Stefan Demarchelier. 8th Gen Toreador. Camarilla. French Renaissance painter. Nuff Said. Getting my art on!

Someone mentioned that I don't post for Julian as often as I did. Yah, yah, I know. Guilty as charged! There's stuff that just can't be posted about unfortunately without risking ruining some stuff or is semi-Covenant sensitive. And while I haven't had time to post about the events that were SERE/Atlanta, those are coming (including its normal ( Read more... )

[Yah, I decided that trying to keep seperate journals for PCS was becoming increasingly difficult. So for the moment, until I feel otherwise, Orion is taking a room at the Julian Boarding House. Deal ... I know that you can.]

Wind blows hard, but it doesn't matter ( Read more... )

Okay, this is simply a notification that I've created a new LJ for my upcoming LOST PC. Yes, despite the urging of a few people, I've created a seperate one. Frankly, I like having everything departmentalized for myself. Tags and communities work for some people. Not for me. I like having seperate journals for each of my PCs. I like having a place ( Read more... )

Name: Rinaldo Piero Vasari dei Cardinale (aka Julian Madeina ( Read more... )

And so it can never be said that the nights in New York are ever dull ( Read more... )

[Just a teaser to the upcoming journal entry. Ahhh ... the theatre. With all due apologies to Jonathan Larsen and the cast of RENT ... with that in mind (and knowing how twisted mine can be), I give you the following. "Seasons of Love", Requiem Style.]

SEASONS OF BLOOD
( Read more... )

Since I don't have an LJ set up for the new Ling yet, I figured that I would post it here (since most of the people that would see it there would see it here. LOL) Not alot of detail yet, just a basic concept. More to come later. Lots more ( Read more... )

The room is dark. Draperies pulled closed to shut out even the night sky and the street lights outside the dwelling. No light, save for the ember which glows at the tip of his lit cigarette. The leather of the highback chair caressing against his still form. Still, while the walls outside this doorway churn with a tide of emotions, there is a calm ( Read more... )

The rosey fingers of dawn had come and gone. The day had cast its countenence upon the face of the earth, until it too departed; conceding its brilliant veil to the starry shroud of night. In this, the twilight hour, a body stirs from its slumber. His nocturnal vision surveying the surroundings. Silken sheets peel back caressingly across his skin, ( Read more... )