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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on Apr 13, 2009 12:43:59 GMT -5
***NEW NIGHT***
*They pulled up and Jean-François practically dragged the man from the carriage, forcing him ahead. It was strange, he looked scrawny as ever, but seemed heavier. His brow lowered.*
"Inside." *He ordered, quite accustomed to being obeyed.*
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Post by Grantaire on Apr 13, 2009 12:50:01 GMT -5
Grantaire stumbled a bit on the stair of the cab, but righted himself quickly, making a show of straightening out his clothes and going on ahead into the too-familiar chamber. It stank of damp and liquor and the beast, and he couldn't keep a shiver suppressed nor the slight tremor out of his hands.
He went straight to the little sette set up in the middle of the room, needing to sit as he felt suddenly ill and realized what a terrible idea this had been.
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on Apr 13, 2009 15:18:12 GMT -5
*Jean-François watched the man with delight, calculating how best to hurt him in the time that was available. But there was no reason to rush. He let the man sit, strolling casually about him, closing in on his prey.*
"Why the sour face, Grantaire? It's not as if you have to be here."
Only if you want to get paid.
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Post by Grantaire on Apr 13, 2009 15:36:22 GMT -5
"And you'd let me just walk out, I suppose." he snorted and stood up again, going for the buttons of his shirt.
"I need the money."
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on Apr 13, 2009 16:01:02 GMT -5
*Now it was Jean-François's turn to sit, though it was in a lush chair facing the other. He lifted his hand to gesture casually to the door.*
"Then it would seem that it is you that desires to be here."
*There was something about a slave that new what was expected of him. Being able to indulge was nice.*
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Post by Grantaire on Apr 13, 2009 16:05:44 GMT -5
With the first few undone, he held onto the button trims, frowning.
"You're not going to like this. Someone else's marked me, now."
And he continued, pulling the shirt open to reveal the long scar(s) Julian's surgery had given him.
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on Apr 15, 2009 16:12:22 GMT -5
*Jean-François gave a dismissive wave of his hand.*
"Of course, your...Opera Ghost."
*Then he rose to examine the man as if it were some sort of chore. But there was pause as he saw the full extent of the thing.*
"And how much did he pay you for that?" *He asked bitingly, but the lowered tone hinted at more complex emotions beneath the surface.*
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Post by Inspector Jason Cluont on Apr 15, 2009 16:29:41 GMT -5
***GRANTAIRE***
"He didn't pay me anything. I was dead at the time."
He grumbled and folded his arms uncomfortably over his bare chest, colder than usual in the dank of the chamber, and not liking being so scrutinized since his added scars. The old marks from the man present were still on his back and legs and hips, but Julian's "marks" were neater, cleaner, paler and sharper.
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on Apr 15, 2009 16:57:10 GMT -5
*Jean-François let out a hollow laugh.*
"But of course you were." *His hand lifted to the scar, not in a caress so much as an appraisal.*
"And I'm certain you were duly grateful, nevertheless."
*His smile was cruel, his eyes hungry.*
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Post by Inspector Jason Cluont on Apr 15, 2009 17:33:24 GMT -5
**GRANTAIRE**
So grateful he ran away, in fact. He pulled back a bit, not really meaning to (he didn't care for another slap) but by instinct. Morangias' touch disgusted him, and excited him which in turn disgusted him all the more.
"I was..." he muttered, indignantly.
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on Apr 16, 2009 8:52:20 GMT -5
*Jean-François's hand was quick, catching him roughly by the throat.*
"And now you will be so to me." *He hissed lowly, his face close to the other man's.*
"Show me." *He snarled, shoving the man back from him impatiently.*
"Show me how grateful you are."
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Post by Grantaire on Apr 18, 2009 13:22:45 GMT -5
He had meant, of course, that he really was dead. And not at all grateful, in fact, but he wasn't about to correct the man and unceremoniously stripped himself the rest of the way bare to drop to his knees.
His skin was even paler than it'd ever been, grub-white and nearly as waxen, growing more sickly as the long minutes passed and his internal systems cooled for want of water, leaving him numbish--grateful for that, certainly.
"I'm grateful for your money." he muttered.
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on Apr 20, 2009 9:43:18 GMT -5
"Ah yes, but that is merely an extension of..." *He smiled lewdly as he stood.*
"...my benevolent nature."
*The man looked terrible, much worse for wear. His lover had taken poor care of him indeed, to let him look so damaged.*
"The cross." *He stated plainly, giving a vague gesture to the crude structure in the corner of the room. His hand slipped a caress over the soft leather coils of a whip that hung from a rack on the other side of the room.*
For penitence.
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Post by Grantaire on Apr 20, 2009 13:48:21 GMT -5
He muttered an affirmative and stood again, passing Morangias and lining himself up against the familiar, seasoned wood of the structure with his back outward. At least he would not feel the blows as sharply, and with luck his...boiler or whatever it was would dry up and he could be still enough for the old sadist to think him dead and dump him on the street.
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on Apr 20, 2009 15:00:35 GMT -5
*The whip arched through the air with a soft whisper before landing sharply against the man's back. So easy...familiar. Just what he needed tonight. He smiled cruelly, his eyes unblinking as he watched the man's flesh as he brought the whip down again.*
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