The World That She Sees // Lucien

[Catherine Baudet]

Catherine Eponine Baudet, vivacious, nineteen, and spoiled almost beyong the scope of reason, was in her element. All eyes were on her tonight, and she was rising to the occasion splendidly.

Her gown was an elaborate confection of sage green silk and ivory lace, with pale pink flowers embroidered down the front. Creme-colored chiffon peeked above the bodice, keeping the neckline from being too daring, and a delicate band of crystals formed an empire waistline. A wide sage ribbon was cinched around her waist, tied in a bow offset to one side, and nestled in its center was a diamond brooch.

It had taken four servants more than an hour to lace Catherine into her corset and dress, but everyone who saw her tonight agreed that it was well worth the effort. She dazzled.

The reason for this extravagance was that tonight, Catherine would be debuted to the finest members of Parisian society as the bride-to-be of one Eduard de la Fontaine, the eldest son of the richest aristocrat in Paris.

The official announcement had not yet been made, but everyone in attendance knew the reason for the festivities. Catherine was standing with her parents as attendees came to greet and congratulate the family on their impending merger, and Catherine's smile could have lit the entire room (which, incidentally, was lit by a monstrous crystal chandelier, which was flanked by four smaller ones).

For every family who was presented to the Baudets, there was a son wishing he was worthy of Catherine's hand, or a daughter who wanted to slit her throat for snagging the most desirable bachelor in the city. Honestly, her parents weren't all that well-liked, either, because they had a reputation for being horribly snobby and tight with their money when anyone other than themselves might benefit.

Catherine, as entitled as her parents, appeared oblivious to the gamut of negative emotions streaming from her guests. She knew -or rather assumed- that everyone who bowed or curtsied before her adored her and worshiped the very ground upon which she trod.

After what felt like hours nodding and smiling, Catherine found that she was growing thirsty, and so she disengaged herself from between her parents and make her way to the champagne fountain, where the golden drink bubbled up and flowed down over a marble mermaid.

An attendant handed her a crystal champagne flute, and she took a dainty sip of the beverage as she perused the sea of faces before her. She didn't know three-quarters of the people in attendance.

Catherine finished her drink and turned to return to her parents' sides, but at the very moment she moved in that direction, a blundering party guest collided with her, spilling his champagne down her bodice and over her gown.

"You imbecile!!" She hissed at the offending gentleman, giving him a glare that would freeze vodka.

Tagz:[/b] Lucien!
Notez:[/b] Nothing comes to mind!
Clothez:[/b] See the post, foo!
Wordz:[/b] A few!
Credz:[/b] This template is by Monica plz do not steal. lyrics are left me a fool by the indigo girls.

[Lucien Villette de Séraphin]

It felt as if it had been ages since Lucien had been back in Paris. The Île-de-France had held too many memories for him, and ever since … well, since everything, he had fled from Paris and never looked back. It had taken him a few years to finally come to terms with the fact that everyone he had ever cared for, everyone he had loved, was dead – his wife, his sister, his best friend, his associates. Living near the constant reminder of it hadn’t helped at all, and the last deed he had done in Paris was to help round up Robespierrists, salvage what records and artifacts he could from the Chevalerie’s stores, and then headed south.

From there it had been Marseille, then Provence, then away from France entirely: Venice for some time, York for another, Saint Petersburg, Moscow … even to the states at some point. Lucien never sat still, surviving at best and struggling through near-destitution at worst. Drink gradually became his closest friend, and courtesans his closest lovers. Without the conventional responsibilities of family and work, Lucien barely scraped by, but as the years passed, he inevitably grew weary of hiding from what he knew was his duty, even now: that of the Chevalerie.

As he had nobody to support or look after, his time was his, and he soon turned it towards research, first focusing on the loose ends left open-ended by the abrupt demise of the Chevalerie’s members. A couple had been simple: returning artifacts to the descendants of the late members. Others were less so: hunting down a demon that had been running amok even before the Revolution had been a years’-long task, especially as Lucien was now essentially working solo, and without the cushy funding and support of the old knighthood.

But at least it gave Lucien a focus again. If they had had to die for something, at least he could strive to continue the legacy the others had left behind.

The issue of his vampirism had been a difficult one to cope with at first, but Lucien had grown accustomed to it; at least he had the knowledge he had gathered from his time in the Chevalerie, only now he was what he used to hunt before. Not that they discriminated based solely on that; after all, Devereux had been a vampire and everyone had respected his abilities and loyalty. It wasn’t a matter of one’s nature, but rather, what one did with it.

Sometimes it was still depressing to think of; actually, usually it was, especially when Lucien was alone with his thoughts to reflect on the passage of time. It had been nearly an entire century since the deluge. Already? Yes, already. He had grown adept at flitting from place to place, staying under the radar of ‘society,’ and yet being able to blend into it when necessary. This desire sort of came and went; sometimes he liked to move about normally, and other times he went into seclusion and became entrenched in his research.

It was only after so many years of this practice that he was finally able to manipulate the law into returning his family’s wealth to him. The task had been equal parts timing, research, forgery, and blackmail, but after planting just the right people and acting out an identity for long enough, he managed to reacquire his money and property.

The property … he wasn’t quite ready to return to the estate he had grown up in, and so that had been sold to someone else. He had full intentions of purchasing it back one day, just not yet. And it wasn’t as if he couldn’t wait for a generation or two to pass.

With his newly reacquired money, he was quick to play the investment market, making speculations based on what trends he had observed over the ages. He also bought property in Champagne, the Loire, and Rhône, building and planting vineyards there – another investment that required time, a luxury to which he was obviously privy. And then there was the matter of art; naturally, his constant research and scouting made him quite literate on the art market, and he became something of a private consultant for antiquarians, able to source and retrieve even the most obscure of pieces for the right customer.

But he still set time aside for his more ‘supernatural’ work, still hunting down malevolent supernatural anomalies, stopping them at their source. Sometimes he was paid; usually he wasn’t. But if he stayed in one place for long enough, people knew to come to him.

As it were, another phase of wishing to ‘settle’ came to him, and he eventually returned to Paris to establish himself under a new alias and profile. Naturally he knew how to manipulate the social sphere, making sure to be conspicuous in certain things (buying an estate just outside of Paris, attending the opera, donating to local music schools, hosting parties for no reason other than to … host parties), intentionally inconspicuous in others (being seen late at night skirting about in not so nice parts of town, visiting stranger’s houses on grounds of ‘business,’ disappearing without a word for weeks on end and then reappearing as if nothing had happened), and finish it with the strategic planting of rumors here and there.

Other than what society could deduce of him, he said very little of himself, letting others talk his ears off about their accomplishments. He learned much this way, storing this knowledge for when he would need it for whatever devious intentions he let simmer. Nobody knew his profession for he had the appearance of many, nor did they know his family for he had the appearance of none. There was a rumor that he was a veteran of the Franco-Prussian war, and one that he had had a wife who had died while he was away, which gave birth to the subsequent rumor that he harbored an unquenchable thirst for young women. There was another that suggested he had a hold on half of the shipping companies in Bordeaux and Marseille, and was a main supplier of the new trend of absinthe cafes around the city. Some said that he was of foreign blood; others claimed that he was of the original noblesse de race, and could trace his lineage back as far as Gaulic France. Only one thing was certain (and even then, it was not): that he was the Comte de Séraphin.

He was good at maintaining a presence just on the fringe of society, making sure that he was felt even when he was not seen.

On this particular night, he had ventured out on account of one of those meaningless invitations he had received to some party. He knew the sort: the ones that provided an environment for the wealthy to flaunt their riches and status, for the open forum of the exchange of insincere compliments. But, all superficiality aside, Lucien had learned quite a while back that these were the perfect places to find a new bit of supper, whether for that one night or several nights thereafter.

Lucien arrived at the estate right on the dot, but didn’t bother joining the queue of people clamoring to congratulate the host’s daughter on her marriage or betrothal or whatever nonsense they were celebrating. No, he knew it was foolish to target someone so close to the host of a party; rather, he chose to skim the outskirts, assessing the women with an appraising sweep of his gaze, sizing them up while at the same time evaluating their scents. Pfft. Virgin women were an increasingly rare asset nowadays – though of course Lucien supposed he couldn’t complain, having contributed to this demographic.

Pfeh. Perhaps some champagne would lower his standards a bit. He’d passed out a small handful of sly smiles and pointed looks, receiving the same in return, but nobody looked too promising yet. However, as he plucked a flute from a tray and drank half of it in one go, someone walked right into him, and the glass tipped.

Oh dear God.

”I have been called plenty of things with equal venom before, mademoiselle, but ‘imbecile’ is a first,” he returned thoughtfully. ”Thankfully, I do think it adds a touch of character to your ensemble, lest you risked blending into this crowd of bland, mindless women.”

Chuckling good-naturedly, he exchanged his now-empty flute for a filled one and made to disappear back into the crowd, but then he hesitated, a brow quirked. He caught scent of something … different, and he glanced back to her as if just having realized something.

Her anger had caused her blood to rise briefly, and even then he could smell that it was pure.

”Ah, Mademoiselle Baudet.” He purposefully didn’t introduce himself. ”You must be enjoying all of the groveling tonight. I would add to the collection of compliments, but unfortunately ‘tis always a bit of a disappointment to witness another instance of upper-class inbreeding. Nonetheless, the champagne is quite wonderful; whoever selected it possesses excellent taste.”

In fact, it was from one of his wineries.

”Anyhow, I shan’t keep you, especially if you must take care of your wardrobe. I would offer to pay for the damage, but I am certain that money is of no issue to your parents. Besides, the dress would look much lovelier on the floor of your bedchamber, I am certain.”

Chuckling again, he swept his curls (which were currently secured back with a velvet ribbon) over his shoulder and turned away, disappearing back into the throng.

But he didn’t leave. While he was good at disappearing, he opted to stay, silently observing the family and the suitor in particular. What a foppish looking pig. Lucien would delight in snatching his prize from him.

[Catherine Baudet]

”I have been called plenty of things with equal venom before, mademoiselle, but ‘imbecile’ is a first,” the man dubbed "imbicile" returned thoughtfully. ”Thankfully, I do think it adds a touch of character to your ensemble, lest you risked blending into this crowd of bland, mindless women.”

Catherine balked, affronted by his insinuation that she was in any danger of blending in with the lesser specimens in the room. While it was true that Catherine was staggering, it could be argued that she was not as beautiful as she first appeared. People were often so cowed by her own perception of her beauty that they believed it, and it took them a while to realize that she wasn't all that different from many of the young women of her standing.

Ah, Mademoiselle Baudet. You must be enjoying all of the groveling tonight. I would add to the collection of compliments, but unfortunately ‘tis always a bit of a disappointment to witness another instance of upper-class inbreeding. Nonetheless, the champagne is quite wonderful; whoever selected it possesses excellent taste.”

He gave her an appraising look, which Catherine only appreciated because she believed he would realize the error of his ways. Anticipating a full apology, she held her chin up so high that, had it begun to rain, she would have drowned. The expected apology did not come.

”Anyhow, I shan’t keep you, especially if you must take care of your wardrobe. I would offer to pay for the damage, but I am certain that money is of no issue to your parents. Besides, the dress would look much lovelier on the floor of your bedchamber, I am certain.”

Her jaw dropped so fast that Catherine didn't know her mouth was open for several seconds. It was not until her betrothed approached her and placed a finger under her chin to close her gaping mouth that she actually realized just how long she had been standing there, gawping like a wide-mouthed bass.

"Close your mouth, beloved, you'll catch a fly," he teased her, planting a kiss on the back of her fingers. Mouth closed, Catherine assumed a dour expression. "My bride-to-be is displeased," Eduard observed, and Catherine looked up at him, still looking for all the world like someone had just told her that the sky was purple and made of hedgehogs.

"Darling, you're white as snow. Has someone threatened you?" Eduard clutched her hand, looking worried.

"What? Oh, no," she said dazedly, then tittering as though to brush the encounter off (as if she could). A long-fingered hand fluttered to her chest. "A gent- well, there was a guest who simply had too much to drink and forgot himself. I'm fine," she assured him, and his face cleared.

"Splendid," he said, already forgetting about her momentary distress. "Come, my love, I want you to meet my cousin. He is a Duke and has made a generous gift in honor of our impending nuptials."

Catherine was hardly hearing a word Eduard said, instead combing the crowd for a glimpse of the blonde man who had been so offensive.

"Yes, dear, in a moment," she said vaguely. Suddenly, she caught a glint of candlelight on golden curls, and she disengaged her hand from that of her suitor near the door to one of the adjoining rooms.

"Darling, give me a moment. I just saw my..." She fished for someone she could use to get away for a moment. "...My dear friend. Angelique. From the girls' school." Without waiting for Eduard's reply, Catherine set off across the crowded ballroom toward the offensive "gentleman."

Catherine couldn't have said why she wanted to see him, but something about his boldness had intrigued her. Not to mention his physical appearance; He was quite the most exquisite man she had even laid eyes on. The juxtaposition of the man's grace and beauty against his crude but musical speech fascinated Catherine.

When she reached the door where she thought she had seen him from across the room, he had vanished. Thoroughly disquieted by what he had said about "upper-class inbreeding," Catherine peeked over her shoulder and surreptitiously slipped through the door into a dark room, which, once her eyes had adjusted to the dimness, she realized was a sort of parlor or smoking room. She sank onto a chaise lounge and fiddled absently with the engagement ring on her left hand.

Tagz:[/b] Lucien!
Notez:[/b] Nothing comes to mind!
Clothez:[/b] See the post, foo!
Wordz:[/b] A few!
Credz:[/b] This template is by Monica plz do not steal. lyrics are left me a fool by the indigo girls.

[Lucien Villette de Séraphin]

Indeed, shortly after having exchanged such delightful conversation with Mlle Baudet, Lucien had, as intended, disappeared into the throng, resuming his idle 'perusing' of tonight's wares. And though he had had a glass or two of the champagne with the intention of lowering his 'standards,' now that he had set his sights on Mlle Baudet, it seemed that he was doing the very opposite of what he had intended. No matter. Sometimes a dose of spontaneity was good.

But maybe a little amuse-bouche might do, as he had already been here for almost an hour with nothing yet to sample. He spent another moment looking about, until he caught the eye of one of the house's maids scuttling by, doing her best to remain unseen by the guests. Upon locking eyes, she froze, startled, and Lucien simply smiled to himself as he turned and swept over to her, snaking an arm around her middle and swiftly escorting her down a side hall and to a parlor that was out of the way.

"'Tis regretful that the 'nobility' is much too self-absorbed to notice a little gem such as yourself, mademoiselle," he drawled as he shut the door behind them.

Not too long afterwards, the door opened again, and the maid came stumbling out as if in a daze, her gaze unfocused, and her hand cupped to her throat. She shuddered to herself and went wandering off, trying to remember what duties she had been attending to before being ... distracted?

Nonetheless, she exited just moments before Catherine entered, and indeed the room was still, though perhaps a few cushions on the sofa were out of place.

The moment Catherine had settled into the chaise-longue, however, the lock on the door clicked shut, and then in the next moment, a voice murmured in her ear.

"Oh, hello again, chère Catherine. Are you the main course, parchance?" The inquiry was just above a whisper and yet still musical in its teasing, warm breath running over her ear.

Yet when she would look, Lucien was not actually behind her, but at the window, gazing blandly out over the gardens, which too were lit, as if to accommodate the multitude of guests who all simply could not fit in the reception hall, how ever grand.

"So tell me, as it has been a while since I have last been in Paris. Is it still the trend for marriages to be arranged? Usually for the sake of money? Your dear Edouard does look as if he bleeds the stuff, and certainly not at the expense of slave labor in Africa and the Americas - such a thing would be absurd for a coffee empire, n'est-ce pas?"

He shrugged, setting a hand on his waist as he turned from the window to face her, his figure only-half illuminated by the light outside, which scarcely managed to break through the gauzy chiffon curtains. "Of course, I suppose that has been an unfortunate tradition, the transfer of a young woman from one state of dependency to another. When I first saw you, mademoiselle, I thought perhaps that you were a cut above the rest, but considering the current state of affairs - and indeed, the occasion of the party - it seems mediocrity manages to catch up to you after all." The 'observation' was followed by an exaggerated forlorn sigh.

Lucien had drifted over to the back of the chaise-longue now, resting his hands atop it, a bit too close for comfort, though he did not actually touch her.

[Catherine Baudet]

"Oh, hello again, chère Catherine. Are you the main course, parchance?"

Catherine practically levitated off of the chaise, such was her astonishment at the voice that had drifted from somewhere in the shadows.

"So tell me, as it has been a while since I have last been in Paris. Is it still the trend for marriages to be arranged? Usually for the sake of money? Your dear Edouard does look as if he bleeds the stuff, and certainly not at the expense of slave labor in Africa and the Americas - such a thing would be absurd for a coffee empire, n'est-ce pas?"

The voice seemed to come from behind her, and she looked over her shoulder, frightened at the cold timbre of the voice. It sounded chillingly close, but she saw no one. But then she turn to face forward again, and saw a shape detach itself from the shadows near the window.

"Of course, I suppose that has been an unfortunate tradition, the transfer of a young woman from one state of dependency to another. When I first saw you, mademoiselle, I thought perhaps that you were a cut above the rest, but considering the current state of affairs - and indeed, the occasion of the party - it seems mediocrity manages to catch up to you after all."

Catherine did not know whether to be insulted or terrified, but at the moment, she would settle for extremely unnerved. When he seemed to float over to the chaise and ended up behind her, Catherine found that she could not turn to face him.

Gathering what little courage she possessed, Catherine steeled herself and said, "I am not mediocre." It was the lamest possible thing she could have said, and as the words spilled from her mouth, she could have slapped herself at just how pathetic they sounded. She tried again.

"Edouard loves me, not that it's any of your business, and I am... very fond of him in return." Nope, still lame.

Tagz:[/b] Lucien!
Notez:[/b] Nothing comes to mind!
Clothez:[/b] See the post, foo!
Wordz:[/b] A few!
Credz:[/b] This template is by Monica plz do not steal. lyrics are left me a fool by the indigo girls.

[Lucien Villette de Séraphin]

Tonight was turning out to be much more promising than Lucien had initially thought it would. He had come here expecting some sort of meal - and indeed he had already indulged with the maid and all - but to make a catch as worthy as the very woman for whom the ball was being thrown? Hah. It had been a long while since Lucien had enjoyed such a lofty ... erm ... victim.

He could practically taste her uncertainty, and uncertainty was a wonderful thing indeed when coming from his next supper. Her blood had risen again, and Lucien did not care so much for the reason; only that he could smell it even more vividly now that it was not masked beneath the scents of hundreds of others. He inhaled slowly, and let it out in a long, contented sigh, savoring the smell of her warm, inviting blood.

He didn't bother to reply to her first assertion, allowing his amused silence to speak for him, to state plainly that he didn't believe her.

But her second statement did elicit a quiet chuckle from him, and he folded an arm over the back of the chaise-longue, leaning down behind her. A couple of his golden curls had come loose from their ribbon, tickling over her shoulder, before his lips found her ear. At the same time, his free arm draped over her other shoulder, his palm smoothing down her arm.

"Fond enough that you would abandon him to come seek me out instead?" he queried in what was almost a purr.

Disengaging himself from her, he chuckled again to himself as he began to pace slowly about the room, folding his hands behind his back. He had recognized Edouard's surname and title the moment he had read the invitation, and though he knew the name was common, the man's family's business and the physical resemblance was simply too much. Edouard was undoubtedly the descendant of Georges de la Fontaine, one of the court physicians who had ratted out the Chevalerie to the Émeraudes during a very critical moment of one of their operations, a tattle that had nearly cost Devereux his life.

Needless to say, Lucien was still not impressed, even now. And though revenge was petty, he still couldn't help relishing the opportunity before him.

"I suppose that I should be a tad more frank, chérie," he sighed as he came to a stop behind the chaise-longue again. "Some time between now and the end of the night, I fully intend to bed you. And a bed is hardly required for the occasion," he mused, reaching a hand over her shoulder and absently toying with one of her chocolate-brown curls. "And when I have you on your back with your legs parted, groaning helplessly as you are crushed beneath the burden of all-consuming passion, I trust that you will understand when I consider your claim and come to the conclusion that you are not as fond of Monsieur Edouard as you say that you are."

His hand slipped from her hair to crawl back over her shoulder and down her arm as before, while he dipped his head down to brush his lips over the nape of her neck opposite where his hand was wandering, his fangs grazing the skin.

"Now or later? There are still a few hours left in the night, mademoiselle," he hummed, inviting himself to press a line of soft kisses along where his fangs had just been.

[Catherine Baudet]

"Fond enough that you would abandon him to come seek me out instead?"

So startled was Catherine at the stranger's bold inquiry that she did not immediately answer, which she realized too late would be all the confirmation he would need.

"I did not seek you-" she began, but was cut off when the stranger spoke again.


"I suppose that I should be a tad more frank, chérie," he sighed as he came to a stop behind the chaise-longue again. "Some time between now and the end of the night, I fully intend to bed you. And a bed is hardly required for the occasion."

She felt his fingers brush her long, graceful neck as he toyed with one of her curls. Without meaning to, her hand went to her hair, and inadvertently came to rest on top of his. His hands were cool to the touch, and their grazing of her neck made her shudder.

But the shudder wasn't altogether unpleasant. In fact, the thrill of electricity that traveled from the place where his fingers had brushed her neck into her chest and made her heart start to beat rather erratically. She had to put significant thought and effort into keeping her breathing level.

Just when Catherine thought the man could not make her any more uncomfortable, he said, "and when I have you on your back with your legs parted, groaning helplessly as you are crushed beneath the burden of all-consuming passion, I trust that you will understand when I consider your claim and come to the conclusion that you are not as fond of Monsieur Edouard as you say that you are."

And then his hand had vanished from her neck and was trailing slowly over her shoulder and down her arm, raising goosebumps in places she didn't even know she possessed. And his mouth! His lips, his perfectly sculpted lips, were on her neck now, and they felt delicious and forbidden and exciting and dangerous.

Part of Catherine Baudet wanted suddenly and desperately to forget all the years of cotillion and deportment training and propriety, and to just give in to the feelings he was coaxing from her body.

But no! This was wrong. She was to be married to Edouard, and it would be a disgrace to go to her marriage bed already claimed by another man. A man whose name she did not even know!

"Now?" He whispered against her ear. And what was that grazing her skin? But he wasn't done. "Or later? There are still a few hours left in the night, mademoiselle."

Still refusing the urge to turn and face him, Catherine swallowed the sense of rising panic that was welling up in her throat. All she knew to do was remain absolutely, impossibly still.

"Your name," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "At least tell me your name."