young god I marquis du gramont

bohemian stationery

glitter and gold - barns courtney

i am flesh and i am bone
arise, ting ting, like glitter and gold
i've got fire in my soul

/

'in the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity' - sun tzu

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

vincent

'Qui est-elle?'

Vincent stared at the file his assistant had placed down before him on polished oakwood dining table. He put down his toast and picked up the file with disinterest. His green eyes scoured the information. The room was silent, except for the quiet pages turning. The paper was smooth under his fingers; Bohemian stationery was the best that money could purchase. Only the best was acceptable for the marquess. He enjoyed the feeling as his fingers slid over a picture of the woman in question.

It seemed to be a new image, recently taken. The woman had light brown hair, falling in curls around her diamond face. The first thing he notice was her nose, a slender aquiline, sloping downwards. He moved his attention to her heart shaped lips and olive skin. She was wearing a cream Westwood jacket in the image, a white tailored suit, fitting the outline of her curves. She seemed to be wearing a white shirt as well, collar peeking out from under the neckline. She completed her attire with matching high waist white trousers and black pointy heels. She looked more like a killer than a business woman but he suspected that she was both. The girl was mid walk in the image, one leg crossed in front of the other, head bowed down as if to escape unseen paparazzi. She had blue eyes, a clear sky blue that seemed to add both seriousness and a youth to her. She looked pristine, untouchable. Or at least, that was what she wanted people to think.

Vincent tore his eyes away from the image and continued reading.

'Francesca Malillos. Sole survivor of the Malillos family massacre and perhaps your greatest obstacle in this... manhunt'

He didn't look up as the man continued speaking but a spark of recognition lit up his features.

'Malillos? They stood outside the Table, no?

'Indeed, sir. As the sole heir, she possesses power over the Table. And I suspect that her family left her blackmail'

Vincent sighed and threw his hands behind his head, leaning back against the back of the leather chair. He remembered the name well now; his father had taught him that the only family he could never fuck with was the Malillos.

'They will have you hung, drawn and quartered before the Table even convict you of a crime'

He closed his eyes slowly, picturing the image of his father. He was a terrible man, always drunk, always angry. He had never struck Vincent but his mother fell prey to a lot of his violent outbursts. He did make Vincent drink; he hated it at first but he grew acquainted to the taste. He especially hated gin; the taste burnt his mouth. When Vincent spoke, he pronounced each word with deliberation and care, as if he were writing calligraphy instead of conversing.

'And you think I'm afraid of the daughter of a destroyed family? You think that I will be prevent from achieving my goal because of what... sentiment?'

'No, sir. I don't think you are prone to sentiment'

That caught his attention. Vincent stood up in a graceful yet rapid movement. Shark eyes locked onto Augustin. The assistant visibly swallowed. He tried to recompose his posture but twitched uncomfortable in his suit.