OoC: Check out the discussion topic I posted for a bit more information and such. Otherwise, here we go.
BiC:
Valentin LaPomeret was the sort of man who got what he wanted. Whatever he wanted. Whether it be a woman, a job, drugs, alcohol; a man who had his vices and reveled in them. His nights generally revolved around bar hopping, romantic rendezvous with several willing participants and skirting the reach of the long arm of the law. Tonight was one such night; a night of drunken stupor and an all-around good time. Valentin was on his fourth bar, his fifth date - if you counted the twins earlier separately - and he had lost count of the drinks and lines he had done in that time. People naturally gravitated to him, offered him things to gain his favor, most often another shot or some sort of act of affection. New Orleans was the perfect place for his haphazard lifestyle: his life philosophy was, “no consequences,” short, sweet, and to the point; a philosophy that the city itself seemed to mirror right back to him.
His appearance added to his natural charm and was the second biggest contributor to people taking notice of him in a crowd. He was tall, slender and carried himself with an air of confidence, his skin was a milk chocolate brown, beautifully bronzed. His black hair feathered and cut short, he ran a hand through it as he muttered something into his current date’s ear, causing her to giggle as she tugged on his thin, black tie and pulled him into a kiss. Always dressed immaculately, he immediately fixed his askew tie and patted out any wrinkles on his black, swallowtail coat. His eyes were hidden behind dark lensed round frame sunglasses despite the darkness of the bar; the dark didn’t bother his eyesight and he didn’t want to draw attention to his eye color, which was an unnatural red.
“I will return, ma chère.” Taking the last swig of his bourbon, Valentin stumbled off toward the restroom, looking around the room and taking inventory of anyone who caught his interest. There weren’t many people that did, it was the curse of being the most charming person in the room; not many other people seemed interesting by comparison. Except for one face in the crowd, a man in ratty confederate grays, his features sallow and yellowed. The light had left his eyes. “Say bra, that’s a pretty tasteless costume. I didn’t think it was Halloween yet.” Valentin laughed as he tried to shove past the man, “if you’re into reenactment, you’ve gone a bit south of Gettysburg--”
The soldier placed a heavy hand on Valentin’s chest and pushed him up against the wall, “tell her…” the soldier hissed, as if the words escaped along with his raspy breath. As soon as the soldier had made contact with him, Valentin was shown a vision of what he could only assume was the past. He saw the same soldier, but his uniform was new, neat, and clean and he was standing on the porch of a small, modest house. He was kissing a woman, she was crying. As he turned to leave, carrying a knapsack over his shoulder, Valentin saw the woman’s belly; she was pregnant.
The scene shifted to a battle, big and bloody. Valentin wasn’t sure which skirmish it was or where they were, but there was chaos all around him. Kneeling behind a tree stump, the soldier opened a locket and stared longingly at the image of his wife. “McClain! Move!” Another soldier shouted at the young man. He closed the locket and shut his eyes tightly, grasping his musket, he ran forward into the fray.
Again the scene shifted. The woman was standing, veiled in black, staring at a gravestone; beside her, a young girl of about three stood holding her mother’s hand. The girl glanced up at her mother and then back to the gravestone, not knowing what they were doing, still too young to understand. Behind the gravestone stood the soldier, unseen and unable to communicate with his family. Only able to watch them staring at his grave, not able to tell them he was standing right in front of them.
The next images passed by rapidly, showing the soldier’s daughter growing older and having children of her own. The generations passed, and Valentin saw the numbers of the children rise and then dwindle again, all the while the soldier watched over them. Until at last, there was only one child left who grew old and alone. She was sick in bed, with no one beside her. The soldier looked at Valentin and repeated, “tell her… she is not alone.” The scene faded and all was black.
A figure emerged from the darkness, he was wearing a black swallowtail coat, similar to Valentin’s, beneath that was a black vest that zipped up a few inches below his collarbone. Beneath that there was nothing. He wore a faded black top hat decorated with various bones around the band. His face was painted like a skull and his eyes were a deep, blood red. The brass tipped cane in his hand was topped with an onyx orb, within which seemed to swirl an otherworldly energy. “The dead are restless, mon fils. They will never stop asking you to deliver messages to the living, not even in your dreams.” He was grinning, he radiated twice the charm and confidence that Valentin had ever shown. “But we have more important things to discuss. You’ll be arriving soon. At your destination, there will be others like you: scions of the gods that have been sent to join you. Once you reach the hotel, time will be of the essence. The area is under the control of the Titans, and if your group is to be successful saboteurs, you need to reach the complex on the outskirts of town without drawing too much attention to yourselves.”
“All this sneaking, I don’t have the capacité to avoid detection, Baron. You are responsible for that trait, I think. The great Baron Samedi and his charismatic air, sending his equally charming son to garder les enfants. Je suis exaspéré.” Valentin’s attitude was entirely unfit for meeting a deity, this much he knew, but he had never known Baron Samedi as a god, only as a frequently absent father. The Baron only smiled all the more, his son’s insubordination was another trait he had passed along, apparently.
“A gift for you, mon fils. While you are out I will watch over New Orleans and her fabulous parties.” The last bit he had added only for the purpose of irritating Valentin, but Valentin was more interested in the aforementioned gift. Baron Samedi removed his top hat, only the object stayed firmly planted on his head, an exact duplicate in his hand as he extended it to Valentin. The young man grabbed the hat and placed it on his head. As he did this, the Baron took his cane and broke it in half over his knee. The two halves of the cane grew back into identical versions of the original item. Valentin took both gifts gratefully. “These should help you control your abilities more fully than you ever have before. Use them wisely.” Baron Samedi grinned again, removing his hat in an exaggerated bow before fading into the darkness once again.
Valentin awoke quietly and naturally, yawning as he stretched and sat up in the somewhat cramped bed in his sleeping quarters aboard the train. An announcement from the conductors aboard the train shook him completely from his sleep, “next stop, Albuquerque! Albuquerque, next stop!”Valentin was entirely unsurprised to find the hat and cane Baron Samedi had given him in his dream sitting beside his bed on the small bedside table. The train rattled along, toward his destination.
--------------------------------------------------------
After disembarking at the train station, the young man wasted no time finding the hotel that was to act as the meeting place for him and his fellow scions. He walked in, quietly checked in to his room and deposited his belongings save for whatever he was going to need on his mission, and left just as quickly. Attempting to keep a low profile while wearing his finery, a top hat decorated with bones and a supernatural cane seemed like an oxymoron, but he couldn’t deny that his connection to his powers felt stronger than before.
Upon reaching the lobby, he glanced at the small gathering of chairs and couches that would serve as a fine meeting place for he and his fellows. He didn’t see anyone that struck him as particularly interesting yet, and he was certain fellow scions would pique his interest. Then he glanced the other way and saw a bar that was fairly stocked with decent looking spirits. A smile crept across his face as he thought he could use a drink after the long train ride. It wasn’t too crowded at this time of day, the sun hadn’t even began its downward descent. “What’s the harm in a few drinks?” He asked no one in particular as he happily tapped his cane on the ground and took half-dancing steps before taking his place at the bar. “Mon amie,” he waved at the bartender, “a glass of your finest bourbon, neat. And a second of the same.” He saw no harm in nursing a couple drinks while he waited for the others.
BiC:
Valentin LaPomeret was the sort of man who got what he wanted. Whatever he wanted. Whether it be a woman, a job, drugs, alcohol; a man who had his vices and reveled in them. His nights generally revolved around bar hopping, romantic rendezvous with several willing participants and skirting the reach of the long arm of the law. Tonight was one such night; a night of drunken stupor and an all-around good time. Valentin was on his fourth bar, his fifth date - if you counted the twins earlier separately - and he had lost count of the drinks and lines he had done in that time. People naturally gravitated to him, offered him things to gain his favor, most often another shot or some sort of act of affection. New Orleans was the perfect place for his haphazard lifestyle: his life philosophy was, “no consequences,” short, sweet, and to the point; a philosophy that the city itself seemed to mirror right back to him.
His appearance added to his natural charm and was the second biggest contributor to people taking notice of him in a crowd. He was tall, slender and carried himself with an air of confidence, his skin was a milk chocolate brown, beautifully bronzed. His black hair feathered and cut short, he ran a hand through it as he muttered something into his current date’s ear, causing her to giggle as she tugged on his thin, black tie and pulled him into a kiss. Always dressed immaculately, he immediately fixed his askew tie and patted out any wrinkles on his black, swallowtail coat. His eyes were hidden behind dark lensed round frame sunglasses despite the darkness of the bar; the dark didn’t bother his eyesight and he didn’t want to draw attention to his eye color, which was an unnatural red.
“I will return, ma chère.” Taking the last swig of his bourbon, Valentin stumbled off toward the restroom, looking around the room and taking inventory of anyone who caught his interest. There weren’t many people that did, it was the curse of being the most charming person in the room; not many other people seemed interesting by comparison. Except for one face in the crowd, a man in ratty confederate grays, his features sallow and yellowed. The light had left his eyes. “Say bra, that’s a pretty tasteless costume. I didn’t think it was Halloween yet.” Valentin laughed as he tried to shove past the man, “if you’re into reenactment, you’ve gone a bit south of Gettysburg--”
The soldier placed a heavy hand on Valentin’s chest and pushed him up against the wall, “tell her…” the soldier hissed, as if the words escaped along with his raspy breath. As soon as the soldier had made contact with him, Valentin was shown a vision of what he could only assume was the past. He saw the same soldier, but his uniform was new, neat, and clean and he was standing on the porch of a small, modest house. He was kissing a woman, she was crying. As he turned to leave, carrying a knapsack over his shoulder, Valentin saw the woman’s belly; she was pregnant.
The scene shifted to a battle, big and bloody. Valentin wasn’t sure which skirmish it was or where they were, but there was chaos all around him. Kneeling behind a tree stump, the soldier opened a locket and stared longingly at the image of his wife. “McClain! Move!” Another soldier shouted at the young man. He closed the locket and shut his eyes tightly, grasping his musket, he ran forward into the fray.
Again the scene shifted. The woman was standing, veiled in black, staring at a gravestone; beside her, a young girl of about three stood holding her mother’s hand. The girl glanced up at her mother and then back to the gravestone, not knowing what they were doing, still too young to understand. Behind the gravestone stood the soldier, unseen and unable to communicate with his family. Only able to watch them staring at his grave, not able to tell them he was standing right in front of them.
The next images passed by rapidly, showing the soldier’s daughter growing older and having children of her own. The generations passed, and Valentin saw the numbers of the children rise and then dwindle again, all the while the soldier watched over them. Until at last, there was only one child left who grew old and alone. She was sick in bed, with no one beside her. The soldier looked at Valentin and repeated, “tell her… she is not alone.” The scene faded and all was black.
A figure emerged from the darkness, he was wearing a black swallowtail coat, similar to Valentin’s, beneath that was a black vest that zipped up a few inches below his collarbone. Beneath that there was nothing. He wore a faded black top hat decorated with various bones around the band. His face was painted like a skull and his eyes were a deep, blood red. The brass tipped cane in his hand was topped with an onyx orb, within which seemed to swirl an otherworldly energy. “The dead are restless, mon fils. They will never stop asking you to deliver messages to the living, not even in your dreams.” He was grinning, he radiated twice the charm and confidence that Valentin had ever shown. “But we have more important things to discuss. You’ll be arriving soon. At your destination, there will be others like you: scions of the gods that have been sent to join you. Once you reach the hotel, time will be of the essence. The area is under the control of the Titans, and if your group is to be successful saboteurs, you need to reach the complex on the outskirts of town without drawing too much attention to yourselves.”
“All this sneaking, I don’t have the capacité to avoid detection, Baron. You are responsible for that trait, I think. The great Baron Samedi and his charismatic air, sending his equally charming son to garder les enfants. Je suis exaspéré.” Valentin’s attitude was entirely unfit for meeting a deity, this much he knew, but he had never known Baron Samedi as a god, only as a frequently absent father. The Baron only smiled all the more, his son’s insubordination was another trait he had passed along, apparently.
“A gift for you, mon fils. While you are out I will watch over New Orleans and her fabulous parties.” The last bit he had added only for the purpose of irritating Valentin, but Valentin was more interested in the aforementioned gift. Baron Samedi removed his top hat, only the object stayed firmly planted on his head, an exact duplicate in his hand as he extended it to Valentin. The young man grabbed the hat and placed it on his head. As he did this, the Baron took his cane and broke it in half over his knee. The two halves of the cane grew back into identical versions of the original item. Valentin took both gifts gratefully. “These should help you control your abilities more fully than you ever have before. Use them wisely.” Baron Samedi grinned again, removing his hat in an exaggerated bow before fading into the darkness once again.
Valentin awoke quietly and naturally, yawning as he stretched and sat up in the somewhat cramped bed in his sleeping quarters aboard the train. An announcement from the conductors aboard the train shook him completely from his sleep, “next stop, Albuquerque! Albuquerque, next stop!”Valentin was entirely unsurprised to find the hat and cane Baron Samedi had given him in his dream sitting beside his bed on the small bedside table. The train rattled along, toward his destination.
--------------------------------------------------------
After disembarking at the train station, the young man wasted no time finding the hotel that was to act as the meeting place for him and his fellow scions. He walked in, quietly checked in to his room and deposited his belongings save for whatever he was going to need on his mission, and left just as quickly. Attempting to keep a low profile while wearing his finery, a top hat decorated with bones and a supernatural cane seemed like an oxymoron, but he couldn’t deny that his connection to his powers felt stronger than before.
Upon reaching the lobby, he glanced at the small gathering of chairs and couches that would serve as a fine meeting place for he and his fellows. He didn’t see anyone that struck him as particularly interesting yet, and he was certain fellow scions would pique his interest. Then he glanced the other way and saw a bar that was fairly stocked with decent looking spirits. A smile crept across his face as he thought he could use a drink after the long train ride. It wasn’t too crowded at this time of day, the sun hadn’t even began its downward descent. “What’s the harm in a few drinks?” He asked no one in particular as he happily tapped his cane on the ground and took half-dancing steps before taking his place at the bar. “Mon amie,” he waved at the bartender, “a glass of your finest bourbon, neat. And a second of the same.” He saw no harm in nursing a couple drinks while he waited for the others.
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