(no subject)
"Hello, you met me some time in mid-April with a fraction of my story told. I do believe it's time to tell you the rest of it?
My name is Laurent. I'm an eighteenth century vampire with exquisite taste in all the finer things. I was made some day in 1701. My "master," "maker," chose me out of a dozen "promising" clergymen for a church he owned. Imagine that? Making a vampire from works of a church? Back then, I considered it blasphemy. I hated him, immensely. His name was Paul, but he liked to be fashioned "St. Paul." He was, what you call, a religious freak (and that's putting it nicely). He chose me to lead a crusade against the non-believing vampires (and that's a whole lot of them), with the help of his other "children."
The only problem was, half of this little cult, as he called it, half of them didn't care about anything concerning this prophet known as Jesus. But I get too far ahead. Let me start from the beginning, shall I?
I had just turned eighteen and I was excited, as it was with my birthdays. I wanted to devote a life of serivitude to the Church and the Virgin Mary, so off I went to this church I heard about. Oh, it was grand, grand indeed. But all these boys walking with their heads lowered behind the priest as if their favored animal died. No one speaking, only the priest, his incense shaker, and chanting. So, I went off to see this Saint I had heard so much about. A few, rather, attractive nuns showed me to what would be my new room. A bed, a cross at the head of the bed, and a window at the very top of the ceiling, a pedastol and a candle...my how, quaint.
"Where is this "Saint?" I looked over to them as I slid off my shirt to place on the black robe. I remember my nipples being hard and the younger nun staring at my chest.
"Oh, my son, this is a special Saint!" Said the other to get the younger to snap out of it with a nudge of her elbow.
"Oh yes, very special." Said the younger, another glance at my smooth chest. I don't know why, but I never grew hair on my chest, so smooth always it was.
"Hm, I see, now where could I find some food? I am quite hungry?" I said with a look of innocence (yeah, me, innocent, right).
"Dinner will be at ten this night." Said the older nun with a smile.
I was appalled, "Ten? You're joking, sister? For surely, as it is only noon, I could get something to eat, at this moment?" My stomach took a dive into my instestines, or so it felt.
"Sorry, St. Paul likes for young boys to fast for him during the day." Replied the older one. I believe her name was Sister Josephine.
"Not even a slice of bread? What is this Saint Paul? A Boogey-Man? Night time? Hysterics!" I mocked and mocked galore.
Gasps now erupted from the sisters.
"Dinner shall be at ten this evening! Be dressed proper! If you heathen boys know how to do so!"
"Piss off!" I declared as they shut the door.
Now see, I wanted to serve the Holy Virgin; But on my terms. I was from London, but moved to France at a very early age. My parents retained the English accent, whilst I adopted a French one.
I wandered the vast courtyards in search of something to eat. I had not had breakfast that morning, so that I would gorge on the church feast...Some feast. When out of the corner of my eye, I saw this huge structure. It was two stories tall and had stained glass windows with gold instead of lead. Golden figures carved right into the structure. Didn't the Bible say not to be so material? Oh well, I was more distracted by the waterfall next to it. It was flowing to the left of this structure, flowing into this marble base. But instead of over flowing, or keep this waterfall damned off, the fountain lead way to original stream it flowed from. How marvelous. Marvelous, who cares about marvelous? I all but ran up to this little fountain and stuck my whole head inside it.
Ah, the cold caressing my cheeks, the water in my mouth, oh the taste of this water. So cold, so refreshing. I was drinking so fast, my stomach began to hurt, I slowed down and soon, my belly lay with the most refreshing water I had ever drank. I sat back, behind this monolith of a creation and studied the figures. All the traditional scenes, Michael casting out Satan. Jesus and his disciples, all that muck. More gold, more jewels. Diamonds, sapphires, rubies, onyx, the works. I remember falling asleep next to this fountain and being rudely awoken by Sister Josephine. Declaring I was just some English heathen slacking about. She didn't know I drank from the fountain, my hair had dried as well as my robes, but she still assumed I did. Heathen this, heathen, heathen. So I called her a rude little witted twit. She didn't like that too much. She fled away from me fuming on about "Jesus strike this boy down!" My, isn't that contradictory?
Let me get more to the story, I feel I am losing your attention. So, two hours before dinner, I slouched around my tomb of a room. I sat at the head of my bed with one leg on the mattress and one foot on the floor. When at about ten, this man walked into my room with the other priests.
"You must be the newest addition to the church, my son." His voice was heavy, yet clear. Like the pressure from swimming too deep. Where it feels good, but you know gets deeper.
"Yes, I am. Are you this Saint Paul some other?" Obvious, no respect.
"You can call me Saint Paul. I am here to help you Laurent."
"Right. How much do they pay you to stay here and starve us?" I replied in disgust.
Gasps from the priests, one ran up to me with a raised arm, but St. Paul grabbed him by the wrist, and calmly said, "No, we cannot expect them to learn from battery, Father John." He pulled Father John back behind him and excused them all from the room.
As he lit the candle, I could see his face. It was pure white. As if this guy never got out in the sun. Perhaps he fasted in cellars? Perhaps. But his eyes, his eyes were blue with specales of green in them. They were stunningly beautiful. His face was drapped with blackest of black hair. It shined in the candelight, as if the hair were alive and dancing in the flame. He was just a little bit taller than me, something I was not used to, as to my exceptional height back in those times. He had broad shoulders and stunning white teeth. Only, he never fully smiled, he only smiled with his lips, and when he laughed, he brought his hand up to cover his mouth.
"No, I do not fast them during the day. That is merely the church trying to gain control of you all. I shall feed you." He said to me.
"Really? I heard you were some night time only saint. How are you supposed to feed me during the day?" I looked up, humbled at his eyes.
"You've seen my chapel. Did you like the water?" He asked in purest form of innocent.
"How did you know? No one saw me! I made sure of it!" I was now angered that he watched me.
"Calm yourself, my son. I shall tell no one. I shall tell them to let you go inside the chapel if you like. Only, do not go into the basement. I do my fasting there and cannot be disturbed." He said with a firm politeness.
"As you wish. But what is your real name?" I asked. I was almost in love with him, just from his looks and his voice.
"My name is simply what you have been told, Paul. I became a saint to better help our Mother Mary and our saviour Jesus." He said with overt love.
"Right, yeah, joining a church you kind of get that notion."
He put his hand up to his mouth and laughed.
"Yes, I do believe that was rather obvious, was it not? Come, come to the dining hall so that you may meet the other sisters and your bretheren and feast the night away. I am fasting, so I won't be joining you in feast, but in person, I shall."
So off we went to the dining hall. I sat with the other boys, and St. Paul sat at this table way ahead of all the others. His table was horizontal, while the other ten (five behind five), were vertical. And sure enough as I'd expect, St. Paul sat right in the center of the table. We said Hail Mary's and Our Father then began the feast.
That feast would be memorable for me, even now that I cannot eat food, I still remember the tastes. I still remember the fumes of sweat and grease mixed in the air. I still remember how everyone deified St. Paul, and how, everyone was up and about, yet he remained seated. He watched us all.
I made alot of friends that night, perhaps because I was the tallest one there, and it was good to be friends with the tall person? I don't know why, but everyone was attracted to me. I couldn't help but think about my perverted nun that was staring at my chest earlier. I bet she has never been with a man before. Perhaps
My name is Laurent. I'm an eighteenth century vampire with exquisite taste in all the finer things. I was made some day in 1701. My "master," "maker," chose me out of a dozen "promising" clergymen for a church he owned. Imagine that? Making a vampire from works of a church? Back then, I considered it blasphemy. I hated him, immensely. His name was Paul, but he liked to be fashioned "St. Paul." He was, what you call, a religious freak (and that's putting it nicely). He chose me to lead a crusade against the non-believing vampires (and that's a whole lot of them), with the help of his other "children."
The only problem was, half of this little cult, as he called it, half of them didn't care about anything concerning this prophet known as Jesus. But I get too far ahead. Let me start from the beginning, shall I?
I had just turned eighteen and I was excited, as it was with my birthdays. I wanted to devote a life of serivitude to the Church and the Virgin Mary, so off I went to this church I heard about. Oh, it was grand, grand indeed. But all these boys walking with their heads lowered behind the priest as if their favored animal died. No one speaking, only the priest, his incense shaker, and chanting. So, I went off to see this Saint I had heard so much about. A few, rather, attractive nuns showed me to what would be my new room. A bed, a cross at the head of the bed, and a window at the very top of the ceiling, a pedastol and a candle...my how, quaint.
"Where is this "Saint?" I looked over to them as I slid off my shirt to place on the black robe. I remember my nipples being hard and the younger nun staring at my chest.
"Oh, my son, this is a special Saint!" Said the other to get the younger to snap out of it with a nudge of her elbow.
"Oh yes, very special." Said the younger, another glance at my smooth chest. I don't know why, but I never grew hair on my chest, so smooth always it was.
"Hm, I see, now where could I find some food? I am quite hungry?" I said with a look of innocence (yeah, me, innocent, right).
"Dinner will be at ten this night." Said the older nun with a smile.
I was appalled, "Ten? You're joking, sister? For surely, as it is only noon, I could get something to eat, at this moment?" My stomach took a dive into my instestines, or so it felt.
"Sorry, St. Paul likes for young boys to fast for him during the day." Replied the older one. I believe her name was Sister Josephine.
"Not even a slice of bread? What is this Saint Paul? A Boogey-Man? Night time? Hysterics!" I mocked and mocked galore.
Gasps now erupted from the sisters.
"Dinner shall be at ten this evening! Be dressed proper! If you heathen boys know how to do so!"
"Piss off!" I declared as they shut the door.
Now see, I wanted to serve the Holy Virgin; But on my terms. I was from London, but moved to France at a very early age. My parents retained the English accent, whilst I adopted a French one.
I wandered the vast courtyards in search of something to eat. I had not had breakfast that morning, so that I would gorge on the church feast...Some feast. When out of the corner of my eye, I saw this huge structure. It was two stories tall and had stained glass windows with gold instead of lead. Golden figures carved right into the structure. Didn't the Bible say not to be so material? Oh well, I was more distracted by the waterfall next to it. It was flowing to the left of this structure, flowing into this marble base. But instead of over flowing, or keep this waterfall damned off, the fountain lead way to original stream it flowed from. How marvelous. Marvelous, who cares about marvelous? I all but ran up to this little fountain and stuck my whole head inside it.
Ah, the cold caressing my cheeks, the water in my mouth, oh the taste of this water. So cold, so refreshing. I was drinking so fast, my stomach began to hurt, I slowed down and soon, my belly lay with the most refreshing water I had ever drank. I sat back, behind this monolith of a creation and studied the figures. All the traditional scenes, Michael casting out Satan. Jesus and his disciples, all that muck. More gold, more jewels. Diamonds, sapphires, rubies, onyx, the works. I remember falling asleep next to this fountain and being rudely awoken by Sister Josephine. Declaring I was just some English heathen slacking about. She didn't know I drank from the fountain, my hair had dried as well as my robes, but she still assumed I did. Heathen this, heathen, heathen. So I called her a rude little witted twit. She didn't like that too much. She fled away from me fuming on about "Jesus strike this boy down!" My, isn't that contradictory?
Let me get more to the story, I feel I am losing your attention. So, two hours before dinner, I slouched around my tomb of a room. I sat at the head of my bed with one leg on the mattress and one foot on the floor. When at about ten, this man walked into my room with the other priests.
"You must be the newest addition to the church, my son." His voice was heavy, yet clear. Like the pressure from swimming too deep. Where it feels good, but you know gets deeper.
"Yes, I am. Are you this Saint Paul some other?" Obvious, no respect.
"You can call me Saint Paul. I am here to help you Laurent."
"Right. How much do they pay you to stay here and starve us?" I replied in disgust.
Gasps from the priests, one ran up to me with a raised arm, but St. Paul grabbed him by the wrist, and calmly said, "No, we cannot expect them to learn from battery, Father John." He pulled Father John back behind him and excused them all from the room.
As he lit the candle, I could see his face. It was pure white. As if this guy never got out in the sun. Perhaps he fasted in cellars? Perhaps. But his eyes, his eyes were blue with specales of green in them. They were stunningly beautiful. His face was drapped with blackest of black hair. It shined in the candelight, as if the hair were alive and dancing in the flame. He was just a little bit taller than me, something I was not used to, as to my exceptional height back in those times. He had broad shoulders and stunning white teeth. Only, he never fully smiled, he only smiled with his lips, and when he laughed, he brought his hand up to cover his mouth.
"No, I do not fast them during the day. That is merely the church trying to gain control of you all. I shall feed you." He said to me.
"Really? I heard you were some night time only saint. How are you supposed to feed me during the day?" I looked up, humbled at his eyes.
"You've seen my chapel. Did you like the water?" He asked in purest form of innocent.
"How did you know? No one saw me! I made sure of it!" I was now angered that he watched me.
"Calm yourself, my son. I shall tell no one. I shall tell them to let you go inside the chapel if you like. Only, do not go into the basement. I do my fasting there and cannot be disturbed." He said with a firm politeness.
"As you wish. But what is your real name?" I asked. I was almost in love with him, just from his looks and his voice.
"My name is simply what you have been told, Paul. I became a saint to better help our Mother Mary and our saviour Jesus." He said with overt love.
"Right, yeah, joining a church you kind of get that notion."
He put his hand up to his mouth and laughed.
"Yes, I do believe that was rather obvious, was it not? Come, come to the dining hall so that you may meet the other sisters and your bretheren and feast the night away. I am fasting, so I won't be joining you in feast, but in person, I shall."
So off we went to the dining hall. I sat with the other boys, and St. Paul sat at this table way ahead of all the others. His table was horizontal, while the other ten (five behind five), were vertical. And sure enough as I'd expect, St. Paul sat right in the center of the table. We said Hail Mary's and Our Father then began the feast.
That feast would be memorable for me, even now that I cannot eat food, I still remember the tastes. I still remember the fumes of sweat and grease mixed in the air. I still remember how everyone deified St. Paul, and how, everyone was up and about, yet he remained seated. He watched us all.
I made alot of friends that night, perhaps because I was the tallest one there, and it was good to be friends with the tall person? I don't know why, but everyone was attracted to me. I couldn't help but think about my perverted nun that was staring at my chest earlier. I bet she has never been with a man before. Perhaps