godfrey_crown: (Steal the Love From Your Heart)
Nothing had gone right. Not since Letha had died, Peter had left, and Roman's little bubble of privilege had been popped with his mother's body cold on the floor. The world was not what he thought it was. The world was dying. The people of Hemlock Grove might hate the Godfreys, but most of them also understood that it was the grace of the Godfrey name that kept their sleepy little town like a forgotten oasis that turmoil had forgotten. Clean water, and maybe just as fucked as everywhere else when it came to the rising temperatures, but the blood disease hadn't really touched the people here. Knowing what he now knew about his mother, Roman chalked it up to enlightened self-interest.

He was CEO of the biggest pharmaceutical and biological research company in the country. He'd thought that would give him direction. He was more or less starving himself, that monster that wanted blood, that hunger in his gut, but it wasn't too hard to steal blood from the labs, living off a taste at a time. He didn't want to be that kind of monster, be like his mother, like whatever dead thing it was that had been in her eyes. Before he'd killed himself. Or tried. It didn't take. He doesn't quite know why, what happened, he just remembers the blood on the floor, on the walls, and her cold dead eyes as she looked at him. He remembers knowing that he'd only get one chance. That she was older and faster and better, but he'd been high off the Change, and he'd thought for a while that he'd ripped her from his life.

He'd been wrong. She was still recovering, but she was alive, and that felt like a sickness in him. Felt like that knowledge made the monster in him burn brighter, like he could feel the hooks she wanted to sink into him, to tie him to her forever. And Roman wouldn't play her games. So he did the thing that if he'd done it months earlier, maybe he could have saved the lives of both Peter and Letha. He pulled out as much money as he could get his hands on, and then he took his car and a cooler with some blood, and he fucking just left. He wishes he could say he doesn't know why he didn't do it earlier, but no, he's not Peter. He's helpless, useless, and even with a ridiculous amount of cash stuffed in a black duffle bag in the trunk of his car, finding his way in the world is hard.

But once he takes to the road, when he's out of blood, it's like there's north on a compass, and he's the needle.

It's like there's something pulling him in. He tries to ignore it, to go in the wrong direction, but it doesn't work. It never worked. And the cities and towns that he trips through, stumbles through, none of them matter. Nothing matters until he's curled up at the front door of a townhouse on the outskirts of town. He knocks, desperate and needy and doesn't know why it's this house, but he knows that it is. Eyes as blue as Peter's, but darker, sharper, hair black like night and skin nearly as pale as Roman's own alabaster pale and everything stained crimson.

He knows that he's dying, starving, but he knows enough of the blood disease that the idea of feeding on some asshole down a side alley is almost more terrifying than the way he slumps on his doorstep, all long limbs, red lips, and those greengreen Godfrey eyes. He's dying for a hand to save him.

godfrey_crown: (Default)
Roman has a bunch of weird powers, comment here to let me know what's okay, what isn't, how you want to handle them, what you think would be weird / cool / fun to play with.

+   Mind control - This is his big power. In his canon it's called the estaz, though Roman is 100% unaware of the technical term. It requires two things: eye contact and for him to give some sort of instructions. He is able to use it to control peoples' bodies, such as putting a gun in their mouth. There are also also sexual applications, such as forcing someone to orgasm. He can control their minds, changing their thoughts and feelings about something (Jedi Mind Trick is totally a thing), erasing memories, repressing them, and changing them into something different. He's also used this to awaken latent abilities.

In his canon this is usable on supernaturals, as well as animals, so a human-type brain isn't necessarily required, but organisms that are markedly different would probably be difficult, if nothing else. He has his mother do this to him, so regarding others with mental abilities, it seems to more or less be a throwdown on who's stronger.

+   Telepathy - Canonly this seems to be part of the estaz, but for simplicity I broke it into two parts. This isn't something he knows how to use particularly well. However, he can pick up surface thoughts, determine when someone is lying, and generally has a sense of someone's emotional state, even if he then proceeds to make the worst decision possible with that information.

But, basically, this isn't something he uses all the time as it seems to affect him badly. Background noise, voices that are indistinct but in increasing volume, migraine auras (I assume the associated migraines), and things of that nature.

+   I Hear Dead People - I doubt this will ever come up. But, he forced himself to awaken the ability to hear dead people in order to talk to his dead sister. So, uh, if there are dead people around, this might come up. Who knows? At his canon point he's technically dead, although the only show of this are the suicide scars on his arms.

+   Dream Sharing - He can share dreams with people. He's also capable of "dreaming the same dreams" as someone else, and in this casee, the dreams seem to border on prophetic, if extremely heavy on symbolic shit. (Seriously, jellyfish in the sky?) So this is a thing, and if you want to do stuff with it, we totally should.

+   Now You See Me Now You Don't - More or less invisibility, except that it seems to just be an application of the estaz. There is no actual invisibility here, your mind just slips over him and refuses to register his presence until he breaks the effect.

+   Blood - So, what does your blood taste like? I'm not saying it will come up, but it very well might. He has fangs, but generally he prefers a silver straight razor.

+   Sex - Okay. So, Roman grew up in a small town piece of shit known as Hemlock Grove, Pennsylvania. Canon outright states that he's attracted to men ("homoerotic tendencies") but he's still mostly closeted about them despite having just had the straight boy he wanted to be his boyfriend run off. So I would love to do stuff with that. He's mostly gay, and while he has had a lot of sex with girls, it's either about blood, power, or a desperation to feel the way that he's supposed to feel about sex. With boys he's only really gotten as far as some fumbled handjobs they never talked about later.

MidSyn App

Apr. 20th, 2015 12:57 am
godfrey_crown: (Default)
NAME: Lotus
CONTACT: lotuspromises @ plurk and AIM

NAME: Roman Godfrey
CANON: Hemlock Grove
CANON POINT: After killing Olivia
CHARACTER AGE: 18 – his birthday
HISTORY: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hemlock_Grove
PERSONALITY: She regarded the boy: a narcissistic, over sensitive and underparented adolescent heir to a Fortune 500 company with a substance abuse problem and homoerotic tendencies – it would have been more surprising if he didn't “see things sometimes”.

Chasseur sees Roman better than almost anyone else. She sees his vulnerability that lies behind the name Godfrey, his sexual confusion, that for as much as he might be a total asshole, that Roman is vulnerable and sensitive. He'd never really had a friend before he meets Peter, outside of the girl he thinks is his cousin (but is actually his sister), Letha. And even that relationship, he protects jealously. He's so afraid of her drifting away, of being left alone, that he goes out of his way to terrorize the boy that she briefly dates, driving a wedge between them with things as petty as making a bouquet out of used tampons – classy.

Roman lives a life of entitlement, of this mistaken belief that the world does in fact, revolve around him. It is continually reinforced by how Olivia treats him, affection that borders on the incestuous, such as when she crawls into bed with him and pets his hair. It is said that as a child, the longest he spent away from her side was when his younger sister was born. He is very much fostered into co-dependent relationships. The trouble comes when he branches out from his family, and starts developing relationships on his own, and thus starts identifying his independence along with teenaged questions of sexuality. He has an overall terrible personality, including a number of bad traits such as that he's unaccustomed to not getting his way, and that when he's angry he has a habit of picking fights, both verbal and physical. He seems to have an almost masochistic streak, a love of bruises and bloody knuckles. This is shown such as when he's in the bar, and he eggs on a man that's already unhappy at the Godfreys for losing his job at the Steelworks.

Interestingly, he seems far more interested in the Godfrey Steelworks, than in how his father turned it into a Biotech institute. He never really has much interest in Pryce or the Institute, aside from seeming to find the man a little creepy. Roman's most important possession is said to be a link of steel that was the first piece smelted by the man who created the company and the Godfrey fortune, his three-times great-grandfather, Jacob Godfrey.

In terms of teenaged sexual confusion, Roman's mother once says that she didn't think there was “a pair of pom-poms that wasn't within his purview”, but the first encounter we see between Roman and a girl in a sexual/romantic context is with a nameless hooker for whom he shows nothing but disgust, and his prevailing emotion seems to be that she is somehow wrong in a way that he can't name. Peter solidifies this into something less tentative; something that starts with semi-innocent questions about “what do you do when you get turned on while you're shifted” to remarks about how he watched him shift back – naked – and that it was “beautiful”, and eventually culminating in Roman's thought of how Peter was “good for a hard-on”. It seems that Peter likely doesn't attach much significance to the feelings he engenders in the other teen, however. Chasseur even remarks on Roman's broken heart when Peter breaks up with him – “he pronounced this in the phonetically correct fashion, but it still rhymed with us” being a line from the scene – and how it makes him vulnerable.

Peter is a boy that redefines his world, and Roman fixates on him with single-minded abandon, which becomes all the more tragic when the gypsy abandons him. He is starved for positive relationships and drugs and alcohol and sex that never really feels right becomes a substitute. Roman is mostly shown in opposition to Peter throughout most of the novel; mirror images of one another. However, one trait that they both share is a total disregard for social expectations. It stems from different motivations, however. In Roman's case it ties back to his pervasive sense of entitlement. He ignores mores and values because there is no reason for him to respect them. He is completely unmotivated to do anything that doesn't fit his mood at that particular moment. He's described as “mercurial” in his best of moods, and at his lowest is overtaken by a supernatural darkness.

And yet, he's also a boy that will get into arguments about who would win between Batman and Wolverine, reads English poems with passion and fervor, gets offended when his classmates make sly jokes, and drives a really, really cool car. He will challenge anyone, even his controlling mother to protect his little sister, and he achingly, desperately, wants to be a warrior and not a monster.

That ship has sailed, and Roman stands transformed, but he still doesn't know even the basest concept of what he is. He doesn't know why he can do the things he can; he just knows that he is completely and entirely alone, having lost everyone that mattered in his world. It leaves him at something of a crux, very much capable of being influenced for good or for ill.

ABILITIES: Roman is at his canon point a full upir, which is effectively Hemlock Grove's own brand of vampires, although the traits they have in common with classic vampires are fairly few. While the name at least is from Eastern European vampiric legend, as portrayed in the novel they also share notable traits with the strigoi, and in general seem to be their own species, instead of a representation of any singular myth.

Their signature power is called the Estaz, which is a very potent form of mind control. Even his mother is notably awed with how proficient Roman is with its use, gushing in a letter to a relative about how skilled he is. The estaz requires eye contact, and seems to require vocal commands, although the range of what it allows is rather chilling. Forcing someone to kill themselves is very possible, and thus there is no self-preservation caveat; it is also shown to work on supernaturals. Roman is capable of ordering people to carry out commands that take them outside of his range of influence (canonly across state lines). He can use this power to make people forget things that have happened, as well as forcing them to replace the events with more pleasant memories. He is also able to use this ability on himself, and he uses it to awaken latent abilities, such as when he forces himself to be able to speak to his dead sister. And all of this is while completely untrained in it, his use seeming to be on pure natural talent and power.

However, this has a downside. Another side to this ability seems to be telepathy, which Roman is not very skilled with at his canon point, but there are times when he can unerringly pick out the truth, and know what someone is thinking. However, there are times when this seems to overwhelm him, and he gets lost in the background buzz of voices.

Upir are shown to have increased physical abilities, regeneration, as well as an ability to go unnoticed. Rather than actual invisibility, the mind's eye simply slips over them, seeming to not pick up on their presence until they break it themselves. Even a hunter trained in fighting against the supernatural isn't able to see through this effect.

Upir are also shown to be essentially immortal. Roman's mother is at least around 500 years old, if not older.

Whether tied to his upir heritage or not, Roman is also capable of sensing the supernatural, such as when he talks to Peter about the dark force that lies underneath Hemlock Grove. He is also capable of dream-sharing to people he shares a connection with, such as is demonstrated with Peter.

Then there are his fangs. Presumably used in feeding, and also likely what Olivia used to skin Chasseur after breaking her neck. They are also the only thing shown capable of inflicting lasting injury on an upir, apparently due to a specific sort of poison.

However, his abilities aren't just supernatural in nature; he's also shown to be possessed of exceptional charisma, which even seems to over ride the fact that he is pretty much an entitled asshole. It's very much hinted that this comes from his human side – the saying in Hemlock Grove is that “A Godfrey always gets what they want”. Even if this seems to often times be to their detriment. It's very much implied that he has this almost sociopathic skill at talking people into what he desires.

Roman has a laundry list of weaknesses, although the most pronounced are those of a supernatural nature. As an upir there is a dark side within him, seemingly characterized by the image of a dragon. It seems to be mostly catalyzed by emotional distress, but however much he wants to be the hunter, the “warrior”, and not the monster, Roman is not a good person. Or rather, he has a dual nature, and when he loses himself to his other side, he is not a good person. He's raped both his sister and a girl from school in the grips of this which he frequently describes as a 'darkness'.

Then there's the blood. Even when he's not fully upir, he has a considerable bloodlust, which manifests in everything from his use of a syringe on a hooker, that one time when he goes down on a classmate because she's on her period, and the incident where he seems to cut his chest open to prevent doing so to a girl going down on him. However, this doesn't seem to be overwhelming; Olivia doesn't drain Chasseur dry, and instead of blaming it on what she is, she claims that she did it because she “wanted to”.

While perfectly capable of being active during the day, he's shown to need sunglasses in bright sunlight. His eyes when using his powers also turn red now that he's a full upir.

However, not all of his weaknesses are supernatural in origin. He also has a very pronounced substance abuse problem that involves everything from cocaine, to pills, to alcohol, to sex. It is both a coping mechanism and a sundry list of addictions. He's clingy, emotionally needy, more vulnerable than he would ever want to admit to. He's been betrayed by someone that he loved and that tears him apart, ruins him. It's the whole reason he becomes an upir; he kills himself trying to do the right thing. He is also exceptionally OCD with effects that can be debilitating. Some triggers include knots, prime numbers, and cracks.


Lust Gosh, where do I even start? In the series based on the novel, we have Roman having sex with a hooker and bloodkink within the first five minutes of the first episode. His mother comments about how she didn't “think there was a pair of pom-poms outside of your purview” when he denies having had contact with a girl that turns up murdered. How when they're in a dead girl's room looking for clues, Roman steals one of her thongs with a bunny tail. It very much seems that in a lot of cases his sexuality eclipses normal ideas of let's not be a moron. When he snaps and his dark side happens, it is manifest in a sexual sense; he rapes a girl, with very overt shame/humiliation kink directed at himself (he mindcontrols her into calling him ugly and other insults). Suffice it to say that Roman has a whole lot of sex, and that it is very much played to be a sin/vice.

Envy This is very overt, mostly manifest in how controlling and jealous Roman is about the people around him. And this is over really irrational things, such as when his cousin dates a boy. When Peter has lunch with his cousin fairly soon after their first meeting. It's overt enough that Peter notices and comments “Roman, she just pities me” in an attempt to defuse the situation. These are both people that he doesn't really have particular claim to, and whose interactions in no way are on a level where jealousy would be an appropriate response. Roman very clearly seems to covet the people around him, because it's the only thing that isn't already handed to him in spades. It very much seems to be implied that if he was pushed into a situation where he wasn't literally handed everything he could conceive of on a silver platter, this would become even more apparent.

Pride This is actually implied to be genetic in his canon. He has just an absurd level of family pride, but also in himself. He keeps a link of metal said to be his most important possession, which is the first piece of metal ever smelted in the Godfrey Steel Mills. A reference is also made of the “sense of entitlement as phenotypal as the Godfrey green eyes“. Roman is arrogant, he holds himself higher than any rule or consequence, and enjoys flaunting his abilities, such as when he shows off his mind control to Peter against the Sheriff’s deputies one of the first times they meet. Also, later, he refuses to use his powers out of Pride; “he had seen his name put to too much ill-use to resort to parlor tricks” which lands him in jail and is part of why Peter breaks off their relationship, such as it is. Also, when he breaks and the darkness takes over, it is the second thing that comes out: he forces his way into Godfrey Tower, trying to set right that that same Pride, which allows Pryce to push him into a coma.

Greed This isn't as readily apparent as many of his others because he is in possession of just such absurd amounts of wealth. However, what he is greedy about is attention. This ties into how he gets envious of people and their relationships, as well. But is slightly different. He very much craves to more or less be the center of attention, when it comes to people that interest him, which is more or less anyone that engages with him in a way that isn't because of his money, and he is very good at telling the difference.

His positive traits actually circle more around abstractions like justice than actual virtues, or are so situational I wouldn't really consider them applicable.

Bringing Mindcontrol to a Fuck-You Fight
Blood, Razors and Illusionists
godfrey_crown: (Entitled Asshole)
Roman liked trying to pretend that along with losing his humanity, he'd lost his morals too. It wasn't actually true, but he was colder, harder than he'd been before, even if in honesty it had everything to do with all of the fucking loss. Peter, his sister, Letha, himself, even losing his mother had hurt, fucked up as it was. She had been evil, wanted him to kill Letha's child, but she had been his mother, and as contentious as their relationship had been before her death... there were some nights where he still missed her. There had been this feeling like she was one of the only people that really understood him, as much as he hated her for it, and the isolation was bitter.

He was CEO of the fastest growing Biotech firm in the country. Their growth in the pharmacology sector was leaving their competitiors standing around with their dicks in their hand, and their latest offering in tissue engineering was making artificial livers for those in need of donor organs a reality, thanks to Doctor Asshole's proprietary process. It was that last point that had brought Roman to Washington, DC. The FDA in their visit to the facilities had, of course, found everything in perfect order, but Roman had picked up on an air of distrust from the woman in charge. But, for Roman, these things were easily handled. He had a meeting with her Friday morning, and then it would be easy- almost too easy- to eliminate her fears and ensure they had someone working to expedite the paperwork they needed to put things on the market in time for the end of the year 10-K filing.

Roman took a smug satisfaction in keeping the shareholders happy. He knew what the board of directors thought of him, and he enjoyed being able to rub his success in their dour faces. Fuck them and their Ivy League degrees. Roman was a high school drop out, but while JR Godfrey might not be his father by blood, it turned out that he'd still inherited the Godfrey business acumen that had enabled his father to turn a failing steel industry into a Fortune 500 biomedical engineering firm in inside of a generation. It was in his blood, in his green green eyes (green like the color of money).

Of course, meeting with the FDA or not, Roman still had his vices. He needed them now more than ever. Anything to take the edge off of the hunger, the need that flowed inside of him. Blood and flesh, an ache he couldn't explain or admit to. It fueled the risky behavior, drugs and alcohol and gambling and hookers. All the reasons that the board of directors loathed him. Roman Godfrey was a scandal waiting to happen, in an age where what grocery store gossip rags said were just as important as quarterly earnings figures.

He was the youngest face at the table, not even old enough to be legally drinking the glass of scotch he was rocking in between his fingers as he checked his cards with a smile on his full lips. He had an impressive stack of chips in front of him, earned mostly by a decided talent at spewing bullshit that got under people's skin, made their tells more obvious. Cal was the only one that hadn't been taken in by it, and Roman respected him for that. Roman had a long history of illicit poker games with drug dealers, and it showed in how the threats and posturing rolled off his skin like oil on water. Of course, one of Roman's problems was an inability to resist showing off.

So there was that moment when he grinned, a glint in his green eyes. If you looked closely there was a moment where they almost seemed to reflect the light like a cat's eyes. Looking into the eyes of one of the drug world thugs, long slender fingers tapping against the table idly. "C'mon. Your tell is so obvious it's embarrassing. Next hand you go all in on the second bet and fold on the third." To say that Roman had the guy on tilt would be more than a little accurate. Playing that line of fucking with someone and where he pulled out a gun. Thankfully or not, however, it never got to that point.

One hand after the hand that played out just like Roman had called, the FBI was knocking down the door. Smug enjoyment suddenly shifting into panic, a tension that tightened in his shoulders. He knew he could get out of this, but it wasn't going to be pretty. Controlling groups was hard, switching eye contact without losing anyone.
godfrey_crown: (Happy Fucking Birthday)
Everyone had heard about the mutants, of course. A lot of the more theatrical events had occurred in the States, but you don't disrupt the Peace Summit following the Gulf War without making a few front page headlines. Roman would have liked to use the monicker, had someone, somewhere to identify with, but he didn't. He might not know exactly what he was, but he was pretty sure that the chick from the newspapers didn't have the urge to tear chunks out of people, crave flesh to slake a hunger that was impossible to satisfy. He might be different, but he didn't think he was the same, no matter what Pryce said about mutants merely indicating a change in DNA that brought about changes in abilities. Upir, he claimed, was just a highly heritable and specific version of the X-gene. It sounded like bullshit, but Roman was at his wits end.

He's crossed an ocean, just on the off-chance that Charles Xavier could maybe help him. He's just eighteen, bitter and entitled, but Pryce is the only person who knows about his... 'condition', and when he'd begged for help, agreed to reinstate his research budget if he could help him, Pryce had sent him here. He'd think it was just to get him out of the picture, but Pryce knew him better than that. Knew Roman wouldn't do it unless there were results, something concrete. He knew the man liked his secret projects too much to send him after someone he didn't have faith in. If that faith was misplaced... well, he guessed they'd find out, wouldn't they? In truth, the only reason he'd come at all, was because Shelley was coming. After everything that had happened, Europe wasn't safe for her. Xavier had apparently agreed to take her in, let her live at his school. Shelley liked him; it was enough of a reference for Roman to give him a very passing shot.

The car he hopped out of was a bright red convertible, a Jaguar XK 150. It had been his father's, once upon a time. He'd bought it new, one of the first off the line, and taken Roman for drives that would have sent his mother crazy with worry. They were one of the only memories of his father that he had. He remembered the car rides, remembered him swimming in the pool before Olivia had it drained, hanging on his hand as he showed him a tour of the grand Godfrey facilities they'd opened in Europe, expanding from their small-town Pennsylvania roots. Roman and Olivia had stayed in Europe after his death, made the new office the new headquarters, while living out of a small town that drove Roman mad with boredom half the time.

He knew his arrival had been sceduled and arranged, and that there were people expecting him, but Roman didn't actually plan to stay. Just long enough to see that whatever new doctor this was couldn't help him, and then he'd wrap his fingers around Pryce's throat again. He needed an answer. Something, anything. There was a hooker's abusive boyfriend that was mutilated. His fault, and he didn't really feel guilty about it. He liked the bruises, but hated the awkward shame in her face. It had tasted like bile in his throat, and he'd needed to hurt him for it.

It didn't quiet the voices, but it lulled the hunger, anyway. Roman refused to hope. He'd had his heart broken once, by a boy named Peter, and after learning so acutely that trusting people meant they could hurt you, he couldn't let himself trust that this could be fixed. Not when he was already so close to ruined. He wanted to be the hero, the knight, he wanted to protect people. He was, however, lost in the dark, almost losing his mind. He could hear voices, whispers, he could feel things, see things. Controlling his strength had been the easy part, controlling other people easier still. But controlling himself was something out of his depth and he was drowning.

When he was taken inside, he leaned in the doorway, lips pouted, and doing his best to look as careless as he wanted to feel. "You must be Doctor Xavier." An arch of an eyebrow. He was half tempted to just force him. Look him in the eyes and see if he really thought he could help him or not. As current CEO of a biotech company and having to deal with a snake like Pryce, doctors were about the last people he trusted.
godfrey_crown: (Steal the Love From Your Heart)
Roman had cut school, because after yesterday he just couldn't deal with the bullshit, couldn't deal with seeing Peter's fucking face, when the asshole had so casually pushed him away. He had acted like it didn't mean anything, whatever it was that was between them. He couldn't quite decide if he wanted to punch him in the face or if he wanted to kiss him. The truth was that he knew the answer, it was just confusing. For all that Roman might act like he had no fucks to give about what people thought, that wasn't entirely true. He still wanted to be liked, wanted people to give a shit. Except that recently it had turned into someone specific: Peter.

He can't escape the idea that Peter would like him if he was prettier, feminine. This wasn't just because he was a Godfrey, he'd seen that in those floundering moments when the gypsy fuck looked at Letha. It's what makes it hurt so much, the fact that there's something wrong with him. Sure, he fucked up, but Peter took his car home, and he'd been the one that ended up in jail. Staring at the metal statue of the dragon with those deputy fucks, it had all meant too much to stoop to cheap tricks.

But, in honesty, Roman had always had a layer of confusion hidden under the aloof entitled asshole to begin with. Who the fuck would he have talked to about it? His uncle? He'd talked with Olivia about it once, under duress, with all the uncertainty and floundering words of a child in trouble. There had been days in his last years of middle school years when he'd taken to exploring his mother's wardrobe. Lost himself in spindly heeled shoes and and the scent of pressed powder and lipsticks colored red. He'd gotten caught, of course- childish secrecy had never been any match for his mother's wiles.

Given how their relationship has soured in the years since, it almost seems strange that they hadn't fought over it. He'd sat next to her, thirteen and with lace straps dangling from his slim shoulders. But, her position had been clear: people couldn't find out. She called it healthy exploration or something, but there was still that feeling of something he couldn't put into words. He wanted to be something he wasn't, and it was part of what fueled his dissatisfaction with the relationships of his life. Nothing ever felt right. It made the transient, the ones that involved drugs or money and razorblades easier.

Looking into the mirror, that feeling hits him all over again. It's hardly the first time since, but it's sharp and raw, and there's a pointed desire behind it. He paints his lips with blood from his razorblade, a trickling rivulet that trails along one cheekbone as slim fingers use it like paint. He stares at his reflection with lips pouted, and it's like a transformation, somehow. It softens him, he thinks. Draws eyes away from angular lines, and there's an idea that forms in his head. Dumb as shit, probably, but that's what Roman's known for, anyway. He knows that he's just giving Peter another chance to hurt him -- hurt him worse.

It's not even that he's not still angry and hurt, because he is -- he just needs to do something. He needs for this to not be the end. He's not just going to let Peter walk away. He wants him. And part of him wants Peter to see. It's not the same as watching the gypsy strip off his skin as the sun touched the horizon and the full moon rose, but in its own way, it was as much a part of who Roman was as the shift was for Peter. And maybe that mattered.

It's an hour or so later when he shows up at Peter's trailer, not too long after the school bus drops the other boy off, since Roman wasn't there with his red sportscar to give him a ride in what had become almost ritual. His usually gelled and slicked back hair was instead loose, a little wavy as it fell almost to his jaw, and green eyes were smoky, rimmed in dark, his mouth painted with gloss tinted red. Mostly things forgotten by girls that went through his life like through a revolving door, things he'd put on for a few hours, before wiping them clean.

He'd never gone out like this, and there was a sick mix of anticipation and terror. He wore a delicate white sweater stolen from his mother's closet and black skinny jeans that lingered on his hipbones. He was unsure, didn't quite know what he was doing, but he was saying something, even if he hardly had the words. He knocked on the front door, anxiously waiting. When it opened, he cut Peter off before he had a chance to say anything, not wanting to hear it, not yet.

"Can we talk? Please."

He had possessed a small sliver of hope when he'd stood there with black lashes and trembling lips that somehow he could say something -- say the right thing -- and that they could put whatever it was that he'd fucked up behind him. But it wasn't that simple, and Peter remained unmoved. It was raining, and Roman's mascara ran as he climbed back into the car, glad that the rain hid his tears. He'd intended to run to his room when he got home, wash away all evidence that he'd even attempted something so dumb. But, instead, when he slips through the front door, his mother's there. The fact that she'll no doubt scold him for even trying doesn't overwrite the fact that despite the fights and the bitter words and the insults that he knows she loves him. And more than anything right now, he just needs to feel loved.

He doesn't even say anything, just presses up against her, still wet from the rain, his cheek pressing to her shoulder and arms wrapping around her chest in a hug that's far more awkward than it should be for a mother and child. His shoulders shake with the sobs that he keeps muffled silent, broken-hearted in more ways than one.
godfrey_crown: (Peter // Sharp with Jealousy)
Apparently, when it came to them, the world left them unable to run from the past. Although, Roman wasn't the one that was fucking running, it still hit him hard and sudden enough to knock the breath from him, made those green eyes widen and full lips part as he tried to get a handle on things. Just a face in the crowd, a teen walking the other way on the street in a storm that might be a hurricane or a monsoon or some other shit he would have learned if he hadn't blown off science class for getting high. He swallowed, taking a drag off his cigarette, even as the wind and the rain seemed to want to tear it from his fingers. He could feel his heart twisting in his chest, so much pain, so much hurt and part of him wanted to wrap fingers tight around the other boy's throat until Peter understood this kind of pain. Understood what he'd done to him.

Maybe it was arrogance, but it almost felt like the storm raged for this meeting on the sidewalk, even as it left Roman wet to his skin as his free hand reached out, grabbing at a shoulder almost like he was terrified that Peter would walk away if he let him. No almost about it. Peter had left him. Abandoned him when he needed him. Not so much as a word, nothing except his hair in the sink and a hundred unanswered text messages that ranged from pleading to threatening and back again.

"Peter." He said it and his fingers tightened, looking him over like he didn't believe his eyes, like he was a ghost in the rain, or a halucination from the coke, or the pot he's smoked earlier, or any of a million reasons that could explain what he was seeing in ways that wouldn't leave him this tense and this raw. Part of him wanted to throw him against the brick wall, taste his skin and his blood, and show Peter just what he'd made him when he'd left him there. When Peter left, he'd had nothing, lost everything. Walking through that ghastly house where Olivia puppeted Norman into acting like he was something aside from just a broken shell. Some days Roman came close to envying him.

"Fuck you, fuck you, you faggot, how dare you," there was anger and hurt spilling from his lips but he didn't lash out, just held on and betrayed how scared he was of letting go. "How dare you just, just leave, and then you're here, and fuck!" It was a brief outburst, but his shoulders sagged and his eyelashes were wet, and it was hard to know if it was the pounding rain that had stores closed as the rain ran in the streets nearly to the level of the curb, gurgling in drains.

He dropped the cigarette in favor of fisting a hand in Peter's shirt that was as soaked as his own, and the noise in thee back of Romans throat was somewhere between a whine and a whimper. "I fucking needed you, you gypsy piece of shit." His voice is softer, though, trembling because he's been so close to falling over the edge. Giving into the thoughts that maybe Olivia's right, maybe he can't stop it, can't control it, and now... now this.
godfrey_crown: (Default)
[Nifty gif goes here]

godfrey_crown: (Default)
The first thing that struck Roman, was just how weird she was.

Sure, it's not like his dreams were in any way typical. Dragons in blood, snakes devouring their own tails, jellyfish in the sky, birds committing suicide. She wasn't even the first person he'd had in his dreams, but she stood out. Maybe it was the grey skin, or the horns, or something else entirely, but she was weird. And that drew his attention.

He'd gotten good at realizing when he was dreaming these days. Once he'd realized he and Peter were dreaming the same dreams... he'd wanted to remember them more clearly. He'd wanted to remember him. Maybe it was some lucid dreaming bullshit or whatever, but Roman didn't really give a shit. Mostly, he was curious about who the weird girl was and why she was in his dreams. Okay, sure, maybe she was just some figment of too much scotch and too much drugs, but she felt like Peter. In that way that was almost more real than real.

She was floating in the air, and he was leaning against the railing at the Godfrey Mill. Somehow, while it seemed weird that she was in his dreams, the fact that she was flying was hardly worth mentioning. Fucking dreams.

"Who are you?"

godfrey_crown: (Happy Fucking Birthday)
Roman hadn't meant to drive so far. He'd only left to allow Pryce the liberty of dealing with Olivia's body in whatever manner his questionable tastes might lead him toward. He'd only planned to be gone an hour or so, but it was well past midnight when he caught sight of a figure on the road. He doesn't know what it was that made him stop; his sympathies far too cold for it to have been something as simple as empathy. Maybe it was Joe's reluctance, the insistence that Roman couldn't get him through the checkpoints that made Roman so intent on it. He knew who he was, but it was more a feeling he got from him, something about how their eyes locked across the door of Roman's cherry red convertible. He almost expected Joe to walk away, but in the end, Joe slid into the passenger seat, and off they went.

He could feel Joe tense as they approached the first checkpoint, and he shoot him a reassuring look; maybe it was insanity, but it was in those emerald green eyes that Roman had every conceit, every faith in his ability to get Joe out of this. It very quickly became evident why, when Roman smiled, telling the asshole a half-second from panicking to shut up, fuck off and leave them alone and go back to his post and shoot himself in the head. He'd shied from it before; let the sheriff's deputies go, just driven them out past the state line, and he no longer had that compassion. Fuck them all. They pulled away, and it wasn't long before they could hear the muffled sound of a gunshot over the kitten purr of the Jaguar's engine.

The drive was quiet, a companionable silence as the sports car cut through turns and freeway. He could feel Joe's eyes on him, and he didn't mind. Maybe it was simple chance; Roman afraid to go back to an empty house, and he just happened to stumble into Joe, into someone he could steal back with him, someone that needed to hide. Hemlock Grove had a dark, hanging air over it that was more than the dichotomy between the hagard store fronts and the gleaming marvels of the White Tower. It was more than the difference between the slipshod housing and the sprawling manor that Roman lived in. There was a darkness, a lingering malaise that hung over the town like summer humidity and stormclouds.

When Roman showed Joe in, the house felt like death. Roman shrugged his shoulders and pretended not to notice..

"Home sweet home, or whatever the fuck people say."
godfrey_crown: (Peter // Standing Here)
'It's 1pm, do you know where your children are?'

Or some shit like that anyway; a PSA from the night before as he'd watched attractive men take off their shirts as the women quivered with melodrama. Whatever the fuck, it was something to do. The line slipped through his mind with a sense of irony as he passed the bottle of Peter's cheap-ass whiskey back to the gypsy with a pout and a sound of distaste.

"What the fuck is that shit, paint thinner?"

Jack Daniels, or so the label declared. In truth, Roman thought people only drank that swill in movies; some shitty plot-device to prove just how down-trodden and miserable their hero was, that he'd resorted to drinking the kind of whiskey you can buy in a fucking grocery store (or so he'd heard -- it wasn't like Roman frequented the smalltown grocery store, let alone its shitty liquor aisle). No one knew where they were, and it was the only sense of freedom Roman normally enjoyed with any regularity. He cut school in a gorgeous fucking car and drank liquor the state of Pennsylvania alleged he was too young to consume. Of course, Roman had a severe case of not giving a fuck where the legality of his hobbies were concerned.

Roman kept jerking his head over to look at Peter, continually trading whiskey and a dying joint, although it wasn't as if they didn't have enough pot between them to carry them late into the night if they wanted to. Roman pulled off the road at the turn toward the lake, parking the Jaguar between a pair of Hemlock trees on the bank that looked down out onto the lake. Kids liked to jump off, show off, all that macho bullshit Roman liked to pretend he was too good for, though everyone knew better than that. Some kids jumped off cliffs, others dug up graves. Same fucking difference. Whatever.

He cranked the radio up and stretched out with a grin on his lips, a lift of an eyebrow as he leaned in, slender fingers plucking the joint right from Peter's mouth before popping it into his own to steal the last drag. Those too-green eyes looked into Peter's blues, still hovering too close, an almost competitive glint in his eyes as if daring him to say something about it. There was a tension between them, stretched too thin, like a scab making his flesh itch.

He couldn't have fucking told you how he felt about the gypsy asshole, and so he just kicked at that line in the sand and watched to see how the dust settled.

godfrey_crown: (Bleed to Taste)
Roman had all but met Joe Carroll by chance. It was his first year in college, taking some Intro English class he really couldn't give a shit about. It was pretty fifty-fifty with Roman on whether he'd show up on any given day. Class was loud, and no one gave a shit, not even really the teacher. But, he liked the readings, reciting poetry and short stories and talking about the themes in the poetry., and so somehow, he ended up in class the day Joe was filling in when Miss Westron was out with the flu. They discussed Poe, the themes of romance and beauty and death. Or well, tried to. It was 101, and so by matter of course, it was rowdy and girls gossiped and texted on their cellphones when they thought no one was looking.

Roman only got as far as to still the beating of my heart, before snarling and telling everyone to shut up, calling them phillistines as if it was a crime against decency. Of course, Roman was an odd boy. Model pretty, with full lips and bright green eyes, but a laid back air; he was far too rich and entitled to give a shit about much of anything that didn't hold his immediate attention. He stopped by Joe's office a few days later, asking for his advice on a poem analysis that was due in a couple weeks. Roman's was on Goblin Market, by Christina Rossetti, who was a contemporary of Poe.

They had many conversations, not just about that poem in particular, but about Poe, the gothic romanticism of the period, the striking images of death and beauty. And there were sometimes, moments, where Roman's eyes would seem just a little bit too green, and his gaze faraway, like he was listening to a pulse no one else could hear. They talked about sensuality, the symbolism of forbidden fruit, the role of blood as a device symbolizing both life and death in 19th century Victorian writings.

They weren't particularly close, only by comparison -- Roman wasn't close to anyone. He had a reputation around school, which mostly just revolved around the fact that he had money and was something of a charmer, in the way that snakes were charming. Everyone wanted him, he could get into anyone's pants, but none of it meant anything to him. Then there were the quieter rumors, about how he was a kinky fuck. Something he'd own up to with a smouldering wag of his eyebrows and a curl of his mouth, and the word guilty whispered like sin. He was strange. But no one really knew how strange, no one knew about Hemlock Grove, about high school. And Roman liked it that way. He was trying to forget.

It was all happenstance that lead to this moment. Late, after most of the classes were out. But it wasn't like the campus closed, although this wing went to near fucking radio silence by five. It was quarter of six, and if you were listening, you might have heard a squeal, a brief muffled scream. It had all gotten out of hand, and he was looking into her eyes, telling her to shut the fuck up as he tried to figure out what to do, how to handle this. He didn't know, didn't realize the power in those green eyes just yet,m didn't realize he could break her, wipe it all away.

So, he had one hand around her throat, pinning her to the wall. She looked a little dazed, woozy, like he'd hit her head a bit too hard against the wall. They'd been in one of the bathroom stalls, she'd tried to run, Roman had tried to stop her... It was easy enough to trace the path with all the blood. There were multiple cuts on her; most of them shallow but bloody, however there was a messy gouge on her side. She'd moved suddenly, or the straight razor that was in Roman's other hand had slipped... whatever the case, it seemed to have slipped in under her ribs, deep. Blood dripping down her torso, staining her shirt and Roman's arms.

It seemed like they'd struggled for a bit before he'd managed to pin her to the wall, most of his torso smeared with her blood. His lips and eyelids painted with it like some sort of fucked-up, tribal make up. There was a creak, footsteps and Roman hissed in a rough whisper for her to shut up as she groaned, whimpered, tears and fear shaking in her eyes. He doesn't know what to do, so he stands there, lips trembling, eyes darting around the room to the doorway.

He needed a plan and he was coming up fucking blank. Sure, his mother could probably buy his way out of this, but he hated being in her debt. So, he waited, eyes wide and staring, like somehow frozen. He isn't conscious of it, how it happens, but one second he has her pinned to the wall by her throat, and the next she somehow pulls away, running for the figure at the door. She's gurgling and sobbing, panic hitching her voice into wheezing gasps (or maybe Roman's fingers were a bit too tight).

And that, of course, is when Roman recognizes the man. Professor. Joe Carroll. He can't even process it.
godfrey_crown: (Entitled Asshole)
Roman can't help the smug thrill as he strolls his way into the offices of Stratton Oakmont. He's in a twenty-five hundred dollar suit, and he doesn't take no for an answer. It's maybe the sheer arrogance of it, that keeps people from pushing too harshly after that first moment he steps in close and tells some asshole that gets in his way that he has an appointment, and to go fuck himself. He grins, but it's all teeth, and there's something in how he moves that spells power and that he doesn't have time for their shit. The chaos of the floor didn't bother him, and he slipped his way into Jordan's office to wait.

He didn't even hesitate until he'd fixed himself a scotch neat, and that was when he slipped into the man's chair, one slender leg crossed over the other, and he waited.

Jordan Belfort owed him. Fortunately  Roman wasn't a moron, unlike what the fuckfaces on the board of Godfrey Industries might believe. He wasn't going to blackmail him. You didn't get someone off scott-free from the weight of charges that Jordan had been facing for some sort of petty-as-shit blackmail scheme. All he wanted, was to offer him a business deal. He wanted to make Jordan Belfort and Stratton Oakmont un-fucking-touchable. He was no longer just the Wolf of Wall Street, he was its fucking King. He was the jackass to walk away a freeman from an unwinnable case. He almost wishes he could have been in the courtroom and tell the FBI agents to suck his fucking dick. They were all fucking dickbags, as far as he was concerned.

Nosing around the murders, Letha's death, his mother's disappearance and all that fucking shit when he was still wrecked over Peter. Fucking Feds.

But no, that would have been too obvious, and so here he was, sitting in the man's chair and drinking his scotch as the people on the floor gawked and pretended to focus on their job, scurrying and yelling, and Roman watched it all from behind his fluttered eyelashes. Patience isn't usually his strong suit, but three glasses of good scotch later, expensive decanter on the table, he was warm and pleasantly buzzed and that made it alright. He heard the scurrying and the barking of Belfort like hawkers at a flea market.

He knew the wait would fucking be worth it. He wondered if Jordan remembered his mouth on his dick.

godfrey_crown: (Default)


Name: Puppy

Personal Journal: puppiesandrazors

Plurk: puppiesandrazors

Time Zone: EST (GMT -5)

Email: lotuspromises.rp@gmail.com

Messenger: AIM - lotuspromises

Previous Characters: N/A

Munhead/Musebox: N/A??


tldr inside! )


godfrey_crown: (Classy Motherfucker)
This is a list of additional stuff Roman has picked up in game since his arrival. Mainly so I can keep track of additional stuff he acquires and extra stuff he has to trade.

The worst most horrible winter coat ever
Small box of razorblades
3 tall black candles that burn blue
Lots of Blankets
Flower-scented vasoline

godfrey_crown: (Cleans Up Nice)
It was New Years, which meant a party in LA. Some classy affair with too many giant flat screen TVs, showing the ball as it dropped in Manhattan. Much was being made about it; all the repair efforts, and how it was a symbol of how the American spirit wouldn't be conquered, and a lot of bullshit that Roman frankly didn't give a shit about. Aliens in New York City. He'd seen it on the news, but he hadn't really been bothered to give a shit. Pryce on the other hand had been in a tither, but the man was always a fucking creep, so there was no news there.

He was leaning against the bar, enjoying what was at least good scotch. He wasn't in a good mood to begin with. This whole mess with Lod LLC who now had his uncle's shares. His father's. He knew, but that didn't keep it from leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, like licking metal. Between Letha and Olivia, he was reduced to a shell; hardly anything of him left at all. Roman couldn't really be bothered to care. They'd been almost close once, and yet everything with Norman and his mother reeked of a subversive sort of betrayal he couldn't explain.

As if it wasn't enough that he didn't know what he was, the man he'd always thought was his father turned out to be another lie.

Roman, for all his dislike of school and academics, had taken to business surprisingly well, even if he couldn't be bothered with the droll meetings, he made sure to keep himself informed. It was a game they played, him and Pryce. Roman was still doggedly determined to find out about Ouroboros. But they made nice and pretended to be on the same side, and maybe half the time they even were: Roman was more his mother's son than he would ever have wanted to admit to, but he seemed to take more after his grandfather than Norman.

On another night, in another life, he might have tried to kiss some idiotic pretty thing, had sex in the bathroom, a corner office, or his car. Things were different, though. He understood why they'd never really appealed, why he'd never been as enamored with any of them as people seemed to think he should be. It had come across as entitled disinterest, which was fine with him, but that wasn't it at all. He liked Peter. He wanted men.

Of course, the man next to him says something, and Roman isn't even sure if it's what he says or how he says it that gets to him, or maybe just that he's always just one step from the edge these days, but he jerks his head to the side, snaps back as he finishes his scotch and then slams the empty glass to the bar, with a sharp look at the tender that demands another. Words don't stop there, however; volleys tossed back and forth until Roman is looking into his eyes with those green hues that almost glow and he jerks a finger to the man on the other side of him with a cruel smile that curves those lewd lips.

"Kiss him."

Page generated Oct. 22nd, 2017 09:59 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios