Setting
Default Location for Revenge Is Best Served Black
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England is a part of 
Revenge Is Best Served Black.
1 Places in England:
4 Characters Here
Printemps Soriere [0] "Maitre! Ca va?"
Aion [0] "Ah~ Break time!"
Jacques De'Raizel [0] [WIP]
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Setting
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Jacques De'Raizel
Yet another rainy day, a most boringly common occurrence in the part of England Jacques lived in, especially once one considered the season. As he sat there and watched as the heavy raindrops fell onto the windowpane with a sound that was almost too-loud for him to bear, he couldn't help but think that he hated the rain. Or, at least the sound of it. He rather liked the way it seemed to wash the world, in a sense.
"Prin." He spoke in a soft and commanding voice. He was never one to speak loudly. "Bring me the paperwork for today. Watching the rain is boring me." Give me something to block out that horrid sound. "Also, I desire Earl Grey for today's tea. I think a plain spongecake will also be sufficient for today's teatime."
While giving orders, he never once turned away or diverted his attention from the rain. Considering that the sound rather bothered him, it seemed to be a slightly contradicting action.
Yet another rainy day, a most boringly common occurrence in the part of England Jacques lived in, especially once one considered the season. As he sat there and watched as the heavy raindrops fell onto the windowpane with a sound that was almost too-loud for him to bear, he couldn't help but think that he hated the rain. Or, at least the sound of it. He rather liked the way it seemed to wash the world, in a sense.
"Prin." He spoke in a soft and commanding voice. He was never one to speak loudly. "Bring me the paperwork for today. Watching the rain is boring me." Give me something to block out that horrid sound. "Also, I desire Earl Grey for today's tea. I think a plain spongecake will also be sufficient for today's teatime."
While giving orders, he never once turned away or diverted his attention from the rain. Considering that the sound rather bothered him, it seemed to be a slightly contradicting action.
Setting
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[Prin]
The blonde, seemingly ever-chipper butler perked up as his Maître started speaking to him. As his subconscious took note of what was desired, Prin took the leisure of just listening to the sound of his Maître's voice. Oddly enough, he liked it. Almost as much as he liked the sound of the rain. He liked everything about the rain, though; the sound, the smell, the feel of its coolness. He liked everything about it, and thus, in the mind of the vampire, his Maître reminded him very much of the rain.
When the orders ceased, Prin nodded dutifully, smile still broad as ever. "Oui, Maître," he murmured simply as he ducked from the room, leaving his Maître alone. He seemed to say that sentence quite a bit. Oui, Maître. He'd gotten used to it. That was what was expected of him, and he was more than happy to oblige.
Firstly, he retrieved the paperwork that had been requested. It was kept in a neat little file for convenience purposes. As he swiftly made his way to the kitchen, he realized that it might not have been such a good idea to have gotten the papers first. His eyebrows upturned in dismay. Zut alors! How could he have been so silly? What if he spilled something and ruined them? That would not be acceptable at all!
Alas, before he knew it, he was already in the kitchen. No turning back now to replace the papers. That wouldn't be efficient. Instead, he set them carefully down on a counter as he set about searching for the appropriate items to begin putting together his Maître's tea time desires.
In an amount of time Prin hadn't bothered to keep track of, his task was complete. He skillfully balanced the tray with the sponge cake and tea in one hand, while tucking the papers under the other arm. It might not have been all that professional, but it worked!
Next thing the butler knew, he was returning to his Maître's room, smile ever-gleaming. He set the tray down, and simultaneously poured the tea into an ornate cup, situated daintily on a saucer, and offered his Maître the papers he'd wanted.
"Voici, Maître! Here you go! Un gâteau de Savoie, et un thé d'Earl Grey~" he piped up in his own Prin-esque sort of way, obviously smiling as he did so.
[Coryn]
The dark-haired young man sat tall in his dark study, polishing his Colt with almost malicious reverence, given its purpose. He hated this gun, and loved it at the same time; he wanted to see it destroyed, yet refused to part with it. An odd thing, a gun is. Used for a variety of different purposes, serving a myriad of masters. And yet, in Coryn's eyes, there was no better weapon.
Except, perhaps, a wraith. A member of the Unknown. That was another excellent weapon. Not to mention butler.
He looked up from his weapon. It was teatime, wasn't it? Yes. Coryn sighed deeply and adjusted his spectacles. He did not like tea, but he had been raised on it (earlier in life, anyway) as a proper Englishman. He cared not for any particular type of tea, just as long as it was at least sixty-five percent sugar. Didn't make it much better, but slightly more tolerable. It was almost out of respect for his former life that he continued to drink it. Habit is a powerful thing.
"Tea, Aion..." he murmured, trailing off. He had work to do, didn't he? Something new every day. An assassination here, a smuggle there, a power play in between. Exciting, exciting. Ah, the joys of life on the wrong side of the law.
The blonde, seemingly ever-chipper butler perked up as his Maître started speaking to him. As his subconscious took note of what was desired, Prin took the leisure of just listening to the sound of his Maître's voice. Oddly enough, he liked it. Almost as much as he liked the sound of the rain. He liked everything about the rain, though; the sound, the smell, the feel of its coolness. He liked everything about it, and thus, in the mind of the vampire, his Maître reminded him very much of the rain.
When the orders ceased, Prin nodded dutifully, smile still broad as ever. "Oui, Maître," he murmured simply as he ducked from the room, leaving his Maître alone. He seemed to say that sentence quite a bit. Oui, Maître. He'd gotten used to it. That was what was expected of him, and he was more than happy to oblige.
Firstly, he retrieved the paperwork that had been requested. It was kept in a neat little file for convenience purposes. As he swiftly made his way to the kitchen, he realized that it might not have been such a good idea to have gotten the papers first. His eyebrows upturned in dismay. Zut alors! How could he have been so silly? What if he spilled something and ruined them? That would not be acceptable at all!
Alas, before he knew it, he was already in the kitchen. No turning back now to replace the papers. That wouldn't be efficient. Instead, he set them carefully down on a counter as he set about searching for the appropriate items to begin putting together his Maître's tea time desires.
In an amount of time Prin hadn't bothered to keep track of, his task was complete. He skillfully balanced the tray with the sponge cake and tea in one hand, while tucking the papers under the other arm. It might not have been all that professional, but it worked!
Next thing the butler knew, he was returning to his Maître's room, smile ever-gleaming. He set the tray down, and simultaneously poured the tea into an ornate cup, situated daintily on a saucer, and offered his Maître the papers he'd wanted.
"Voici, Maître! Here you go! Un gâteau de Savoie, et un thé d'Earl Grey~" he piped up in his own Prin-esque sort of way, obviously smiling as he did so.
[Coryn]
The dark-haired young man sat tall in his dark study, polishing his Colt with almost malicious reverence, given its purpose. He hated this gun, and loved it at the same time; he wanted to see it destroyed, yet refused to part with it. An odd thing, a gun is. Used for a variety of different purposes, serving a myriad of masters. And yet, in Coryn's eyes, there was no better weapon.
Except, perhaps, a wraith. A member of the Unknown. That was another excellent weapon. Not to mention butler.
He looked up from his weapon. It was teatime, wasn't it? Yes. Coryn sighed deeply and adjusted his spectacles. He did not like tea, but he had been raised on it (earlier in life, anyway) as a proper Englishman. He cared not for any particular type of tea, just as long as it was at least sixty-five percent sugar. Didn't make it much better, but slightly more tolerable. It was almost out of respect for his former life that he continued to drink it. Habit is a powerful thing.
"Tea, Aion..." he murmured, trailing off. He had work to do, didn't he? Something new every day. An assassination here, a smuggle there, a power play in between. Exciting, exciting. Ah, the joys of life on the wrong side of the law.
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