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BASIC INFO

NAME: Laurent
A.K.A.: Prince of Vere
CANON: Captive Prince Trilogy
HOMEWORLD: Vere
AGE: 20
GENDER: Male
SPECIES: Human

FIRST GLANCE

APPEARANCE: Link
HEIGHT: 5'10"
BUILD: Slender
HAIR: Pale blond
EYES: Blue
DRESS: Preferably toe to chin
SCENT: Clean
VOICE: Veretian (Frenchish)
DEMEANOR: Cold

PERMISSIONS

BACKTAGGING:
4TH-WALLING:
THREADJACKING:
MIND-READING:
FIGHTING:
ROMANCE:
INJURY:
KILLING:
send someone not likely to break
send a fighter


PERSONALITY
Nothing in Vere is ever as it seems. Laurent didn’t understand this until he was thirteen. Until this time he had been protected by his older brother, ignored by his father and others in power as only the second son, but when Laurent became heir everything changed.

Laurent changed, too. In Vere to survive is a matter of art - every choice must be examined from every possible angle to ensure its positive outcome. Laurent is an incredibly perceptive young man and a brilliant tactician - he’s smart enough to be manipulative when he has to be, and in Vere, one always has to be.

As such, Laurent is two people - the person who above all wants the health and safety of his kingdom, and the cold, unfeeling person he must pretend to be to keep his throne. Known to everyone as cold blooded, even those who respect and would die for him, beneath that calculating mind is a young man who truly wants to see his country to prosperity. Laurent never wanted to rule when Auguste was alive, but now he wants to rule as Auguste would have, and he knows what’s at stake if he doesn’t. His uncle the Regent will continue to cut good people down and take their sons into his bed. His uncle will perpetuate the slave culture that has always been part of Vere, and always abhorrent to Laurent himself. Laurent keeps no slaves at all, save for the one given to him by the Regent, a ‘gift’ impossible to return without ensnaring himself in another of the Regent’s plots.

Despite his depth of feeling, Laurent has earned that cold reputation. He is cool headed and never rash, always considering. He is smarter than most young men of twenty, and his sweet face belies the shrewd mind beneath. He has been alone since he was thirteen, surviving every Veretian plot to usurp him, most notably of all his Uncle’s, who is perhaps the only one in the Kingdom as smart as Laurent himself. Laurent is a survivor, and as such he doesn’t hesitate to cause or endure pain if it serves a greater end. Over the years he’s developed an acerbic tongue, and when Laurent puts that sharp mind behind an insult, it’s enough to strip paint from the walls. The only thing that undermines Laurent’s incredible mind is his temper, and the only way to invoke it is to threaten one of the very few he’s allowed into his heart. One doesn’t have friends in Vere, for friends can be used against you, but Laurent feels a kinship with the other young boys in court, all struggling to survive. The loss of his brother is a wound that has never healed, and when he is gifted his brother’s own killer as a slave, Laurent is nearly undone. But he plays the game as best he knows how, and despite his best efforts, Damen’s guileless nature and honest attempts to help him win his trust.

He is the only real friend Laurent has ever had. Laurent can’t allow himself to be weak, but in the moments that even his own iron will can’t keep his feelings at bay, Laurent is terribly lonely. He has to hope that when his uncle is defeated at last, and Vere is under his control, he might be free to find some happiness, and to finally rule Vere as it should be ruled.

HISTORY
MAJOR SPOILERS

Laurent was born the second son to King Aleron and Queen Hennike of Vere. As his older brother Auguste was the heir, Laurent was free to pursue interests more educational than lordly in nature. Though they were both of a regal, golden coloring, Laurent was bookish, smaller and slighter than the tree like Auguste, not a warrior but a keen thinker and tactician. This talent would come to serve him well, for his position as second in line to the throne was not to last.

When he was thirteen, Laurent’s mother died. Swiftly after that, both his father and his brother were killed at the battle of Marlas, a territorial skirmish with the neighboring kingdom of Akielos. In the thick of battle, Vere’s defeat seemed impossible, especially under the fearless command of Auguste. But Vere’s lines were broken by the Akielon prince Damianos, who fought his way to Auguste and, after a long and brutal combat, killed him and ended the battle.

Laurent’s heart never recovered.

His brother was everything to him, his greatest friend and most stalwart protector. Suddenly Laurent was thirteen years old and alone in the world, meant to rule his entire kingdom when he came of age, and Vere was not an easy place to be alone. Its court was cunning and deceptive. No one spoke the truth if a more productive lie could be told, and everyday life was rife with other people’s machinations. Laurent knew better than to let his guard down for even one second, but when his uncle came to him to comfort him, as the last of Laurent’s living family, Laurent welcomed him.

His uncle betrayed this trust and molested Laurent, taking him into his bed and ripping away the last hope Laurent had of finding kindness in the world. Laurent transformed himself accordingly.

He trained himself in combat for long hours everyday. He stopped speaking his true thoughts and learned the art of manipulation. All his words and actions spoke of respect and conformity to his uncle’s rule as Regent, but Laurent now knew the man didn’t have his or the kingdom’s best interests at heart, he only wanted power. Laurent knew that one day, unless he managed to outmaneuver him, his uncle the Regent would betray him and take Laurent’s throne for himself.

The Regent’s plan began in earnest when Laurent was twenty years old, one year away from coming of age. The Regent gifted him with an Akielon slave named Damen. Laurent didn’t speak of it, but he knew this slave was in fact Damianos, Prince-killer, who had years ago robbed Laurent of his brother. Laurent hated Damen, but he recognized him as another piece in a game he must win if he wanted to keep both his throne and his life. Laurent and Damen struck a rocky accord, one that blossomed into a tentative friendship, trust, and eventually, love. Mere months after meeting him, Laurent found himself willing to give up his own life if Damianos could reclaim his throne in Akielos. If Laurent couldn’t lead and reunite their kingdoms, he trusted that Damianos could, and could do it well.

Laurent would arrive from the very end of the trilogy, after his Uncle is defeated, as well as Damianos’ brother Kastor, who wrongfully took the Akielon throne from him.

INVENTORY
INVENTORY ITEM #1. One acerbic tongue.

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Inbox for Laurent
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Laurent hails from the trilogy Captive Prince, which contains countries where slavery and pedophilia are common. Laurent finds these things as repugnant as you do - nevertheless, his long experience with them are sure to permeate his inner monologue.

Permissions below:

Please let me know if you'd like me to avoid tagging your pup with Laurent entirely, I promise that's fine.

Alternatively, please let me know if you're fine with me tagging with Laurent, but would like to avoid sensitive subjects and I, through the Powers of Creative Writing, will do my best to accomodate!
cast_iron_bitch: (Brood.)
Laurent's feet cut a direct line from the hospital to his Terrace rooms. There were any number of places he might have gone to clear his head - or swing his arms, as he was in a rare mood to cut something down to its marrow - yet Laurent did not trust his mood to take him anywhere but home.

Of all the people, of all the traitorous, miserable wretches. This place seemed to collect every possible person from everywhere, human or not, alive or dead, yet it could not see fit to ever bring his brother.

Laurent stopped. It was cold enough that the very air he pulled into his lungs stung all the way down, yet for a moment he couldn't move. This was, perhaps, the first time he allowed himself to admit to hope. Auguste might yet come, even if Darrow insisted on bringing every horrible person from home first.

Shoulders rounding against the wind, Laurent continued on, chilled enough now to hurry indoors, but he found when he was at last standing in his apartment and pulling off his frozen scarf, the core of him was still molten, roiling with a fury he could not seem to expunge with clear and measured thought.

Laurent cast his eyes about the living until his gaze came to rest on a vase. It had been in these rooms longer than he had, there when he moved in. It was squatty and blue, nothing he would have ever chosen apart from the color, but the fat bottom rested neatly in the curve of Laurent's palm.

He stared at it, then threw it at the far wall with all his strength.
cast_iron_bitch: (Brood.)
In the end, it had taken less than a minute's time to decide the price was worth the result.

The billboards cost several thousand each, but it was not this cost to which Laurent's thoughts turned. At nearly seven hundred square feet in size, the images of Damen's straining form were quite striking. Laurent had been there to watch as the first billboard was raised, observing as each pair of eyes was caught and lingered upon the sight. A few passersby even took photographs on their phones, though whether that was to keep a remembrance of Damen's form or the number and address of the gym his body advertised, Laurent could not be sure.

Either way, the advertisements were most effective. That Damen might not enjoy them was the true price to be born. Laurent might have told him before, or even during the process of their design. Instead, he had chosen not even to tell him after, at least not in words. The route he had chosen for their daily walk would neatly perform the task for him - now, he need only wait for Damen to notice.

'The air is turning,' he observed as they walked by the park, perilously near to the first - and least clothed - sign. 'In a perfect world, we could give winter a pass entirely and progress directly from autumn to spring.'
cast_iron_bitch: (Demuring.)
When Nicaise was safely tucked beneath his sheets with more wine in his belly than the denizens of Darrow would likely smile upon, Laurent found himself in the hall.

The dragon's wings were long gone, struck from existence by clever cuts of Damen's sword, yet Laurent could not dispel the roar in his ears. It was there whether his eyes were open or closed, it was there beneath the sound of voices and there to crush any silence that might fall. Everywhere he turned, Laurent faced the phantom beat of wings, and each time the sound returned, he felt the earth fall away again as he rose and rose into the sky, clutched within cruel talons that threatened to tear him apart.

Laurent braced his hand against the wall and breathed in, holding it until spots danced before his eyes. Exhaling in a rush, Laurent fled the hall and returned to the living room, where Damen's large, bruised form was laid out atop the chaise. Laurent sat with gentle movements so as not to jostle him, laying his hand against the rise and fall of Damen's chest before he spoke.

'Are you certain I shouldn't summon a healer?'
cast_iron_bitch: (Listening.)
It was a fine summer evening. At ten stories high, Laurent's balcony was not perfumed with flowers as it would have been at home, but neither was it scented with the exhaust of the city streets below. He had made the best of the space that he could, arranging potted plants and trees and small, twinkling lights around the small table and chairs, and it was to this space that he directed Nicaise now.

'Would you like to dine on the balcony?' he asked as he finished dinner preparations, already carrying a large bowl of greens towards the sliding door. 'If we are very lucky, our neighbor across the way might entertain us again.'
cast_iron_bitch: (Skeptical.)
Laurent preferred to know.

It was more than a matter of pride or of self-worth. In Vere he had faced death daily, spared from it only by his own calculations and plans. In such a court knowledge was both sword and shield, at times a cutting arrow, at others, a wall. He was small for his age, and slender, but Laurent had identified the traits that would cancel these physical shortcomings and nurtured them.

He could not fight with his hands; he learned to use a sword. He could not speak for his kingdom; he learned to negotiate with those who could, orchestrating the changes he needed from the outskirts. He could not defeat his Uncle; he aligned himself with the only man who dared try.

Whatever uncertainties Laurent faced never remained so for very long. His intolerance for ignorance within himself simply wouldn't allow it.

And so, when the dirty floors and cracked walls of their gym began to take form with new padding, new ceilings, and finally, a host of large and confusing equipment, Laurent took special affront to the latter. Some held a purpose he could divine simply by looking at them. The benches and the long bars with weights on either end were surely meant to strengthen one's chest and arms. The ill-named dumbbells were also for arms, and the seat in which one sat and pushed away weights with one's feet was for legs, but this was were Laurent's understanding stopped.

He walked towards a large machine comprised almost entirely of bars and cables. He tugged half heartedly on one of the handles and pulled it down with ease. It must need to be weighted; he resolved to watch Damen with the machine and determine how it was done. He drifted to another machine next, this one looking almost like a very short set of stairs. Why this would be required when there were stairs in every building in Darrow, Laurent didn't know.

With a sigh, he ventured to the rows of dumbbells next. He had worked out kilograms some time ago, preferring metric to the more foolish methods of measuring weight, but all these seemed to be labeled in pounds. Laurent paused before one marked '100.' His hand hovered over the top of it, then closed. Laurent pulled.

He pulled again, harder this time. And again, until a fine sheen popped forth on his forehead.

'You moved,' Laurent muttered. 'I saw it.'
cast_iron_bitch: (Withdrawn.)
Damen not only recognized the worry Laurent felt over Nicaise leaving without his phone, but also left to deliver it to him without a second thought. The warmth Laurent had felt as the door closed behind him was considerable, but it had mostly cooled by the time Laurent heard steps outside his door. The delivery of the phone could not have taken more than minutes, yet nearly a half hour had passed. The text he received was not nearly enough to staunch his worry.

It could be that Damen and Nicaise had gone to get ice cream together. It could be that they met someone along the way to pass the time. Each peaceable scenario was more likely than any dangerous one, yet Laurent could not shake his fears, and was pulling his coat onto his shoulders when Damen entered the kitchen.

Laurent quelled the sudden rush of relief until he spotted Nicaise behind him, and his entire body gave a twitch. The urge to rush forward and embrace him was absurd, but Laurent found himself bodily resisting the impulse. His eyes dropped to the bandage on Nicaise's arm, and his stomach gave a sickening dip. He could not have reopened the vein, surely, not and still be ambulatory.

'What has happened?' asked Laurent, his voice entirely devoid of emotion in his dread.
cast_iron_bitch: (Intent.)
There was much to do before their business venture could begin. The floors needed stripping, the vents had to be entirely redone, the walls needed painting, and Laurent hadn't yet begun to worry over the design of the bathrooms. It was a job for many, and there were a good many renovation crews in Darrow. Laurent had a long list of them, organized by price and merit, but when he arrived at their future gym, he met Damen alone.

Laurent let them both in with a key, pulling a second from his pocket to give to Damen. 'The floors must come up first,' he said, 'We can worry about the ceilings, after. We'll need professionals to install the vents, but these first items we can do ourselves.' Laurent reached into his bag and retrieved a gray jumpsuit, which he pulled on over his clothes, sealing the long seam that ran up the front with velcro. When he was finished, he pulled out another and gave it to Damen.

'It was difficult to find one in your size,' he said with a serene expression. 'It might be a bit snug.'
cast_iron_bitch: (Calm.)
The room was small and austere, but not private.

It could have been. Laurent could have paid for more than a thin, green curtain to protect Nicaise from prying eyes, but in the end he'd decided on a lesson in frugality. And so, when the day came for Nicaise's stitches to be removed, he and the boy found themselves tucked into a cramped corner of the clinic, himself folded neatly into a chair, and Nicaise perched on the end of a large, uncomfortable looking palette. He had at least been spared the flimsy gown worn by so many others.

'I'm hungry,' Laurent observed after they had waited more than half an hour past their appointed time. 'What would you like for lunch when this is through?'
cast_iron_bitch: (Side.)
Laurent stepped away from his library and the sleeping boy within it and went to the washroom, splashing cold water on his face. He felt at once too warm and chilled, and he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were too bright, and the color too high in his cheeks. He did not look calm, certainly not to one who knew him as well as Nicaise.

Breathing deeply, Laurent checked on the pallet of cushions once more and went to the kitchen to pour himself some water. His phone still lay where he had left it after ordering dinner. Laurent picked it up. For a moment, merely looking at Damen's name in his list of contacts calmed him.

It was ridiculous, of course. Damen would not care for this arrangement one bit, especially after that business with his own house guest. Still, Laurent was in tangles, and after a moment more he accessed his messaging system.

After a rough start, his fingers acclimated to the touchscreen keys, and Laurent began a message.

Why did your people build Ios on the sea?

Laurent sent the note, then frowned.

A sentry city would have done just as well, leaving you to safeguard your capital in the inland mountains.
cast_iron_bitch: (Trouble.)
He was too aware of his pulse.

It was foolish, as a good many things Laurent had decided to let transpire tonight were foolish. Still, he assembled several bottles of wine, a plate of cheeses, a small assortment of meats, loaves of bread, and grapes. It was too much, but so too was Damen's appetite. He had placed a large carafe of water in the cold box to chill. He had dressed himself in a long sleeved shirt, a tie, removed the tie, and put it on again.

He should not have demanded this.

Laurent could count on one hand the number of times he had given up control in the last seven years. That any had had a happy ending was an affront to plausibility, but it hadn't escaped Laurent that each favorable time had been with one man. Yet each time had been the result of circumstance, the both of them caught in an escalating chain of deadly events and each doing their best to survive it. Never by Laurent's own hand, save for that night in the fort, that evening in the inn.

A heavy knock came at the door, rendered by an overlarge Akielon hand, and Laurent waited in silence while his heart climbed down from its perch in his throat. He went to the door and opened it. Damen was on the other side.

'I hope you don't expect a spectacle.'
cast_iron_bitch: (Direct.)
Spoilers )

Beneath his knees were the wooden slats of a floor, and Laurent looked away from the space where Damen had been.

'Where am I?'

The explanation, when it came, was not satisfactory.

And yet, no matter who Laurent asked or how he asked it, the explanation remained the same. The tall, thunderous city he had found himself in was called Darrow, and it could not be escaped. What was more, and even more unsettling, the place saw fit to bring people to it, and it had a strange notion of time.

Laurent learned that there were others like him here. Laurent learned that Damen was here. Laurent learned where Damen lived, and it was very easy once he found the building to coax his way inside, even dressed as he was in little more than bloodied rags.

Damen's 'landlady' was sympathetic to his plight - he was Damen's friend, a young actor dressed in costume who'd been foolish enough to lose track of his other clothes. She let him into Damen's rooms and left him be, and Laurent made good use of his time. He bathed with cloth from Damen's washroom, and clothed himself in the strange garments he found in Damen's drawers. The bloodied chiton, Laurent did not know what to do with, so he simply left it on the floor near the chaise he arranged himself upon, a glass of cool water in his hands as he waited.

Time passed, but not enough that Laurent had time to grow any more anxious at their reunion. Either Damen would remember their time together, or he would not. If it was the latter, Laurent would simply have to remind him. A key rattled. The lock turned. The door opened, and Damen stepped inside.

Laurent greeted him from the chaise. "Hello, lover."
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