tartan

Of Tartan, Capes and Lipsticks

By Vampwrtr

She was sick of him. Utterly, positively, immensely, sick of him. In many ways he was always a bit of a trial, but this....this was beyond her indulgence. Men in general, could be such unsurpassed babies, but this one in

particular, could be intolerable when he sulked.

Exactly what he was sulking about, she did not know, nor did she care. At least she had tried to tell herself that she didn’t care; however, that was far from the truth. Janette knew there was no going around it; she loved

LaCroix and couldn’t stand to see him to unhappy. She would have to get to the bottom or it, one way or another.

It most likely had something to do with Nicolas: When had it not? She could barely remember the years she had spent alone with LaCroix; it seemed so far away. Many centuries had flown by, permeated by the game of cat and mouse that Nicolas and LaCroix played. Exactly which one was which, even Janette could not always be certain.

She looked into the mirror, straightening her dress. She smiled. It was one of her favourite gowns. She pulled out a drawer in her dressing table: A drawer filled to the brim with lipsticks. Every conceivable kind and colour

awaited her perusal. She reached in and pulled out the requisite shade of red for her dress, and applied it carefully. She put the lipstick away and closed the drawer. She once again glanced in the mirror, this time sighing. If her appearance did nothing to brighten the glum cloud in the other room, certainly nothing would.

Janette rolled her eyes slightly as she entered the living room. He was still sitting in the same chair by the window, staring out into the night. He hadn’t moved. His normally erect posture was sadly slumping, reflecting his depressed mood. She shook her head as she walked over to him. She tried to reach out to him with her senses, but he was a brick wall to her.

She stopped just short of standing behind his chair, her arms folded across her chest, "Well? Are you really just going to sit here and sulk the night away?"

He didn’t so much as move an eyelash, in acknowledgement of her presence.

"Perhaps you will sit there and sulk away the week. Or the month. Why not just sulk away the year?"

He didn’t move, but his voice dripped with frost as he spoke, "What is a year when one has eternity?"

Janette let out a long sigh, "You might wish to sulk for a year, LaCroix, but I have to live with you, and I’m not going to put up with it."

He turned slowly to look at her, an eyebrow raised slightly in irritation, "Oh....really?"

The sarcasm was dripping from his tone, and Janette had a momentary pang of fear, but she held her ground.

"Yes, really. And I am not going to have you moping about the apartment, slouching in your chair, like some overgrown cat suffering from a swipe to its overblown ego."

LaCroix positively glared at her: Women were certainly creatures of little understanding, in regard to the pressure of being male.

His upper lip curled in a slight sneer at her, "I do not have an overblown ego."

"You could have fooled me." She paused, glaring back at him, "What’s the matter, Nicolas tell you to leave him alone and mind your own business again? Let me think, LaCroix, that has only happened about, hmmm.........every other day for the past eight hundred years. When will the two of you grow up and behave like adults? Or is that asking too much of you?"

LaCroix looked away, and then down, his voice growing very soft, "This has nothing to do with Nicholas. I can assure you."

Janette was silent. She suddenly felt awkward; perhaps something really was wrong. A slight stab of guilt began to rise in her throat, making her swallow hard. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I’m sorry, mon pere, I thought--"

"--Yes, you thought it was some stupid little spat with Nicholas. Well, it isn’t...."

She felt even worse. Tenderly she began to rub his shoulders. He was tense; something really must be wrong. A few long moments ticked by, and he said nothing as she massaged him.

"LaCroix? Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Maybe I can help......"

He sighed and finally muttered, "Cereal stock."

Janette frowned, as the motion of her hands stopped, "Excuse me?"

"My cereal stock...." She looked at him, uncomprehendingly, so he continued, "My cereal stock, it fell severely today. I’ve lost millions, and all over some oatmeal something-or-others that probably taste like hell...."

Janette’s eyes grew quite wide as understanding began to dawn, "You actually bought stock in the crispy whatzit’s advertised by that strange man wearing the dreadful tartan on television?"

LaCroix glared at her and defiantly answered, "In a word, yes."

She tried desperately to hold it all in. His look was so serious, and yet, it was so ludicrous. Not only was he moping about a few measly millions that were only a drop in the bucket to his accumulated wealth, but he had actually purchased stock in a cereal company, which was hocked on the tube by some actor with a phony accent, dressed in a tartan rivaling some awful cape LaCroix had burned centuries ago.

Janette did the only thing available to her: She began to laugh. Uncontrollably. Hysterically. LaCroix was anything but amused. He abruptly stood up from his chair and began pacing about the living room, glaring at his daughter, who was doubled over in the pain of her hilarity. On some level, deep down, he knew he was being silly, but he couldn’t help himself. He stopped pacing, leaned against the desk and looked down at the floor; his hands buried deeply in the pockets of his pants.

After a moment, Janette’s laughter subsided as she saw the forlorn look on his face. She shook her head. He was always such a conflicting mix of strength and vulnerability; at least to her. She went to him, and took his face in her hands. She looked deeply into the icy blue eyes for a moment.

"I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make such fun of you, I know."

"No, you shouldn’t."

She had to stifle a grin at the boyish tone of his voice.

"I didn’t realise that cereal stock meant that much to you, mon pere....." She stared into the icy orbs, "Or is it more accurate to say that you don’t like losing?"

He smiled at her slightly, "Perhaps."

She kissed him lightly on the lips, before letting go of his face, "So you’re going to continue to mope around for awhile, hmmm?" He smiled slightly at her again, "Then might I suggest LaCroix, if you’re going to stay up here for the rest of the evening, that you at least make yourself useful."

An eyebrow shot up at her, "Useful?"

"Oui." She looked about the slightly disheveled living room, "Perhaps some straightening up and cleaning out is in order."

LaCroix looked about, "Yes...." A very impish grin appeared upon his face suddenly, "Yes, I shall indeed make myself useful, what a fine idea, Janette."

Janette looked at the smile on his face and had second thoughts, "What are you grinning at?"

"Nothing," he said, as he raised her hand to his lips, kissing it, "I am merely agreeing with your suggestion."

They held each other’s eyes for a long moment. She really didn’t like the look that was developing upon his face. She’d seen it before; he was up to something. Something she was most likely going to rue. He smiled at her.

She frowned at him, "Don’t do anything that either of us will regret, mon pere..."

"No, I wouldn’t dream of it...."

She started toward the door, "I’m just going to go put in an appearance downstairs, and then I’ll be back."

"Mmmm......"

Reluctantly, Janette left the apartment, closing the door behind her. LaCroix stood staring at the door for a moment. Then he headed into the kitchen and opened a few cupboards, looking for something. He smiled as he found the large garbage bags. He took one and opened it with quite a flare of noise.

As he headed into Janette’s bedroom he muttered, "Useful indeed...."

****************

Janette couldn’t sense him as she ascended the stairs to their private apartment, which was most certainly nothing new, and no cause for alarm. She opened the door to find soft music emanating from the stereo, and a positively immaculate room. Candles illuminated the darkness, fresh flowers lit up the tables, and LaCroix stood quite still in the centre of it all, dressed in a rather stunning black suit. He was smiling sweetly at her.

He let his arm sweep to the side, indicating the room, "Was this what you meant by ‘useful’?"

She stared at him, slightly taken aback, "Oui...."

He held out a glass of blood to her, and she moved toward him to take it. He smiled at her yet again. The smiling was beginning to get to her, something wasn’t quite right here. He clinked his glass to hers, still smiling, and he took a sip of the blood. She took a sip from her glass; it was an excellent vintage. She looked cautiously about the room, as if something would fly out at her, but everything was as it should be.

Still smiling his unnerving smile, LaCroix gently took her glass from her, and set it down. He took her hand and began to lead her through the apartment.

"I want to show you just how useful I have been, whilst donning my ‘Babu’ hat."

Janette stopped, "Babu? What, is a Babu?"

He smiled, but his voice betrayed his sarcastic bent, "You know, Babu, your houseboy..."

His grip tightened on her hand, and Janette began to have the bad feeling that she might have made a slight error in judgment. She swallowed hard. His face was still displaying the sarcastic smile, as he led her into her bedroom. It was beautiful looking, decorated with fresh flowers and candles, and cleaner than clean. Still smiling, he finally let go of her hand.

"Well?"

Janette was slightly unsure as she answered, "It’s...beautiful, LaCroix."

He smiled like a shark about to have lunch, "Good, I’m quite glad you like it." He headed toward the door, "Oh, and I should mention, I took the liberty of doing a little cleaning out in here. I do hope you enjoy all my hard

work...."

As the meaning of his sentence began to dawn upon her, she heard the whoosh of displaced air. She looked to the door, but he was gone. Janette rushed to her closet, flung it open, only to discover that at least half of her gowns were gone. In a rapidly growing panic, she opened drawers, and the armoire; all of them looked terribly empty.

A growl was beginning in her throat, when she looked at her dressing table. She opened several drawers in the table, only to discover that most of her make-ups and accessories had suffered the same fate as her clothing. Then she stopped on a dime, as her eyes came to rest upon the drawer of the sacred lipsticks. He wouldn’t have, he couldn’t have.......he better not have....

LaCroix was sitting downstairs in the Raven, enjoying an especially subtle vintage, when he heard the scream of terror from upstairs.

Maurice looked at him, concern filling his features, "Boss?"

LaCroix smiled, as he set his drink down on the bar, "No need for concern, Maurice. I believe Janette has just discovered her lipstick drawer." Maurice stared at LaCroix, so the latter continued his explanation, "I cleaned it out for her."

"You what?"

"I got rid of most of her lipsticks--"

"--Yes, I heard you man...are you crazy, messin’ with a woman’s make-up drawer? You’re certainly old enough ta know better, LaCroix."

LaCroix shrugged nonchalantly, "She told me I needed to be useful, so I cleaned out her closet, her drawers and her dressing table. What do women need with so many different colours of lipsticks anyway? It’s not as if they can wear them all at the same time. Preposterous...."

LaCroix glanced at his watch, as he shrugged his coat on. Maurice looked quite unsure, but LaCroix smiled.

"Not to worry, Maurice. She’ll be down here in exactly six seconds, and I shall be long gone, and you, my friend, don’t know where I’m going."

"No, and I don’t want to...."

LaCroix smiled, slammed back the last of his drink and was gone in the blink of an eye, just as an angry Janette stalked up to the bar.

"Where is he Maurice? - And don’t tell me you don’t know, because I’ll get it out of you one way or another."

Maurice almost did a double take as he looked at Janette. Her lips were the most dreadful shade of brown. Apparently LaCroix had not left her with many choices. He tried desperately to stifle his grin, but Janette caught it. Her eyes narrowed in irritation, and she flung her finger into his face.

"Don’t say a word, you Irish imp. Not one word about this shade of lipstick, if you wish to continue in your unlife."

Maurice smiled at her, "I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Janette."

"One of the few intelligent men are you, Maurice?" He smiled and she continued, "Where did he go?"

"He didn’t tell me."

Janette glared, but could see that Maurice was telling the truth. After a moment, she sighed and leaned against the bar, "Well Maurice, we shall have to concede round one to LaCroix; however, this is only the first battle, of what could prove to be a very long war. I hope he knows what it is he has gotten himself into....."

Maurice handed her a glass of blood, which she drained in one swallow. Slowly, a smile began to overtake her face, and her eyes glowed with the sparkle of mischief. Maurice just looked at her, expectantly waiting. She

smiled at him as she set her glass down.

"Cereal stock..." she scoffed, "I’ll give him something to really mope about....."

As Maurice watched her practically float out of the room, heading toward the back staircase, he could only be certain of one thing: LaCroix would have to come home some time, and Maurice was damned glad he wasn’t LaCroix.

FIN