|Benedict Sablier; Saetan SaDiablo (birthrightred) wrote,|
@ 2010-12-10 05:24:00
Source work, author and character: The Black Jewels Series; Anne Bishop; Saetan SaDiablo
Journal name: birthrightred
Name: Benedict Sablier
Age: 46 years old (apparent age); well over 2,000 years old (actual age)
Played By: Daniel Craig
Apartment complex and unit: Aubade 501
How long have they been in the human world?: Approximately 4 years
Source of income: Tons of he’s accumulated over the years in Musings and taken with him, plus income from venture capital investments he’s made here in Humanity
Personality: Benedict is a patient man. Many would say that living for over two millennia tends to dull even the hottest of tempers and they wouldn’t be wrong. But really he would attribute this to his daughter. He always had a viciousness to him which aided him in his more violent endeavors, but he still managed to keep it on a tight leash. Propriety and protocol always dictated when to be cruel and when to be kind.
Having a daughter, however, seem to begin a change in him. He’s still a force to be reckoned with, certainly still someone to be wary of. But he’s more prone to laughs than scowls, these days. He’s now quicker to joke, more prone and susceptible to teasing, and while he can be stubborn as a mule with most people, his daughter has a tendency of making him quite the pushover.
He’s not a man who’s intrinsically altruistic. He prefers to stick to his own affairs, for better or for worse, although his daughter tends to embroil him into the business of other people. To those he trusts and loves he would gladly lend a helping hand but everyone else is a different story. He’s sympathetic to a point but not particularly generous. If you wish to ask for his favor, make sure it’s a good one. It’s rare that you’ll get a second chance to.
Call him old fashioned because he is. He’s flexible with his views – times change and he certainly saw them do so – but that doesn’t mean he has forgotten the values that he grew up on or the societal norms of the times he truly lived in. He works hard and doesn’t rest of his laurels. He doesn’t take anything he isn’t free and willing to give in turn, whether it be livestock, money, time or love. He opens doors, minds his manners, and rises when a woman comes to the table. But still manages to curb a sour look whenever his daughter doesn’t want to wear a dress to formal dinner. How's that for progressive.
WARNING: The history contains references to triggery material such as rape, torture, suicide, infanticide, and mass murder, in that order. The instances are glossed over as much as possible but they still warrant a warning, just in case.
History: Benedict’s life, like others’, can be divided into distinct sections. For him, however, it’s not simply about when events happened, but with whom, with what woman, they happened with.
He never knew his father, not his name nor where he lived or really anything about him. His mother was young when she died and his memories were disjointed, few and far between. He remembers her smile and the way she cared for him, carrying him on her hip or ruffling his hair when he was finally able to toddle beside her properly. He can recall the echo of her laugh and the sound of her singing, and from her he knows he learned how to articulate clearly, despite anger usually setting his jaw and forcing his words to come through clenched teeth. And he can easily remember how lifeless her eyes seemed staring back up at him from the gutter, her tunic ripped and forced up over her hips obscenely, her body twisted in a hard, unnatural angle as the blood spilled from the long cut at her throat.
His mother was his only family and with her they had so little social standing to begin with. Without her it was even worse but he managed to survive a hard childhood, barely. Perhaps it was because of the violence that touched him so early on that he found himself comfortable with growing up to be an executioner, and a very talented one at that. To this day he won’t outwardly admit to any satisfaction with this time in his life, but he will concede, with no amount of conceit, that he was always very, very, thorough about extracting all the pain and doling out all the humiliation that befitted each execution he carried out.
He was known for being fierce, albeit quiet, man and very few people could tolerate him, let alone women. Tullia was his first wife, a beautiful woman with dark hair and mischievous eyes, and her ability to look past his reputation was what caught his attention. She was strange, people said, but he found her whimsical, a free spirit. She was so very different than him and he loved her more for it. When their first son died, he thought the differences to be a blessing. He hoped he’d be the rock that would ground her and hold her steady in reality. But her grief pushed her farther and farther into madness until the day she drowned herself in the river.
In his grief came his second wife, Liviana, sister to his first and together they tried to carve a life out of the sad landscape that was left them. He loved her too, though not as much as her sister, and she never let him forget that. He didn’t have much spirit to fight with her but that never stopped her and their years were filled with heated arguments, day in and day out. When she left one day with their son, he raged and grieved for his losses but didn’t pursue them, knowing it would’ve accomplished nothing. To this day he doesn’t know what happened to any of them.
It was only several centuries later, thousands of miles from the ruins of Rome, that he found his heart warmed again. War and violence were all that he really was good at and when he found himself in a different land he assimilated into their army, rising in ranks and finding his place in their world there. Deirdre was his next wife, a slight woman with a rather large presence. He was drawn to her strength and she to him, although he always suspected that behind all her sass and bravado she was, at her core, afraid of him. Even here, so far from his first home, he had a reputation for being fearsome. He did his best to soothe her, love her as an equal and care for all their sons and it worked for many years. But her fear turned to resentment as time went on. He watched her red hair turn lighter and greyer, watched the fine lines of her face deepen while he remained the same. She knew it wasn’t his fault – this was how life was – but she had hoped she would have been like him, remaining youthful and beautiful for as long as would be allowed, but that wasn’t the case. Once their sons turned to men and left their childhood home, she turned on him and turned him out, asking him to leave her alone. He abided by her wishes and never came back, at least not for many years. A century later he returned, en route to another destination, and thought to check on the village they had lived in so long ago, only to find out that she died – murdered – a few years after he had left.
In France, another handful of centuries later, he married again. His last marriages had left their significant scars but the never ending years that stretched before him made him lonely for companionship once more. By then he was going by Benedict Sablier and had amassed quite a fortune and caught the attentions of one beautiful schemer, Heloise. A man like himself didn’t keep his wealth without frugality and his young wife grew resentful that they had all this money and he wouldn’t indulge her requests and demands how she saw fit. He did his best to placate her, for her sake, for the sake of their unborn child, but after an argument she decided to go back to the countryside home of her childhood to visit her family. On her journey she was kidnapped and held for ransom, outrageous demands for money sent to the Lord Sablier in exchange for his wife and son, whom was born shortly after the kidnapping. The first was paid immediately, as was the second, but on the third request he stalled; he had paid and now his family needed to be sent back to him. What he got instead, was a fourth demand, a heftier amount, and a tiny infant finger in a silk lined box.
In that moment, something in Benedict broke. Centuries of training, a lifetime of violence, the intimidation, the cunning, the ruthlessness, all rose to the surface once more. He paid the ransom and followed the messenger back, not to a remote cabin in the mountains or a hideaway in the forest, but back to the town that his wife had been from. It was a small place, filled to the brim with her relatives, distant and not. And as he scoured and stalked he realized that his wife hadn’t been kidnapped at all. She was siphoning him for money, torturing their son in the process. When the newest payment came in watched as she gleefully accepted the money and proclaimed to all that would hear that she was finally done with him. She would send word that she had died and would live off the fortune that she had stolen from him. And when asked about the baby, Heloise merely slit the child’s throat and put him into a box to be sent back to her husband. All the little loose ends were finally tied up in her mind.
That night was when he started, stealthily moving from home to home, killing everyone inside. It didn’t matter who they were, how old or young, man, woman, or child. The entire town had housed the evil that was his wife. The entire town had turn a blind eye to her machinations. Some deaths were quick, so many were not, but that night everyone in that town paid blood with blood. By mid morning he was the only person still breathing. His wife was the last one, though her torture was the longest, and her face was so unrecognizable and her body so mangled that no one would have been able to identify her. Her body and those of her most conniving relatives he set upon spikes as a testament to what he did there. The animals he set free to roam and the buildings he set afire. He buried his son in an unmarked grave far from that accursed place and left France behind, settling in America for the remainder of the millennia.
Dorothy was his last – or perhaps, knowing him, his latest – wife. More than 500 years had eased most of the ache from his last marriage and he was ready to try again. Vivacious and loving in the beginning, she showed her true nature after they finally wed but he stayed and tried to make it work for the sake of their daughter, Evangeline. Over 2,000 years, 5 marriages and countless lovers, a handful of sons and finally he had a daughter. He didn’t want to leave if he didn’t have to.
His wife ensured that he had to. They eventually divorced and she took sole custody of their child, moving away and only allowing monthly visits between father and daughter. Once again he found his child held back in favor of money but after the last time he promised himself that he wouldn’t ever do anything like that again. At least the visits helped and Benedict watched her grow up from afar. He tried to take solace in her letters to him but grew to realize they were thinly veiled pleas for help. She couldn’t tell him exactly what was going on there, but he knew she was being hurt, and he did everything in his power to help her.
He hired Lucien Yasir to help him and they tried every way they could to legally get her the assistance she needed. Months passed and they found progress but still it wasn’t happening soon enough. By her twelfth birthday it finally had come to a head and he received a frantic phone call from Lucien that the plan was forsaken in favor of getting Evie out of there. His daughter was broken and battered, but free, and that’s all he needed. Between himself and Lucien they managed to get her to safety and get her all the physical and mental help they could find.
Years passed and she healed but Benedict worried that it still wasn’t enough. He had heard rumors all these years of portals and he finally felt that this world had nothing else to offer him. Perhaps the next would have something better, and a fresh start would do a world of good for Evie. These reasons were all that he gave his daughter for packing up their things and going but in truth, Dorothy had come looking for them again. The only way to leave her completely, was to leave this world behind and that’s exactly what they did.
Ability: Memory Manipulation – Specifically, he can erase memories
How they came to be in the human world: Portal hopped 4 years ago with Evie and Lucien as they tried to escape his ex wife.
Purpose: Anywhere between Chaotic Good to Chaotic Neutral. He’s not opposed to using force when necessary but these days he finds it rarely necessary.
Future Plans: Keeping his daughter in line and out of trouble. This is a lot more difficult than it sounds.
Source conflict: Benedict’s source character is one of the most feared men in the world, which alternatively makes him one of the loneliest. His powers and his personality put most people off but it’s the discovery of and the continual presence of his daughter that changes his outlook on life and the way people interact with him. Keeping her safe and happy is of the utmost importance to him and he wouldn’t hesitate to annihilate anyone who would hurt her in any way, whether they be friend or foe.
First Person Community Example:
I’m never one for much complaining about holiday travel. Especially when it doesn’t work in my favor. Perhaps I’ve spent too many years in unfavorable conditions to think sleeping in an airport is the worst experience one can think of.
I will, however, admit that there is nothing quite like being at home after a long journey, and I suppose my one complaint is that one of my housemates is less than pleased to see me. I suspect it’s because he no longer has free reign of the house, like he did in my absence. Since I’m fully expecting the dirtiest look a cat could muster, I don’t think it’s too precautious to find an alternative recipient for his present.
Does anyone have a cat that would appreciate a stocking full of treats? The second I can find the feline gift equivalent to coal, this one’s all yours.
Third Person Log Example: Benedict took a long look at himself in the mirror and smoothed his hands over his tuxedo. The dinner was only of middling importance. Really, he was only going tonight to stop the constant invitations or requests that he attend other social calls. If showing his face at a investor’s dinner every quarter or so meant that he didn’t have to answer phone calls every other day about how he was doing then he would the opportunity.
Satisfied that he looked presentable he walked over to Evie's room. The door was only half open, an invitation to interrupt her otherwise private space if he needed to, but only if he needed to. Now was such a time. His knuckles rapped on the wood twice before he swung it open the rest of the way as she turned to look at him.
Trousers. She was wearing trousers to dinner.
His look of utter disappointment must have shown clearly because she gestured sheepishly to her bed. There was the blue dress that he bought her, expensive, delicate, and completely covered in cat hair. Not just stray cat hair, that was to be expected in their house. No, it was being sat upon by a certain Monsieur Fat Cat. And from the sleepy look the animal gave him, nothing on this earth was going to move that cat.
He sighed and looked back at Evie. Despite the pants, she was otherwise dressed appropriately. That was good enough. “The car is waiting for us downstairs,” he said mildly, offering her arm and letting resignation give way to acceptance in his voice and in his demeanor. Now that she could see there wasn’t a fight Evie gave him a brilliant smile and his worries about the evening disappeared as well.
Notes: All mentions of other characters (Evangeline and Lucien) have been cleared with their respective players.