money honey. (o)

[OLIVIER DUBOIS]

that's m-o-n-e-y so sexy

damn i love the jag, the jet, and the mansion
and i enjoy the gifts and trips to the islands

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"I suppose a croissant would do. It has to be lightly buttered of course." Olivier DuBois yawned as he leaned back in his seat, waiting for the waiter to leave him be. Honestly, the help that he could barely stand at the moment was his inept butler Thomas Renard. The man didn't feel like staying cooped up in the manor, so he decided to grace the city of Paris with his presence. Café de Flore is the most popular hang out on the Avenue de L'Opera, so why not? With a flick of the wrist the man dismissed the waiter, allowing the noble to be at ease once more. The World's Fair is coming up quickly, but the fresh murders of high status individual's seem to be the only damper on the celebration. Olivier speculated, just like Lazare probably did, that the ones responsible are apart of the same group that massacred their parents. "I'm just going to say it. I'm stressed out. I have a huge global event to worry about, a wedding to plan, and a company to run." he placed a hand on his head dramatically. Really, why did he have to deal with this rubbish?

Olivier didn't care if Thomas responded, sometimes he needed to let out his frustration in order to feel better. And where the hell was that croissant? "Hmph, I thought the service here was supposed to be five stars." On top of all his responsibilities Olivier had to think about ways he can attain his crown. The best way he can think about stirring anarchy was by killing the President. Certainly such a move would cause panic and concern, and amidst the confusion Olivier's rebel followers would start the revolution. He and Thomas would storm the palace of Versaille's and claim the crown. Was it too soon? The man wasn't even married yet. Well, just so long as he takes control of France it'd be fine. His faustian contract specifically states he must be coroneted king before Thomas can consume his soul. Feh, so many things to worry about.

There were many loopholes and preparations to take care of first. One hasty move and everything will be over. No, Olivier has to be very careful if he was to fulfill his goals. There were many obstacles in the way; the Rousseau family, the President, these assailants that seemed to have returned....The boy was curious to know who was it behind his families massacre. Revenge burned in his heart, and if there was a chance he could somehow solve the mystery and ensure justice to the DuBois name, he'd take it.

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[MALACHI LIEBRICH]

Hmm…Olivier Dubois. Renowned fashion designer and heir to the Dubois fortune, talking to his demon in a café. How fun. He hadn’t been seeking the human out, oh no, that would be stalking. He had been simply walking by, Garm’s leash in his gloves hand and the dog at the end, when he spotted—no, smelled—smelled the human sitting in the café. Reaching down to pet Garm’s fluffy head as the beast looked up, no doubt wondering what his master was staring at, Malachi considered his options. He could cross the road and strike up a conversation with the human. He certainly had enough time before Master Lazare would expect him back. And it would stop the humans around him from looking at him in the peculiar way that were, the seemingly human being dressed for winter and staring at the pavement. Or he could keep going on his way and return to the estate early with nothing to do.

The demon crossed the street at a brisk pace, avoiding the automobiles of several humans who refused to stop for pedestrians and made it to the other side of the street. Approaching the pair’s table he caught the end of the Dubois heir murmuring something about the service being less the expected. So the human was impatient? How…unexpected. The heir to the Dubois empire complaining about the service of the finest café in Paris. It could get the place shut down.

As the demon came up to stand alongside the table Garm immediately placed his front paws on the table, all the better to bring his nose that much closer to the table top. In Garm’s limited experience tables meant food smells and food smells, normally, meant food. The demon ignored the dog’s actions, making no move to pull him back down as he addressed the pair.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur Dubois, Thomas. Master Lazare will no doubt inquire when I mention I spotted you so I thought I’d save him the calling card.”

[/color] The demon said with a smile as blank as a new piece of parchment.

Any news the demon could offer of the heir’s business and dealings would prove useful as well, but why not let the pretense of actual interest hang in the air? No need to bring on the tense air that would come if the demon let them know his real intentions. It would just be to complicated to dance around that.[/blockquote][/blockquote]

---

words: 408
song: Rolling in the Deep by Adele
notes: yaaay! First post with Malachi. A bit short though :/ There’s a picture of Garm in Malachi’s profile in his possessions section if anyone is interested

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[THOMAS RENARD]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,480,true][atrb=height,110,true][atrb=style][bg=][atrb=width,490,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true] Thomas dropped into the seat across from Olivier without asking for permission. The beauty of the Dubois Cadillac: he didn't have to wait around with the horses when he chauffeured Olivier anywhere. He liked horses, he didn't like waiting around. All about balance. He stretched out in his chair, hands behind his head. His overlong blond hair was back in a slightly more polite ponytail, and he was even wearing a blazer, but he still looked more like a laborer than a butler although he carried himself with big-cat grace. Even just the movement to pick up the sugar pot was loaded with the potential violence. He got more tired doing up bow ties than hoeing earth; restraint and he didn't really get along too good. The demon bounced the sugar from hand to hand, watching the waiter leave. “Nobody would blame you for calling off the engagement.” He said, more out of habit than as a serious answer. Olivier's fiancée was nothing special. Not that Thomas wouldn't do her if he hadn't been explicitly banned from touching her without express permission, or anyway, after the incident with his hand and her blouse or rather lack of it. All in the past. “One less thing to worry about, right?” Something was making him twitchy and it didn't take that long to figure out what: Malachi. Easy to say Malachi was Thomas' foil, his opposite, but Thomas didn't want a possessive between him and the other demon. He wanted very little between himself and the other demon. The stuck up git could go suck a gangrenous cock and choke on the bits that broke off. Thomas grinned past Olivier at the approaching demon, showing jagged teeth. “Hold on to something, master,” Thomas said. “Somebody so up tight his anus has basically become a black hole is approaching.” His voice was languid and calm, tapping the table with the tips of his fingers. Malachi's dog put its paws up on the table. Thomas identified with it: on a leash with a twit on the other end, dirty, ill trained, and with big teeth. He reached out to scratch it behind the ears, still holding the sugar, considering throwing it at Malachi. Some sugar might wipe the sour, bitter out of him. It might also be a waste of perfectly good sugar. He remained leaned back in his chair, rocking back onto two legs.

[OLIVIER DUBOIS]

that's m-o-n-e-y so sexy

damn i love the jag, the jet, and the mansion
and i enjoy the gifts and trips to the islands

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Olivier twitched when the Rousseau bodyguard Malachi Liebrich showed up, allowing his filthy companion to jump up on the edge of the table. What kind of insolence was this? It pissed him off even more that Thomas took it upon himself to pet it. The man understood he had a liking for dogs, but really now. Was this an appropriate place for such animal worship? "Remove your beast from the table at once." Olivier leered at the silver haired butler; his mere presence irritated him greatly. He was quite aware that Malachi was no ordinary servant, for like Thomas, he was also a demon. He never would have guessed it (and he didn't, for the first nine months of his contract), that is until his own butler decided to inform him about the matter. Why Thomas didn't think it was relevant to tell him earlier he didn't know. It didn't matter though, the fact Lazare made a contract with a demon proved to be a bit problematic. It was inevitable that he and Malachi would get in the way of his plans. Ugh, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

"What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't a body guard be guarding a body? Or did you happen to lose Lazare somewhere in the crowd?" Olivier scoffed and took a sip of his black tea; "What a lousy servant you are." Thomas had no tact when it came to insults, but nevertheless he appreciated his witty comments. Although the two had their own differences, together they were a fierce pair of bullies. Olivier's the brains and Thomas is the brawn. if Malachi even thought of laying a finger on him, Thomas would immediately put a stop to it. The DuBois head felt perfectly safe and calm with his messy demon at his side. Even in the wake of another demon, Olivier felt comfortable and at ease.

The man kept his attention on his tea, rather than spare a look at the sordid filth that decided to join his company. President Loubet had commissioned the help of the two most powerful families in Paris, the Rousseau's and the DuBois'. Surely they'd find the culprit of these pesky murders and put an end to it, finding out who killed their families in the process. Having to work together bothered Olivier because he was the type to do things alone. Sharing the glory was something he despised.

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[MALACHI LIEBRICH]

The white hair demon did nothing but smile at the demon and his human as their insults were thrown his way. It honestly didn’t bother him—he had never been the type to let such things get in under his skin. Still, he couldn’t help but think of the pleasure he would have of following through with an order to kill these two. Thomas, he knew, was at least a half a century his junior and for all that he was ‘up tight’ the younger demon was careless. And that lack of respect for his elders would get him into deep trouble with any Greater Demon. But why not leave that for the younger demon to find out? And humans, humans always forgot what they really were to demons: food. It was only through a sense of aesthetics that most demons didn’t simply go about gorging themselves on humanity and only through a liking for higher quality souls that Malachi even bothered making contracts. But why point that out either? Humans would never realize it.


Malachi’s eyes were trained on the younger demons hands as it stroked the dog’s head. Garm didn’t seem to notice his master’s tension as he craned his neck to smell the demons hand. The demons complied with the human’s request, showing no outward distain for the ‘beast’ comment. A light tug on the leash brought Garm back to all four paws and sitting on his haunches beside him.


“No sir, I know exactly where my Master is.”

[/color] Malachi said to the Dubois heir in the most polite of tones, “He permits me out to walk Garm periodically. He can surely survive on his own for a little while.”[/color]


A lousy servant? Surely not. No one had laid a hand on his Master in the year since the contract had been formed and all who tried were summarily taken care of. Just because his Master permitted the demon some freedoms away from him didn’t mean Malachi wouldn’t be there at the first signs of trouble. The older demon didn’t know if Dubois could say the same about his demon.


And once again Malachi was reminded of how high and mighty humans were as he noticed how relaxed the Dubois heir seemed in the presence of two demons. Silly humans. [/blockquote][/blockquote]

---

words: 383
song: Rolling in the Deep by Adele
notes: none

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[THOMAS RENARD]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,480,true][atrb=height,110,true][atrb=style][bg=][atrb=width,490,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true] Thomas watched the dog get off the table, his expression dialed to contempt. His chair rocked, but it would take fewer that two legs to unbalance him. A human butler, who needed to sleep and eat and take a shit, maybe you gave him a break to go walk his puppydog, but this was either an example of Malachi's wiliness at getting around the aesthetics, or it was stupid. If Malachi and his master were going to get in the way of Thomas eating Olivier's soul, they wouldn't be there long; he would just have to wait until Malachi was out walking his dog and it would be nothing like work to get into the Rousseau household and dispose of its head's head. As much as Thomas liked dogs, he didn't desperately want one for his own: he had a pet already, sitting across from him at the table looking like constipation was getting the better of him. The scruffy demon was never far from Olivier – always close enough to get a lot closer before anything serious happened. Yeah, it was annoying, but having Olivier killed and losing his soul forever would be even more annoying. Thomas had put a lot of work into getting that soul, and he wasn't going to let somebody take it from him. Besides, however restrictive his contract was, it also stopped the older, bigger boys in the playground from picking on him. Sure, they had long memories, but he was hoping they would forget about his transgressions by the time Olivier was installed as King. He certainly wasn't doing this ever again unless Olivier's soul turned out to be pretty damn incredible. Demons like Malachi were clearly idiots or boring gourmets who didn't care about giving up their freedom for something tasty. You sampled enough random souls, you were bound to get one or two good ones. “Cute,” Thomas said, not meaning the dog or the other demon's outfit (which was cute, compared to Thomas' shirt, with coffee stains on the sleeves, and the mud and flour on his trousers) but Malachi's use of the word “permits” and the concept that a human could take care of himself. Kittens could take care of themselves about equally well, all things considered; Demons didn't prey on kittens. Thomas rather liked kittens and was looking after a litter of them that were living in the barn. The rest of the household might have thought this a bad idea and told Olivier about it, but if they had, Thomas would personally have reduced the offending servant's stature by randomly removing horizontal slices of their legs and torso. There was an equal mix of fear and respect for Thomas amongst the DuBois servants: he considered them more or less equals (as far as humans went), helped them out, and treated them like people, but he did quite often mutilate, or reduce to charnel, people. He was lovely so long as he wasn't crossed.

[OLIVIER DUBOIS]

that's m-o-n-e-y so sexy

damn i love the jag, the jet, and the mansion
and i enjoy the gifts and trips to the islands

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,480,true][atrb=height,110,true][atrb=style][bg=][atrb=width,490,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true]

The head of the DuBois family raised an eyebrow at the body guard's response. Permits? Survive? Olivier held his tea cup just below his lips, smiling at the inappropriate behavior Malachi was exhibiting. "I'd never allow any of my servants to utter such things." There was a faint trace of a chuckle rumbling in his throat, but decided it'd be best not to laugh in the face of the help. Just what kind of pompous bastard was he? Completely unprofessional, especially for a young man with such high status. Tilting his head before sipping on his black tea, Olivier wondered where on earth Lazare could be at the moment. Surely he wouldn't visit President Loubet in Versailles, especially without his precious body guard from the underworld. The brown haired heir made eye contact with his butler when he said the word 'cute'. Both of them thought the same thing; the Rousseau family would eventually have to be eliminated. That wasn't anything new though, they were obvious obstacles in his conquest for the crown.

Was the Rousseau household anything like his own? Probably not. Malachi wasn't a butler so he probably didn't deal with such menial things like fine dining. In any case, Olivier was sure that Lazare liked having a nice clean manor to sleep in. That would be nice for a change. Thomas was lagged in his duties, and although he didn't normally deal with inside work such as dusting or cooking, he still manages to get the bed sheets dirty with the filthy muck that comes with maintaining the stables. Sometimes it could be quite troublesome, and wouldn't help that half his servants were fearful of him. Heh, and rightly so. "The World's Fair is coming up. I hope you plan on being prepared. I'm sure you and Lazare are aware of the murder that occurred only a week ago? Seems like we have a crisis on our hands." Olivier smiled again, a little too comfortable with the case they've been instructed to handle. "I'd keep my eye out if I were you. Whoever is responsible for the killing probably murdered my parents.....And your master's parent's as well." This upcoming event was extremely important to French society, not to mention the homicidal case he had to deal with.

Olivier may seem like superficial and careless, but he was one of the smarter ones. Normally twenty-three year olds couldn't handle such pressure, but Olivier was one of his own kind. He welcomed the challenges of President Loubet, the Rousseau Estate, and the mysterious assailants. It may seem like too much to handle, but really they were just opportunities for pure entertainment. Although he'd like to think being King would come sooner than expected. in reality it'd be awhile before such a thing was to be accomplished.

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[MALACHI LIEBRICH]

Malachi didn’t react to his fellow demon’s words, not really caring what he found was cute or willing to keep up a pretense of interest and ask. No, the demon was more concerned with pondering the human’s words. So, if he would not allow a servant to say such things (what ‘such things’ they were Malachi did not yet know) then when freedoms did he allow his servants? And did Thomas not fall under the ‘servants’ category or did the human not restrict the demon in that way? A sharp wit with a hint a vulgarity apparently was not ‘such things’ judging from what the demon had said when he first walked up. But perhaps it was just around fellow demons Olivier allowed his contracted demon to speak that way…Humans certainly were a confusing little lot.

“Yes sir, I can assure you Master Lazare has ordered the most thorough of preparations.”

[/color] Malachi said, his false smile still firmly secured.

He was almost hoping for something interesting to happen during the event, some small thing that wouldn’t cause a troublesome amount of commotion but would still be entertaining. A robber they would have to chase down that would make a rash action and simply have to be killed? Paris was dreadfully cold this time of year as far the demon was concerned and something like that would be just the trick. But, in fact, Malachi was prepared at this very moment and he was reminded of this as the edge of the hilt on a rather large combat knife dug into his skin just beneath his rib cage. He could feel the cool pressure of the throwing knives against the skin of the undersides of his wrists and the weight of his boot knives pressing into his ankle. The demon supposed he was always armored up this way, the knives taking the place of the claws and teeth he possessed in his true for. But it wouldn’t be very prudent to be showing that side of himself off willy-nilly, would it? Merely showing one piece of his arsenal would startle a common human, his true form might strike those humans stone dead from fright.

“Perhaps. We’ll simply have to wait and find out.” [/color] Malachi said, not bothering to shield the fact it was all a bit of a cat-and-mouse game to him, this business of hunting down murderers. And if a Grim Reaper or—dare he even think it—an angel were to get involved that would only double the excitement of the hunt. Reapers were oh so picky about who his kind killed, after all, and angels were simple prudes who either wished everyone to live or everyone to die and be ‘purified’—by the angels own hands. And that made it oh so fun to rip those silly white wings from their backs and send them screaming to the feet of Death. Yes, an angel would be a lucky occurrence indeed.

By now Garm had taken to lying down on the pavement, his paws neatly folded before him, having been given no indication that they would be moving on within the next few seconds. [/blockquote][/blockquote]

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words: 525
song: Bloody Mary by Lady Gaga
notes: none

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