he was usually a very peaceful boy- he enjoyed reading and listening as opposed to chatting with friends. He let his pen do all of the talking for him because he was far more eloquent with it than he was his words out of his mouth which were spoken with a heavy, French accent. He hoped that the other wouldn't catch on to it, however, for he knew that the English could be unkind to the French, but he'd luckily not encountered any direct confrontation over the matter. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[florian howe]

The bar noise stopped for his shock. His sensitive ear honed in on the latter’s racing heart, curious to know if he was really there or just some wild ghost playing a trick. The book pressed deeper into him by lithe arms still trying to desperately hold onto the man he’d imagined, but… downcast hues lifted to idly stare at the young man before him, with such a vivacious energy now that, what appeared to be, his book was found. It was unmistakable that he was that man that had stumbled away the previous night. Florian could smell it in his hot blood. There was another scent to it, however, that shook the willowy blonde’s memory. A certain aroma that reminded him of Victor, but he didn’t quite understand why when the two looked nothing alike. It was then a small scowl was brought to aspiring poet’s countenance: the realization that the author he so wanted to be real bared an uncanny likeness to his Victor.

“Well, yes…” He began reluctantly, leaning his hip into the side of the table as disappointment finally started settling into his absent soul. “Does it belong to you?” The question posed itself, with the addition of Florian slackening his arms to reveal he had the book against him this entire time. While he didn’t know any better, the book burned as cold as ever from being against him for so long, he placed it on the table in front of the young man his was now more than willing to accept as its owner. Even though his hair was higher and longer, his cheeks were smoother, his jaw was higher… his round lips were fuller as he had spoken. So large, in fact, Florian couldn’t help but notice it was like every word that fled from them was bid farewell with a kiss. But, he was staring. And thus, he quickly dropped his eyes onto the cover of the book he slid closer.

“I hope you don’t mind, but…” It took him a moment to build up the nerve. After all, if someone said they’d read his works, he couldn’t imagine being too thrilled about it. Thinking more about it, he came to the conclusion he might even be quite upset. Which was why after a little internal debate, he decided to just admit to it since it wasn’t as though he had anything negative to say about it. “I loved it.” There, it was definitely better to start off this way. “… I read the entire thing.” The corners of his lips were tugged by small amounts of pride climbing into him and settling with the apprehension in his chest. Really, he couldn’t guess how the man would respond, but he hoped it wouldn’t be with aggression.

_{ooc: ahh, this one is so much shorter, but... idrk what to do. ;w; since, like, they're pretty much just talking. ;A;}

[SACHA ANTOINE LEROUX]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]531 WORDS FOR FLORIAN eh, short posts for now. XD it's fine! length is not an issue~ DREAM [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]His brown eyes widened with shock as the book was slowly, but surely, handed over to him. He took the book and clutched onto it as if it were his lifeline. And, in a sense, it was. All of his personal thoughts were in there hidden under the guise of a poem. His hands trembled as he opened it up only to find his writings still in tact. His name was in the front of the cover, and he had to make sure it was his- had to know that he had been returned not just any mere book, but his diary of matters. Of course, his celebration was short lived when he heard the other had read the poems. He knew he should be angry, and he would be in any other circumstance, but he was far too far to receive his journal to actually dwell on it. This person could have just kept it, but instead he had returned to find its owner, so he felt he could overlook the transgression. Besides, he had said he had loved his work, though Sacha worried he was just being nice. Still, what was the purpose of being nice in the writer's world? Most people took everything so seriously.. he was surprised that it hadn't been burned or otherwise soiled. A wary smile was all he could muster when he addressed the other boy. "Thank you... I don't share my writings... they're very personal to me," he wouldn't reveal more than that, but so many subject matters had been disguised under analogies, metaphors, similes, and poetic rhyme: love, lust, pain, heartbreak, despair, rage, jealousy... it was all too personal for him to really share the true meaning of, and he couldn't help but hope that the other hadn't caught that in his read through. "I'm very appreciative that you returned this to me... But I'm unsure what I can do to repay you," he wondered if the other would be the type to want fine art and ruins from Greece? Maybe he would like an imported item from India? His business was really the only thing Sacha could think of. His father would be upset to lose a sale like that, but this had been his book, and it was far more valuable to him than something easily replaced by money, His writings could not be replaced, and that was the dire truth. He nervously glanced back at the other's face. He really wished he could put his finger on what it was that was so unsettling to him about this other boy. He could feel it- sense it- that something was off. He didn't seem human... and it only frightened Sacha to think what other alternative there was. He wasn't like him, either, so what exactly was he, and why was it making him so nervous? [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[florian howe]

There were several reasons why Florian disliked the pub beyond that of those that just pertained to Victor frequenting the area to capture some unsuspecting drunk for blood. A drunken man's blood was the absolute worst, in the young blonde's opinion. Those large eyes of his narrowed as he listened to them prattle on about the trivialities of life. His head lowered again, too disengaged with the crowd to want to do more than watch the latter author coddle his prized possession with the large pair of vascular hands.

Despite being given a pertinent smile, the chivalrous vampire's straight features poised down on the male remained rigid for a few moments until a soft chuckle ebbed from his throat, giving way to quite a warm grin as he nodded his head to the brunette. He understood, and while he didn't exactly feel guilty for reading the man's soul written-out on parchment, he could certainly pretend to sympathize. "I'm sorry." Florian nervously looked from drunk to drunk before shifting into a chair in front of the illustrious male. His lips parted for a silent sight, a tongue peering from his orifice to gently wet the smooth, pink surface before them.

Lithe fingers rose to nudge back a stray lock of pale fairness. "By all means, being able to meet has been payment enough..." From his hair, he lifted his arm to point upward in a manner that was marked by some sort of novice nimbleness. Either way, a large man came to the table with a pitcher of hot booze ready for consumption. "Do you drink much?" It was a rhetorical question. Florian, though surrounded by the raunchy scent, could smell the latter's alcohol-stained blood. He was just a drunk as all the others, but the young male was willing to overlook this for the beauty that flowed from his pen.

Given a pair of cups, the vampire pushed one toward the latter while pouring the clear amber beverage in a glass reserved for himself. "If you don't mind, though, I would certainly like to know your name..." He spoke without looking at the man, instead his eyes watched the centric swing of the piss he swirled by the motion of his hand before summing the courage to toss it back. There was a particular burn in the pit of his stomach when the drink splashed down his throat. He sighed, pouring another for the sake of appearances. "And possibly discuss where you learned to write... are you self-taught?"

[SACHA ANTOINE LEROUX]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]546 WORDS FOR FLORIAN whee! i think that victor can jump in any time now? DREAM [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Being asked if he drank often had to be one of the most awkward questions he'd ever been asked. No one had posed the question, but he supposed that was because when he did drink with other people, they drank frequently themselves... and he usually drank alone. His house staff never bothered to question his habits, though he'd seen their worried glances. And of course, his parents didn't know of his addiction. However, as the glasses were poured, Sacha thanked the man and brought the liquid to his mouth, chugging it back quickly. Now that he had his book back, he would allow himself to drink. Unfortunately, his tolerance was extremely high partially due to his infliction and also the fact he drank so often that he'd built up resistance. It took a lot to get him to feel anything. "I suppose I do... no one's really asked that before," he laughed. But he wouldn't reveal that his habits were nightly. He could now hardly go for a day without something or he'd become irritable and emotional. He had become too reliant on it to take care of all of his pain and worries, and he suffered immense physical pain during his changes- not to mention the self abuse he inflicted in his wolfish state. He found that his face flushed red when it was mentioned that being able to meet him was payment enough. No one had said something of the sort, and he found himself unable to come up with a proper response until he was asked for his name. "Sacha Antoine Leroux, and you?" he introduced himself. Anyone who was aware of the social hierarchy would know that he was from the French merchant family notorious for their dealings in the black market, even though such a thing was never officially revealed- everyone knew it. Strangely, they knew them more for that than their trading from India. But, he supposed, there was the market for it. "Yes, I'm self taught..." he had never discussed his writings with anyone, and he found it strange (though not unpleasant) to do so. "Reading was always a source of comfort to me as a child," he explained. "I suppose it still is, but I find greater comfort in writing... that way I can express my own true feelings," at that, he smiled sadly and took the flask from his pocket, taking a swig of the green liquid. Sometimes, the watered down alcohol of the tavern just couldn't compare. "Do you write as well? You seem interested in it," he asked. Sacha would be grateful for some of the attention to be taken off of him- he never knew how to talk about himself, though he seemed to have done a lot of it lately. Granted, when he had met the young marquess in the park, he had revealed information in his hurry to write and reluctance to dismiss a person of higher status than he. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[florian howe]

Although he hated the stuff, at some social gatherings there was nothing to drink but some sort of alcohol. The young male looked into his emptied cup curiously, finding that despite never before having succumbed to the substance so easily he was already becoming a little woozy from just the two drinks. His hues rested sharply on the latter as he spoke about books and things, while his dizzy mind could only think about one thing. "Mmh..." He purred, leaning in close while he poured another glass and sipped from it. Slowly, his gaze started away for the duration of his tongue to rub awkwardly against the roof of his mouth, slithering over his canines now beginning protrude like a terribly inconvenient erection.

That name seemed familiar to him. Probably something he'd heard in passing conversation, but he was intrigued enough due to his mounting intoxication to properly pursue his memory for answers. "Your name is... French, is it not?" Florian slowly brought his attention back to the handsome brunette, seeming to fidget while he sat still. No, it wasn't him that was fidgeting, it was his beautifully saturated blood. The blonde ran his across his lips discreetly, taking another unnecessary swallow from his mug. "Florian Howe." He didn't bother being any more formal than was needed to answer the man's question, in his current state it seemed a little petty, and his father, the great Victor Howe, was an asshole.

The young writer chuckled at his newfound companion's enthusiasm, and after a bit of backstory he was delighted to have discovered him. "Ah!" He exclaimed, pouring yet another glass for himself. "Yes! Me, too! When I was in the orphanage, there was a lot of comfort in--..." Florian cut himself off, understanding by a few accumulated looks that he had been talking a little too loudly in his drunken excitement. His stomach cringed, smelling so much blood in one place.

Taking a breath, and setting out the monetary value to cover the pitcher of booze, he calmly requested if Sacha wouldn't mind coming with him to talk more about the joy of writing while he got some fresh air to help cool his head. "I'd much appreciate the company." He smiled softly, awaiting a response.

ooc: victor can pop-in after your post. c: i'll tell synth

[SACHA ANTOINE LEROUX]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]517 WORDS FOR FLORIAN kay! and sorry this took me so long. i was sick with food poisoning x.x DREAM [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]As a werewolf, he didn't have to deal with the same troubles as vampires (not that he knew that the boy speaking to him was a vampire). He wasn't worried about his fangs or trying to keep from pouncing on someone and sucking their blood dry. Rather, he was just like one of the humans, just with an increased resistance to alcohol. He took a few gulps of the beer before turning his attention back to the conversation. The boy's name was Florian? It was a nice name to be sure, and he couldn't help but think it suited him. "It's nice to meet you," he was pleased to be able to speak with another person interested in writing, though he wasn't sure what all there would be to discuss. He did not much want to talk about the subjects of his writings or their inspirations. It wasn't that he thought that the other was uncouth enough to try to steal them, but he did not relish in the idea of being so open with a stranger. His writings were like his diary- his innermost thoughts. "Yeah, it is. I run a shop in the West End... My family's business is there. We import items from India, but we are really good at finding things impossible for others to get a hold of," that was as nice as he could say it without revealing the words "the black market". It wasn't that people didn't know it, it's just that no one really talked about it. Their services were very valuable to the higher class particularly those fond of architecture and art. Really, he enjoyed working in that business, but it was his own issues with his family that kept him from wanting to stay in the business, that and his illness that caused him to close shop for over a week. True, he could hire staff, but he didn't trust them. Then again, Sacha didn't trust anyone. He sighed and that fact. He wished he could and wondered if he had when he was a child. He'd been close with his father and his mother had doted upon him. Everything had changed after they had moved back to France. Nothing was ever, nor would it be, the same. Leaving France, he couldn't help but feel, was one of the best decisions he had made whether or not it was for the ultimate best. Sacha smiled at the other warmly, now in a better mood than before. "You were adopted, then?" he asked but immediately felt guilty. He couldn't really assume that, could he? But this boy was educated well, and the way he spoke showed he wasn't one of the poor, so had he been able to find a guardian? "I grew up in the countryside with just my mother," and staff, but none were around his age. "My father was always away... so they were a great source of company," he felt he could reveal just that. After all, it wasn't uncommon of aristocracy and merchants who always had important matters to attend to. "Yes, I'll accompany you," he gave into the request. It couldn't hurt, could it? Sacha needed company, and he craved socialization, but he was often too scared to take it. Even now, he was terrified that something could go horribly, horribly wrong. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[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;] Such trembling smooth limbs that had bequeath at his request with a solemn and loud clout upon his cheek. His skin glowed with a low rouge and the thunderous guffawing of his coworkers made his smirk all the more ironic. The rowdy group of policemen had dared him to go up to the tavern wench and proposition to her a night of tangled limbs after the ingestion of a most elusive and expensive green drink that glowed in the low light. It was to no man's marvel that the response was properly placed to the chagrin of Victor. Though he was a quiet man and a man of sense and respect to those around him… his morals tended to fall once the sin of drink permeated his personality and he began to act like a scoundrel as no other would dare. His mustache easily tickling the mouths of many of those of the fairer gender and his own gender who were foolish enough to allow him to fall between their thighs. it tickled his fancy to be able to do this every other day without the notice of his son. The shame he would have should his precious Flower be allowed to observe his rowdy manner. Not that he had much control of himself when under the influence of course. He turned, once…twice on his heel before he found his companions. Their loud laughs and clinking of drinks drowned the sounds or all others. The odorous smell of musk from men who had gone days without bath filled his nostrils so he could barely catch the scent of his son. But even then, he brushed it off as a lingering aroma off his coat. "Say, good fellow!" A meddling tone hailed to him, slumping his weight upon him. Granted, it was hardly any weight, especially close to the full moon, but he had to act the part. Especially given the fact the male was give a robustly large man. He sagged down and made a show of straining to hold the man up. "What say you my most inebriated mate?" He chuckled out and pushed the stout man into a chair where the others pushed more pints their way filled to the brim and nearly overflowing with foam. His lips quirked widely, he gulped down the beverage, his body burned through liquor so easily on account of his condition, for that he was glad for. The paunchy policeman gave a large snort and pointed toward a table where two suspiciously feminine looking persons in male clothing sat immersed in conversation. "Look'em ladies of the night! I'd like to shove em down and…and" Victor placed another mug in front of the corpulent pig, to distract him. The others however took notice of them and began goading each other to rush over and smack em on the rump. His eyes focused on the two and he froze. One he barely recognized but the other… He wondered what his dearest flower was doing out. Perhaps he was hungry and was out on a prowl of sorts? But to pick a werewolf… he took a large and loud sniff of the air. His throat rumbled with a low growl. My … was he disappointed in his son. Coming here and flirting with a male other than him, he would not have it. No…. Flirting with a man, period was against God and against what his father demanded. Narrowing his eyes he took another gulp of his pint and slammed the mug down. Pushing the two men, who began heading Florian's way, back toward the group and he headed toward his blonde blossom. He stumbled a bit, but he knew his inebriation wouldn't last quite as long as the others around him. "Yes I'll accompany you." The response hit his ear and he shifted toward a column, hiding himself to observe the two. Accompany?! Was his adored blooming son prostituting himself?! He would not have it!… Still… he waited behind the column watching their movements and prepared to follow after them should they make a move to leave the bar. sorry for the delay, school and all..

[florian howe]

The deathly pale young writer nodded politely to show he listened with intrigue to the latter's revelation. He found the vision of the Frenchman's upbringing one of a certain delicacy. To have known his father and mother, although he admitted his father's presence was a rarity, to know them nonetheless... for whatever reason, it gave the very innocent idealist a sense of hopeful inspiration. A pleased smile tugged the corners of his lips, and disappeared as soon as it arrived, though that same delight still shined in his brilliantly blue eyes.

While he admired the man enough to desire to reveal his past, it was nothing glamorous he cared to discuses. Just dark, rainy days spent alone in a dreadfully cold room where he practiced his writing for the sake of alleviating his boredom and loneliness. Many of those first stories, as he recalled, most always pertained a protagonist not so much unlike himself in sad predicaments where he emerged from well-liked and beloved by his peers that outside of his written realm feared and most likely despised him for being so strange.

There wasn't anything to talk about regarding his childhood. After his request for company was accepted, he merely stood from his seat. All his patience had been spent while he awaited the latter to respond. He wished quite desperately to get out of this dirty, little hovel; with all its foul odors and clamorous brutes he greatly wanted to leave behind his slippery silhouette. Risen from his seat, he tucked the chair under the table meticulously in an effort to consume time for Sacha to gather his bearings and readily follow behind him as he stepped out of the old pub.

Florian was unsure if he imagined having seen Victor upon rising and pushing in his chair, but gave the credit of such a vivid hallucination to the amount of alcohol he consumed while being so hungry. There was so much moisture in the air outside, he couldn't appreciate the stale clamminess one bit with a nose subtly turned-up. "Quite fine weather..." He commented sardonically, while he stepped out more for Sacha to approach him.

"Inside, you said you owned a shop?" Somewhere, anywhere, he wanted the privacy of being alone with this man. He seemed quite bashful, not at all eager to emerge from his tightly clenched shell. The soft sound of nostrils inhaling the scent of a soggy mutt as Florian curiously wondered if that smell carried from within the bar, or perhaps it was on his thick coat endearingly gifted him by his father.

Nonetheless, he felt more at liberty to grin beneath the darkness of the hanging moon shining behind him. The fear of his canines being exposed didn't bother him, because he knew in this particular light he couldn't be much distinguished by any mortal's plain eye. The years of trickery made him confident in the positions of the dark. "I'd much like to see it, if you wouldn't mind..." His head dipped down to idly gaze on at his black shoe caused to glisten from the dampness it collected.

"I don't much care for this sort of drizzle..." It only served to remind him of that depressing orphanage, and that depressingly dark home he lived in alongside his father. That strange man that was becoming more strange in the passing days... Sacha, Florian was certain, hadn't the slightest clue how refreshing he was for the lonely blonde. Friends were a commodity he lacked, but in this other person he saw potential. Hopefully, he wasn't the only one that felt such a way. With such a beautiful moon tonight, he felt restless in his skin...

"Leroux?" ... or perhaps it wasn't the moon that was making him uncomfortable. There was a pounding drum in his chest, a lip that trembled ever so slightly, a hunger that remained unquenched. Through his somewhat blurred vision brought on by his intoxication, his hues he found had fixated on the latter's neck. His jaw slackened with a soft, exhaled hiss. If he had any power within him to manipulate with his words, he called upon them at this moment as he tried almost desperately to reel the latter nearer.

[SACHA ANTOINE LEROUX]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]506 WORDS FOR FLORIAN whee~ hope this made sense. DREAM [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Sacha gave the other a strange look when he asked to see the shop. "I don't plan to head back tonight... You could come by when it is open," he offered. No, at the moment, he planned to go home and rest. The full moon would be in the next night or two, and he couldn't go out drinking. He would stay in and drink and try to numb the pain away. He didn't much relish in the thought of going alone somewhere with this person he'd only just met. After all, last time, he'd gotten mugged. It was true that he was just a little bit wiser. That, and there was a strange scent coming from this boy that filled him with unease; he didn't know how to place it, but it was almost as if he could feel the death on him, as it were. It was so strange, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that perhaps he shouldn't allow himself to go anywhere secluded with this young man. Perhaps it was the closeness to the full moon that was making him so paranoid. Perhaps he could make an excuse that he had left his coin purse and needed to retrieve it. It was partially truth, as he had left a coin purse there and had yet to collect it from the bartender who was, graciously, holding on to it (though he couldn't say that all of the coins would be in there when he picked it up.) He gave the other a hopeful, worn smile, however, and gazed to the side. Why did he even bother trying to live in the world anymore as it was? If he was killed, would it be better than his current pitiful existence? Unwanted and unloved by his own family... sometimes he couldn't help but think that, maybe, having no family was better than having the one he did. It was a horrible thought, especially to those children who had no parents and sought the comfort and attention, but if they had his life experiences, could they honestly say their life was better with guardians? This thought was momentarily interrupted by the strange scent of something so familiar... something near them. Sacha had never interacted with his own kind after what had happened to him as a child and never sought out others. He had been too frightened and ashamed to even imagine interacting with them. What if they knew the man that had changed him? What if they helped him find him? What if he was hurt again? He shuddered to think of it. At that, he physically shivered and pulled his coat closer to his person. Perhaps he was just imagining things, but the paranoia in his mind was growing- what if the strange scent that also lingered on this boy... what if it was that man? What if it was a trap all along? He recoiled and looked as if he was about to be sick at the thought. Panic stricken, he gave Florian a very apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good company..." he grimaced, fighting the urge to run while he had the chance. If he was over reacting, and he knew that he was, he didn't want to damage the possibility of some sort of friendship. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0