BLANCHE- ARGENTE, Lavinia [Vampire]

[Lavinia Blanche - Argente]

LAVINIA AMBROSINE BLANCHE-ARGENTE

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nicknames: Lav, 'Vinia, Sine, Bitch.
age:Six-Hundred and Eight Five. Forever stuck in her early twenties.
gender: Female, definitely female.
sexuality:One shouldn't judge on parts, but what they can do with them.
occupation: House wife. Shopping enthusiast. Occasional secretary.
Species: Vampire
Group: The American-Argente Vampire Clan
Residence: Top floor of the Pierre Hotel, New York City.

played by: Evan Rachel Wood
appearance:

Lavinia's appearance has varied through the ages with only a few consistencies. The girl has kept her wiry, thin form (though, when one can’t eat solid food it makes it a tad tricky to gain any weight). Her arms are small and thin -proportional to the rest of her body-, and it takes only two fingers to wrap around her upper arm. Her hands keep with the flow and are small and short. Lavinia constantly cursed the stubbed appendages while she set learned to play the piano. Her tasteful makeup is often complimented by bruises around her neck, wrists, and any other part of body her husband chooses to mark.

Her feet are rather tiny, but that was quite fashionable in her human years. Her dark hair has varied the most, really. She’s experimented with hair colors, and her goal when it comes to her locks seems to be to make sure not a soul knows (or remembers) her original hair color. It hasn’t grown from her shoulder-length cut, but has been pulled and yanked and teased into various styles through the centuries.

Her face is round- just slightly- around her upper cheek bones and molds in a small, square chin. Her eyes are wide with a far from doe-like innocence; they're often half lidded in lazy content or narrowed in displeasure or contempt. Her eyes are a blue-gray, reflecting in the moonlight to give her an eerie look- fitting, really. Her breasts border on just a b or c-up, though she much prefers corsets over bras still. She claims they're a nice handful, but secretly wishes she had more assets to offer. Especially with her lack of 'fashionable' butt.

Her clothing and hair styles have differed through the years, of course. Her youngest years were spent in tight up-dos and heavy, layered dresses. It was startling the different between the drab colors and several year old gowns she was happy with, previous to being made. Justinian dressed her up in vibrant silks and luxurious garments. Nowadays she prefers smaller dresses, but dresses all the same; some things just become too ingrained to pass up. She’s never worn a pair of pants, and never intends to. She finds them indecent looking. Lavinia has always insisted on buying the most expensive and best quality clothing she could find; fine silks and soft furs. Her current closet is comprised of revealing blouses, skirts, day and night dresses, anything with touches of lace, and anything that resembles a corset.

Her favorite thing to buy has and will always be lingerie. The moment the idea and market opened up, Lavinia dug her short fingernails into it and has never let go. She prefers custom made pieces, made only to be worn once or twice. When lounging around her home or her husband's office she can be found in stockings, garter belts, panties, and bustiers (that is, when she isn't in her preferable state-nude).

Though she is more often than naught dressed in thousands of dollars worth of clothing in only the finest taste, she occasionally likes to curl up in sheer comfort. For that, nothing compares to her husband's shirt and a pair of shearling boots. Several constant accessories (or as constant as she can help) include her pink-diamond banded wedding ring, her pink and clear diamond engagement ring, and a million-dollar diamond dog collar.

likes:

• Money
  
• Wealth
  
• jewels
  
• men
  
• women
  
• sex
  
• theater
  
• dancing
  
• bubble-baths
  
• silk
  
• silk sheets
  
• purple ink
  
• strong chests
  
• harem-worthy amounts of pillows
  
• being appreciated
  
• being marked
  
• being in-the-know
  
• undiagnosed diabetics
  
• being held
  
• her collar
  
• Vampire blood
  
• Fae blood
  
• shopping
  
• clubbing
  
• classical music
  
• the piano
  
• high-heels
  
• shearling boots
  
• perfume
  
• pedicures
  
• massages
  
• being bitten.
  
• possessive husbands
  

dislikes:

• anemics
  
• werewolves
  
• humans not for her pleasure
  
• hunters
  
• "whore"
  
• being cold
  
• being bored
  
• ugly teeth
  
• acne
  
• blotchy skin
  
• male chauvinism
  
• extreme feminists
  
• bra and pants 'stuffers'
  
• hospitals
  
• vacuums
  
• small beds
  
• air freshers
  
• plastic surgery
  

goals:

To stay at Justinian's side forever, while helping to keep him in power. In a perfect world the werewolves would be extinct, the Humans in their proper subservient mindset and position; available for constant feeding and pleasure. A perfect world, ruled by the perfect clan of perfect creatures: American-Argente Vampire Clan.

fears:

Death; when one is as old as she, you can't imagine dying. Thousands of stories have inhabited her mind on just what death is like, and not a single one seems to be in her favor. One the few things that scare her more than her own death is Laevinus' death. The only thing scarier then his death is her mate's. If Justinian were to die, her world would collapse.

personality:

Demanding; Lavinia wants certain things and she wants them immediately. She has a nasty temperament when she doesn't get her way right when she wants it. When she's in a foul mood, which tends to be often, she wants attention from all eyes in the room until someone at least attempts to rectify her terrible predicament. She'll yell and act violently towards anyone in arm's reach- stopping short of Justinian. Most of the time.

Violent; The girl will kick, pinch, slap, scrape, and bite anyone who causes her annoyance and displeasure. This only intensifies around mortals and mortal supporting vampires. She's carried a reputation of abuse through every member- both deceased and current- of her and/or Justinian’s household, especially to the female mortals they both feed from. There are very few sheep she falls short of. She does at least attempt to cool down before having to be around Clan Masters, but sometimes she gets caught in a situation were she cannot hold back her temper. Of course, violence can also be worked out horizontally.

Seductive; Lavinia's well acquainted with what makes luring men- and women- into a dark corner for a quick bite. In fact, one could say the wiles of women were the reason for her life and existence today. She knows the subtle way to move her body closer or to bite the side of her lip with a very non-childlike curiosity. The enjoyment of seduction echoes her love for revealing silk and lace clothing. She takes special interest in luring Knowns and Hunters into her arms; killing them quickly.

Curious; She has a bad habit of poking her nose where it shouldn't often be. Really, it's just her way of making sure she isn't left out of anything. She wants and deserves, in her mind, what you have and know. She'll slip behind you back, nuzzling at the next of the man she bled and bedded the night before, finding out just where the nest hunters are hiding. Or the number to their credit card. Even the name of their Cousin Bert’s wife isn’t safe. Lucky for her, curiosity has a hard time killing vampires.

Dual-natured; Lavinia often seems self-hypocritical, or at least mildly bipolar. She's terribly cruel and violent- particularly towards most human. She takes pleasure from hunting, often leaving men and women half dead in back alleys on the brink of something. She's old fashioned in certain ways; her taste in decor and clothing, her view of how men should treat women (to some extent), and even her word choice reflect that. She's domineering, selfish, and extravagant. She enjoys the feeling of a variety of people, sexually. However, when it comes to her mate she's submissive, giving, meek, and pouting.

However, in a total about-face, she wouldn't dare harm itty-bitty baby fledglings (and many others of her kind). Her old-fashioned views never aligned with her view of sexual actions- even when she was human. While she still wouldn't dare dream of wearing pants and still expects men to hold doors and stand when she enters, she grows frustrated when her sex is called into play with anything. Being told she can't do something because she's a woman angers her beyond reason. And as for extravagance, there are some night's she'd rather go simply nude than bother with jewelry or gowns. Though she seems like a whore at times, she abhors the word; not matter who or what she plays with, her dedication is to Justinian.

relatives: Justinian Argente, husband. Laevinus Blanche-Argente, adoptive son
history:

Ambrosine was born on July 27th, 1335 to only recently wed Colin and Leticia Blance. It wasn't a happy marriage from the start; it was quite apparent to anyone who came across either of the young couple that their relationship had been intended for nothing more than faceless, frantic sexual relief. When Leticia had found herself pregnant it took her father and three elder brothers to force Colin into marriage. The child, even more unwanted when it was discovered to be female, was hastily named and tossed to her grandmother (who’s interest in the child seemed to end and the girl staunchly refused to accept proper etiquette unquestioningly).

Colin, a budding wine merchant who preferred to spend long hours testing the products he sold rather than at his ledgers, found himself at the local pub shortly after his daughter's sixteenth summer. Jehan Coulle, one of the wine makers in the next town over and one of Colin's partners, found himself opposite the man. Both were tousle-haired, pink cheeked, and a tad bit buzzed off of the bottle. Jehan pushed the rest of his gold into the middle of the already overcrowded card table. Colin, having nothing left on him, waved a hand and slurred his words; he had an offer that could not be beat. The eager, round faced man leaned in to hear his, now equally sotted, companion's words. If Jehan won against him, he'd give him his daughter- and double her dowry. Jehan licked his lips. However, if Colin won, Jehan would still have to take Amrosine- with not a piece of gold to her name. Colin produced a winning hand. The two married September, 1351.

The young girl had little interest in the man that was her husband. She found him dirty and dull- his nightly visits to the bottle kept her even more distant. The only thing that had her remotely interested in the man was her previously unexplored sense of womanhood; however, when Ambrosine found other- more fit, capable, and skilled- men to explore it with, her opinion of him waned. She much preferred to think of him as nonexistent. He much preferred to forgot her in favor of the bigger bosom-ed whores of their village. He was never one to forget their once-monthly attempts at creating a child, loving to force himself on his repulsed wife. Each failed attempt made him angrier and angrier with his wife.

Jehan pursued his own interests in pubs full of bawdy women and brothels that dotted the shady streets of Auxerre. That was, of course, until another loosing bet. Jehan had few rivals- for who was as experienced as him when it came to fine wines? Edouard de Vogues was the best wine maker of northern France, and Jehan’s strongest competition. The pub, yet again, was home to another incredible wager- winery for winery; livelihood for livelihood. Once again, Jehan was beat.

It wasn't long after this that Ambrosine began an affair with Edouard. Partly it for was revenge, partly because the scraps of food and cloth she'd once found disgraceful looked like the lap of luxury compared to the starvation and rags she now called her own. Edouard bought her the cloth, garments, and treated her to wine and food, parading her as victory prize. He was blatant in his relationship with the soon to be 21 year old, and she with her sinful lifestyle. There a was hardly a night when her name wasn't on a gossiper's tongue. Jehan, destitute and violently drunk for most of his days searched internally for the reason behind his downfall- his petite, barren, incompetent, whore of a wife.

He and several friends dragged her to the Cathedral de St. Etienne one evening. They shouted profanities at her repeatedly, the word whore spat from their tongues as if she and the word were incarnations of the devil himself. A misaligned, drunken, ax wielding man stepped forward. The group left a barely living, unconscious in a dimly-lit back alley.

The next thing she remembered was a series of blurry visages hovering over her, not with concern and anxiety due to a woman on the edge of death, but one of sheer impatience. When she finally awoke, the girl found herself naked in an elaborate bed- far better than her own or anyone else’s that she'd slept with. It was a luxury to have a bed, never mind the furs wrapped around her small frame. She pulled a silk sheet around her body and went to find the owner of the house. Deep in the study, she found Justinian.

The first years were the worst, she acknowledged later on. She spent most of the time doing everything and anything against the man. If he told her she couldn’t be so blatant with her sleeping arrangements, she'd have a coffin dug up and dragged into the middle of his bedroom for her to sleep in. If he told her she couldn't continue her relationships with mortal men (for it was fun, she admitted, to torture Edouard and her ailing husband), she increased the number of sexual partners. When he told her it was not her place to give input or undermine anyone, she worked harder to do just that. It was all play to her, and both parties knew it. For he attempted kindness to her, but his grabs and snarls at her were only laced with passion when he was furious with her.

It wasn't until he explained to her what a mate was that she realized she was hearing many of his comments in her mind. It wasn't until he proclaimed she was ready to be on her own that she wrapped her arms around him and begged him not to leave her. She's refused, for the most part, to leave his side every since. She could not and still cannot imagine her life without him, and still prefers their passionate encounters to lackluster ones.

They traveled extensively, staying in London and the exclusive Chausse D'antin in Paris. Ambrosine enjoyed the bawdy theater, insisting that she’d be the best actress in the world if they’d let her on stage. She watched second hand, and often, drunken performances of Shakespeare’s plays- purchasing a printed edition of the First Folio when he died. Before the eighteenth century she’d shed her name; Ambrosine was far too ironic and far too mortal for her. Lavinia was much better and much more appeasing to her morbid sense of humor. She became fascinated with woman's lingerie as he came into existence. She followed the works of Herminie Cadolle and Roxey AnnCaplin with avid interest, collecting pieces with hardly a thought to extravagance and price.

Their time in London, around the Regency era, was the first time Lavinia insisted on her own home. It was also the first time the idea of her being his lover rather than his ward was spread around society and their feeding ground. She once again reveled in the gossip.

The year they came to America wasn’t important to Lavinia; it was still the immigrant ridden, low-class place she abhorred when they did. The theater’s development, and vast population for easy picking, kept her interested. She still visits theaters today, happily unhindered by the sunlight that used to rule the theater. Musicals, opera, and her darling Bard’s works still keep her avidly interested.

She moved into the Plaza, under various names through the years, fifty or so years ago. It wasn't until recently that the two were wed. Lavinia's aesthetics and Justinian's seemingly endless amount of money funded and almost 3 million dollar event, her engagement ring costing over half a million dollars. The vows were nonreligious, concluding with a BDSM-lifestyle collar ceremony. She adores when she's reminded that her mate owns her. She moved in to her mate, husband, and Clan Master's home not long after that.

your name: Maria :)
your age: eighteen
experience: eight years.
Example:

When Lavinia Blanche had been a young girl affairs were conducted in a far different manner. She’d snuck out to pubs, into piles of hay in stables, and even a few water closets. For the most part, especially among those she didn’t keep a lengthy arrangement with, she remained anonymous and often in disguise. Never once had she visited a man’s home and slept there afterwards. It had been too dangerous with mortal men to do so, especially after she was turned. Her husband may have noticed her gone, or there was the simple matter of sunlight. It also, she believed, added a dangerous personal edge to the affair.

It was funny, to her. Biting, licking, nipping, fucking, and any other thing she did was nothing compared to the intimacy of sharing a bed. She’d never even shared a bed with Justinian on a permanent basis; she’d always insisted on her own residency no matter where they traveled. If she couldn’t have it, she’d at least have her own rooms and her own bed.

So when she found herself not only in another man’s bed, but wrapped up against his chest in his arms, Lavinia was a little confused. Her mind was always a bit dazed in the early evening, hence her Bellboy appointment at seven o’clock every night. It was prompt, it was perfect, and she wouldn’t have to lay very still pretending to sleep while she figured out just what the hell she’d done the night before. She wondered if all vampires were so confused in the evening, or was it just her- had she suffered possibly brain loss before she was turned? I had been a close call.

Lavinia closed her eyes, trying to piece together the information of the previous night. She remembered the bellboy. She remembered the subway. She remembered Damian. Her stomach did a small tumble as those particular memories slipped by. She recalled tile floors; cool against her suddenly heated skin. She remembered bare skin, and lots of it. She shook her head, trying to get to the very important memories; it certainly wasn’t sex that had her so weak and in his bed.

And then it clicked. It had been late enough when he’d carried her up the stairs and tossed her to the floor to have his wicked way with her; by the time they were even the slightest bit tired it was too dangerous for her to leave. There’d been a passion-drunk moment soon after they decided she’d stay the night in which she’d assured him she’d had enough for both of them.

She mentally kicked herself. She’d been too sure, too confident. It had seemed very assured and whatnot to offer him her own body and blood as a meal, but a half of a glass of her blood (‘Cherry Brandy,’ she’d smirked as she’d handed it to him) had her nearly on her face. Luckily, she’d found her knees first and had covered her error quite nicely.

Or so she’d thought. It would seem, by her lack of memory after that point, that she’d either blacked out or done something so traumatic she was internally blocking it out. It was probably the former (she hoped).

Lavinia wiggled her toes, her hand untangling itself from his. She removed his arm from her body, sliding from his bed as carefully as she could manage. She wouldn’t want to fall or collapse while he still slept, that would just be the topper on her embarrassment cake. What did one do in the mornings of these modern affairs? Did he have a bellboy she could snack upon? Did she want to use his shower? Did she even want to find her torn and shredded custom made underwear? She let out a little whimper at that. The woman had an uncommon affection for her underthings.

She did none of those things.

She quickly washed her face and mouth out, rubbing the small trail off crusted blood off of her stomach. It wouldn’t do any harm to look presentable when he did awake. She touched up her makeup, finding her lipstick in his kitchen. Finally, Lavinia settled on his couch and began scanning through the channels. She wasn’t much of a fan of television, but he seemed to have a much larger selection than she did. Biting at her thumb nail, she settled in to wait for him to wake up.

words: 772
tags: :p I will NOT give myself credit. This is trash. Hahahah. Wake up in the mornin’ feeling like P Diddy.
muse: The sound effects of Call of Duty.
status: Whoever would be in Damian’s apartment?

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