Where Anyone is Possible
Genre: Mature, Adult, Horror, Preternatural, Realistic, Dark, and Freeform.
Other: Sexual Pairing to be determined, though preference given to males.
Your character: I have no present silhouette of how I expect your character to behave or appear. There are many variations available in the plot. I have constructed it without tight confines for the reason I wish for you to have equal input. Though, there are a few givens: the first, there is supernatural element to your character; they are much different from those around. I admit, I crave a vampire thread, though this can easily be a wolf. This holds dark overtones as the interaction is physical and extensive. I expect there to be perverse comments, biting commentary, and incongruous collaborations between them.
Specifics: Plotwise, set during the reign of Jack the Ripper, meaning the language is archaic and colorful. Among the elite and religious lies those who know a separate species exist - a dark market of human trafficking for blood.
One. I expect literacy. I will not reiterate what such consists of, but I expect posts to be lengthy, if the circumstance calls for it. The lengthy can flux easily between about two and three hundred characters (an approx. of 500-600 words). If this expectation is too rigid, then please, do not apply.
Two. Do not GM.
Three. The content of the RP will be adult in nearly every aspect. Includes: smut, graphic language, and the sort.
Four. The pace will be moderate, consisting of several posts within a week (an approx. of four). If you are absent for more than a 12-day period, I will wipe the thread, and start anew.
Five. Follow ToS.
Six. I would like to speak to you personally about the development of the plot before we begin.
Seven. I wish to approve pictures. I am unnecessarily and unfortunately particular. I have not yet decided the style of picture - as of now, submit  graphic/illustration and  realistic.
Eight. Do not request access. PM your skeleton.
Name:: Charlotte Vintre:: The Duchess::
Sex & Age:: Female, Age 22
Sexuality:: Prefers Women
Personality:: A daring and sexual woman, The Duchess finds herself one of the most eccentric of all elitist, with her husky voice and prominent features, in contrast to her biting wit and demeanor, perhaps it is her intelligence, or her philosophy of Objectiveness, but she is quite a dangerous woman when crossed.
Likes:: Tea, Dark, Moon, Ocean, Books, Gleaming of Blades
Dislikes:: Screaming, Weakness, Fear, Meekness
Fears:: Acute Somniphobia
Theme Song:: Beautiful Darkness by Tacere
A ginger sigh had been extracted from lush lips of the brooding passenger, silent and incognito aside from the dark veil used to shield against undesirable odors and temperamental weather. Upon a quick study, one observes the proper folding of small hands upon the other, adorned in fine lace gloves, and a single ring of baronial status; the black taffeta and satin gown had encompassed a very feminine form, the jewel necklace trimmed in white lace held pearl button closures and continued towards underskirt in its rows of satin ruffles; yet, the disquieting oculars had not rose from the fixed study of the velvet trimmed setting of the train. The Orient Express was a fabulous beast of creation, though its customers (usually of the wealthy sort) reduced the overall quality of the experience, especially for such a young, impressionable female.
Finally, a young gentleman entered, his handsome features monstrous from the expressive anger so thoroughly indulged. “Uncultured brutes should have little dealings in business,” he remarked, before soothing the gold embroidered Baker City Vest, drawing attention once more towards the expensive Vienna Brocade Tailcoat. The young attendant allowed her attention to be enraptured then to her frustrated companion, beckoning with an elegant wave to sit.
“What has you so infuriated, dearest Joseph,” the vague accent beheld the romance of her French lineage, much like a luminous moon flower, awaiting the perfect instant to unfold its petals; everything was pale and gentle and romantic about the slip of a woman. Her passive tone suggested an easy calm, though the flush of elegant cheekbones did not. “That you lose the composure of your great gentility?”
His brown eyes withheld the gaze of her hazel as though having found insult in the inquiry. Calmness entered his face as though it were a struggled sentiment, before the rage subsided and he surrendered to pleasant conversation. “My apologies. It is impossible to procure the perfect prosody nor the utmost principle of punctuality to those who willingly squander time.” The frustration fled in a breath, though the tick of irritation showed when he referred to his pocket watch for the time. The absurdity of individuals perplexed the youth, though, he mused he should find no reason to become upset by the nature of such, aside from this day. “And now we will be late for our appointment.”
The woman waved her hand to dispel the pessimistic energy within the cart, and secreted away a small curve of the lips. “Some circumstances are extenuating. Time is owned by none.”
“How eloquent, Char,” he pronounced the first syllables of his name, then settled into a meditative silence. Their brief conversation terminated at the sound of the departing train, and resumed once the terminus had neared considerably.
It began with: “Strange, isn't it, that you should be notified of an impending marriage between you and Prince Albert?”
“An arranged marriage is hardly a scandalous topic,” the laugh of sarcasm rose, “though surprising to such nobility.”
“Indeed. You were merely the daughter of a French aristocrat, presently the future Duchess of Clarence.”
The blush that colored her features was light. Her Joseph had spoken truth at the complexity and surprise surrounding the situation. Charlotte had been playing the violin with her governess when the news arrived by royal messenger; her father had kissed her cheeks with tears of joy and triumph after informing of the future situation. The strangeness of it grew more so when reviewing her delinquent history with suitors. Studies and music had consumed her life, and left no room for romance.
The train stopped, and the passengers rose, anxious for the coolness of fresh air.
“Very briefly may I mention the young Duke surely will be at a loss of how to romance a fille.” Her undignified response consist of a feminine chuckle, and opening the black lace parasol. Joseph took the hold of the Truesdale truck with care. As per instructed by the royal handler, she brought only the bare necessities, provided with all others upon her arrival.
Nervous fear tickled the inside of her belly. The charm of a lady dictated discomfort was never shown. She bared her teeth into a smile, and pressed arm in arm with her confidant forward into a world unknown. "Indeed, he shalln't."
“Ah, and you are the blushing bride,” the statement was spoken quite softly, without infliction nor concern. Its speaker was a petite woman, angular in the face, and intense in the eyes. Blond strands swept across the forehead and down the length of her torso, stopping at a romantic end just slight of her breast. The eyes, almond and antwerp blue, a more subtle baby near the pupils. The distinct qualities of a hungry feline fitted in the face, though impassive with thought. “I did not expect one so chaste.” The words were colored with seductive amusement, emphasized when she strolled lazily forward and reached for the tiny wrist, admiring the delicate web of blue veins. “How delectable.”
Charlotte started at the feel of her thump resting against the pulse, thundering apace with uneasiness. “Yes, indeed,” she only managed to reply, her eyes conservatively watching the open delectation upon the woman's features. The fixed gaze felt inappropriate, as a male may enjoy the visual pleasures of a woman. Idly, she wondered had the woman noticed how hollow the response was, but the other had not seemed to notice, so intense their gazes.
“My manners. I am Anatasie, old family friend. I am afraid the handler had the misfortune of consuming fish somewhere in the East End. I forget you are not from here; I'm sure you do not know the influx of immigrants we have gotten...the disease and poverty here now. Unpleasant conversation, I'm afraid. Especially without the luxury of afternoon chai after your journey. Please, follow me.” She lead the girl by her held wrist in the adjoining room.
Here, in the low light, she admired the blue boned bustier, the ribbons of tafetta across its surface, the bobbinette sashs that hugged her hips over a velvet underskirt. Her beauty was remarkable enough to make the young Char feel quite inadequate.
“When might I be having dinner with Prince Albert?” She inquired softly, sipping the tea with all the refined grace of elite women. “The opportunity to speak to him seems to dwindle.”
“Indeed. It shalln't be for a while. He is in Abergeldie...ah, Scotland dear, handling imperial matters. Do not fret, you are in good, experience hands.” She sipped her tea leisurely, finding herself staring almost distasteful towards Joseph. “Perhaps it would be of import were your footman to carry your trunk upstairs. You will not miss the room, I'm assured?” Joseph opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by the uncompromising stare. Silently, he complied, and disappeared from the foyer. “As I mentioned, you will have nothing to fear. Tomorrow, at the Duke Farsid, you will presented as the betroth.”
Charlotte continued drinking in silent fascination of the entire situation. “Why so soon? We have yet to court, visit one another...”
“Never any mind to such trivial things. The Prince shall love you in due time.” She grinned, showing all teeth. “You have duties to attend.”