jezebelinhell: (scoff at you)
The letter she wrote had no introduction. It was not addressed to Marc, nor Aidan (and if she wished to live, never again would she scribe his name in her delicate cursive on any of her communications), nor any of her business acquaintances. It was written as if in a hurry. It was written with a hand that was not as steady as it usually was. While each line grew more and more unbelievable, the reader was left with a feeling that Catherine was doing what she did best—planning. Surviving in chaos.

However, certain passages more than alluded to trouble in her unwavering faith in her abilities to weave her troubles into a tapestry that she could proudly hang in the vestibule of her soul. She might not have had control over the threads of fate, but she created the picture that she desired to see. This time the picture was unclear.  

"Despite my current predicament, I still hold some magic in my fingertips for you are about to see me vanish. If I have ever assisted you in any way, or aided you in your own misfortunes, then I ask, please, do not come looking for me. Do not alert anyone to the tone of this letter or the words that are left unwritten. However, I must ask you to assist me with some mundane matters that will speak volumes of the danger that I am trying to avoid. Please understand, everything must appear to be business-as-usual. My businesses in New York are well established and the help that I employ can successfully manage those aspects of my affairs.

It is Paris that is my constant worry. I will continue to focus on Paris remotely with some considerable assistance from within as it is the focus of an endless war, as you well know. I cannot let even one battle against the "Rose Clan" slip. To do so would draw the eyes of Vienna and that it precisely what I am trying to avoid. However, it pains me to say that I cannot be in Paris to personally wage the battles. While the Parisian Chantry, including the new Regent, is whole-heartedly vested in this endeavor, I need you to ensure that the plan--our plan--continues to push forward without any delays. It needs not be said that Marc would have my head otherwise despite my use to him. I have told the Coterie and the Prince of Paris that I am taking my leave on business directed by Vienna and that my hours would be highly irregular. You must understand how deadly a lie that was since neither have sanctioned my so-called mission. However, it is my hope that I will have solved my maladies by the time that they communicate with one another and realize my necessary deception. 

I have sent Sydney, my most trusted Ghoul, along with this letter and just by gazing upon his much changed visage, you will have many questions and, certainly, a few concerns. Please, Sydney has been one of my most trusted servants. Take him as your own. Treat him as you will, but try to ensure that he survives. That is the only kindness that I can afford him now.

I apologize for everything that this letter leaves out. Trust that I know what is best for both of us on this occasion. Should I return to you, I will ensure that you are compensated for the trouble that I have endowed upon you. I trust no one else with this; my life. 

With respect,


P.S. I am certain that I do not need to remind you to commit this letter to fire. You will forgive me for doing so, since it brings me a measure of comfort to retain the fragile hold on the little control I currently have over my own interests. 
jezebelinhell: (Smoking B/W)

There is something there. Something that only he can see between the notes he plays. His face filled with wonder and awe, and, at times, ecstasy. And, we, those wanting souls who understand nothing and want to see inside the world, the world he sees, are left wide open to expose the empty void of the black holes inside us. That is why we take everything from them. We wish to taste what can not be seen by us or no longer felt. Passion. True passion. Filled with a spirit that we, like most of our mortal brethren, cannot understand. But unlike them, they still can feel that odd flow of life that connects them to some sort of divinity—artistic or otherwise. A magic that even the Tremere cannot manifest. And it flows through him, even now as he makes a few mistakes, even if the notes are not perfect. Neither is he. And he is perfect in his defects, at least that is how society secretly sees them, but by these defects he is closer to God than any of us because he is able to plug into the very heart of creation.

He is the conduit to the mystical experience that embodies the very current of life. 

I admire him for it. I want to destroy him for it. I want to bathe in the essence of what he feels and that which flows through him, to know that there is something beautiful that can never be destroyed. And yet, I have proved, time and time again, that my desire is a fallacy that leaves me fulfilled for only that one moment that I hold the essence within, before it withers along with their lives. Then, again, I am an empty vessel that continuously needs to be filled, its spirit evaporating into the night, every night. 

Every night it is a fight to decide whether to let the music play or let the last notes flitter in the air like butterflies on their last flight. 



jezebelinhell: (hush now)
Most of the entries to this journal are locked to friends only. However, here is a short summary about Catherine.

Now: Catherine de Volanges is a vampire belonging to the Tremere (mages) clan. She is a woman of many plots and a spy.

Read more... )


Sep. 13th, 2015 10:06 pm
jezebelinhell: (hush now)
I wrote this as part of the Robert Frost writing prompt for Morbid Aristocracy. However, I deem the writing and story a dud so I am posting it here instead. I consider it part of her storyline after Tristan-mun gives his blessing, I just don't think it's worthy of community wide distribution. :) This immediately follows Long Live the Prince with Grayest_Night. 

Read more... )
jezebelinhell: (Doh)
 Hello there, 

Many apologies for my absence over the last few weeks. I had family over and a lot of commitments. I am back now, so I will be able to post within the next day. Thanks for your patience. 

jezebelinhell: (Default)
 Cause I need help. For a new PB. For a new character. I mean to hell with the fact that the character is not even lukewarm in my head or that her (her? Huh, ok. Her.) history is a shadow somewhere where shadows don't exist BUT....there's something brewing. No pun intended because (apparently) SHE is a witch. Think more like Salem (the show---but without the whole 'devil's bitch' assumption). Not Wiccan. No. Further back. 

I'm looking for both male and female PB (women more, I guess, although I'm still not sure that it will be)...of someone who has a sort of a wood witch look but able to clean up if she's in the city. Kinda like my gal Zola (Huh, we kinda like that name) here, but she's really young. Preferably a PB that has expressive icons, looks slightly "sharp" (none of those blond doe eyed wafish pixie types) and, just maybe, has either played in a witchy/shaman-esque show/movie/photoshoot type of thang. Not necessary. 

Ok....ideas people. I need HAAAALP. 

jezebelinhell: (Default)
On [community profile] morbidaristocracy 

  • Alyssa Hart [for the purpose of developing her character and story] | Original character | Fandom: Breaking Reality | Alignment: Neutral
  1. Link to bio:
  2. Link to writing sample: (see below for Catherine D. Volanges. Alyssa is new.)

Continuity: Alyssa will carry her RP history through from Tenebrae Nostro. 
  • Valora Raine [for the purpose of developing her story] | Original character | Fandom: The Guardians | Alignment: Undetermined 
  1. Link to bio:
  2. Link to writing sample: (see below for Ethan Granger. Valora is new.)
Continuity: Valora is starting new. No previous associations or fandom crossovers come into Morbid Aristocracy with her. 

  • Callum Winter [for the purpose of defining his "world"] | Original character | Fandom: The Collective | Alignment: Neutral
  1. Link to bio:
  2. Link to writing sample:
  3. Link to original "world" background: and about the Collective:

Continuity: Callum is nearly starting brand new. No previous RP history comes into Morbid Aristocracy with him except the storyline started in Short Word Stories including Synergy Corp. 
  • Ethan Granger [for the purpose of character development] | Original Character | Alignment: Neutral
  1. Bio:
  2. Writing Sample:

Continuity: Ethan Granger is starting in Morbid Aristocracy with his previous history intact.

  • Catherine Du Volanges | Original Character | Vampire the Masquerade | Alignment: Sinner
  1. Link to bio:
  2. Link to writing sample:
Continuity: Catherine is bringing her previous history into Morbid Aristocracy.
  • Aidan Vilandrie [Stand-by for when "behind the curtain" evil is needed] | Original Character | Vampire the Masquerade | Alignment: Sinner
Continuity: Aidan is only bringing his Tenebrae Nostro history into Morbid Aristocracy
  • Eva Halo [for fun]| Original Character | Doctor Who | Torchwood | Alignment: Saint 
Continuity: Eva is starting over. 


Feb. 17th, 2013 10:31 pm
jezebelinhell: (looking at the pawns)
Ficlet to get the writing juices going...sorta.

Paris, France

"Come on! Come on! You are no good to me dead." The hard slap sent the side of my jaw jarring against the ground. Had I had it in me, I would have laughed with the absurdity of it all. A man. A rather beautifully reserved man, knelt by my side and, horrified at the blood spreading over my dress from two bullet wounds, shook me first and then tried to slap me conscious before applying pressure to my wounds or checking my pulse. Or rather, was it because he checked my pulse first, that he panicked and slapped me. No signs of life. No breath. No heartbeat, no pulse. Just two bullets holes and lots of blood.  "Come on, come on, come." He whispered in a panicked haze as he lightly slapped my cheeks again.

Read more... )


Feb. 17th, 2013 03:06 pm
jezebelinhell: (hush now)
Apologies for my absence. Work struck. Again. Please let me know if I have to pick up somewhere.


Nov. 1st, 2012 01:39 pm
jezebelinhell: (Forever)

Due to the hurricane and my job in the relief efforts, I will not be around for a significant time.

Apologies, I look forward to resuming our threads in the future.

jezebelinhell: (my heart lies to you)

“He asked me once, ‘what did I know of love?’” Catherine looked wistfully into the distance and blew the cigarette smoke from her lips.  It writhed like a serpent in the air and was gone. “I told him that I knew everything about love. Everything. But that wasn’t the question that he was asking me, I said. It’s not what I knew of it. It’s whether I’ve held any amount of it for anyone before.  He did not understand how either could be mutually exclusive. And there, in that moment, like a bone broken in half, he revealed to me the marrow of all his weaknesses. And I, the person that I was, sucked the very life out of him. I did not have fangs then. I had only the arsenal available to a woman at that time, but unlike most women who were ignorant of their true gifts, I knew that with that Trojan horse I could lay waste to his entire legacy. Like the Trojan horse, I was hollow on the inside and that made deceit and manipulation work for me while feeling nothing of guilt or love. I was born the perfect subversive element that could topple politicians and sway kings.

One night, years later,  he lay dying at my hand. I had bled him for everything he had worked so tirelessly for in his life. He was still young. Handsome. It all ebbed out of him because he loved me. Because he trusted me. And in his dying moments some sort of fugue took hold of his mind and he was frozen in the moment of a single question. “What do you know of love?” He asked again, potentially for the first time for him. With his last breath I answered again, “Nothing.”

I was kind back then.  I let him die knowing the truth.

jezebelinhell: (Default)
Tonight an investigation is underway at the site of a popular nightclub. Club Duvet was the site of a horrific explosion that rocked the exclusive rooftop club in central Los Angeles at around 2am on Monday night. Fire and debris rained down below and the streets surrounding Duvet have been closed for the past two days. Businesses on the perimeter have been closed and residents have been evacuated from their homes until the structure is deemed safe by the LAFD and DOB. Investigators still do not know what caused the explosion which took firefighters more than eight hours to extinguish. Twenty firefighters were injured in the blaze and had to be hospitalized. Their injuries range from heat exhaustion and smoke inhalation to third and fourth degree burns. Miraculously, four people on the street escaped with only minor injuries from the glass that was falling from the building.  According to Duvet's representatives, the club was closed down for an inspection and therefore there were no club goers in Duvet except for two inspectors, who are still missing. One eyewitness to the fire said that he saw what he thought was a 'sick black but luminescent glow pulse out of the club before it exploded'.

The owner of the club, French fashion entrepreneur Catherine Du Volanges, could not be reached for comment. Her representatives said she was cooperating with authorities and that she extends her deepest sympathies for those affected by the blast. She is reportedly donating funds to the Red Cross who will be helping displaced residents without insurance find new homes. The Red Cross also confirmed that Ms. Volanges discreetly came in to donate blood for the firefighters injured in the blast and visited them personally to thank them for their heroism.

We'll keep you updated on this story as we learn more but for now, let's go to John with the weather.

jezebelinhell: (narrow eyes)
What could one do? What could I do now that it was too late? There is a moment, it is a split second when you realize that you are heading into a car wreck that you can hit on the brakes, swerve, perhaps, and nearly miss hitting an oncoming car. Now? I was a car without brakes, strapped into a plan whose course another steered. I just chose to buckle the seat belt.

When Tristan and I parted ways, I went about my nightly business of listening, mediating, plotting, arranging Kindred business under the facade of my own business. I made no errant moves, I did not leave Amaranth, and I did not call anyone nor suspiciously make my way through its twisting corridors. I waited. I waited quite a long while. I waited a long while after Amaranth was closed. Only then did I slowly follow a shade of a feeling that pinched me all evening and made me slowly edge through the dining hall to the parlour and from there through the empty dance hall and to one of the brandy parlours reserved only for the most discerning and highest paying members of Amaranth. And of course, there, yes, it was there that I knew exactly what I was feeling. I was not following a feeling; I was being summoned.

Read more... )


Feb. 23rd, 2012 10:31 pm
jezebelinhell: (Default)
From the private journal of Catherine De Volanges

We are all being used and so, it is only in that pile of remorseless excrement that our own ability to use others grows out of, stronger, thanks to the very fertilizer that fed it. And if your elders are of the Tremere, you best cultivate your interests out of their own, allowing the roots of your treachery to curl around their ankles and eventually drop them back into the shit they slung your way.

I am nothing else but a survivor able to weave my wants through their demands. And that is everything.

My world is not simple. It is fraught with unseen malice which floats just below the surface of one’s happiness. It collides not only with ones hopes but rips a hole through the hull of strongest soul to drown one in the coldest gush of reality—theirs. I do not crave power for the sake of power. I actually never have. I crave it for the freedom it promises. Even then I must adapt my definition of freedom for not one of us can ever truly be free. That is simply a fact. Unless you are one of us, you cannot understand the full extent of that assertion, that simple not exaggerated truth.

Those of us who have accepted that thread of knowledge have spun a world within it for ourselves. The rest, perish.

I have survived what would have ended most. And I will continue to do so. I will flourish from the decay of their souls, the waste of their ignorance and the light of their cold indifference.

And when it is too late, when they are lost, they will see…my roots were stronger then theirs.

What is there to see?  )
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