ROUSSEAU, caleb desmond

[CALEB DESMOND ROUSSEAU]

CALEB DESMOND ROUSSEAU

[/font][/center]

Name: Caleb Desmond Rousseau
Nickname: Cale, Rousseau
Age: 384
Gender: Male
Orientation: Heterosexual
Occupation: Owner of Good Mourning
Species: Vampire
Play By: Dominic Monaghan
Ability and Talent: n/a

Standing at an average 5'7" doesn't make Caleb very intimidating in terms of height. He's fit and muscular, using his body mass and his fast reflexes to his advantage if and when the patrons get a little too rowdy at the bar. This does happen on occasion, which provokes a hearty chuckle and a toothy grin from him. When will people ever learn? He doesn't go around looking for trouble, but he sure seems to cause it. Sometimes all it takes is a wave of his hand or his verbal mastery to push someone's buttons. He learned that much from his sire... well, that's all he learned.

He currently has short dark blond hair and piercing bright blue eyes, those which seem to turn a shade lighter when he's angry or aroused. Often times it's both, especially when he's with Cecilia. It seems like they become a clear, icy blue, though that could just be a trick with the lighting. Anyway, his hair style has changed throughout the years, but it still remains his natural color. He is usually clean-cut in terms of his face, shaving regularly while humming something from the musical, Sweeney Todd. Yes, he has a strange, often dark sense of humor, and no, he isn't going to change to make you feel more comfortable.

Caleb wears whatever suits the occasion, though he is fond of long trench coats. They have many pockets, which can prove to be useful as the day goes on. His walk is more of a swagger, dripping with the self-confidence that he feels in every long, calculated stride. Alot of people might describe him as intense, but that can just be another word for stiff. He's hardly ever fully relaxed, not with a tongue laced with poison and the temper of a bull locked in a china shop. He's the kind of guy that looks like he's just waiting for the moment to explode, even when he feels perfectly calm. He likes keeping people on their toes and staring at them like his next meal, while they giggle and laugh in ignorance. Oh bliss, how can he ever repay you for his quick meals?

Have you ever heard of people who like to play with fire? Well, if you know anything about Caleb's past, you'll know that he loves it. The idea of being so close to one of the things that can kill him excites him. It brings a little glimmer of madness into his eyes. So he carries a lighter around with him everywhere. Sometimes he uses a lantern down in the mines, remembering how he used to trick dirty merchants into the dark, douse them with kerosene, and then shatter the lantern on the floor before watching them burn. Some of them weren't even vampires. No, he'd just burn people alive for amusement. But that feels like ages ago... or wait, wasn't that just last week? Who knows.

Surprisingly, Caleb has a pretty good tolerance for all species. And when I say tolerance, I really just mean that he'll get equally pissed with any of them no matter what they do. He enjoys jazz, big band, and rock music. He's also cunning and smart, enjoying the notion of curling up with a book by the fireplace. It's those simple moments where he looks the most human. In fact, those might be the only moments. He's a bit meticulous, liking things to be orderly and neat, so his bar always has to be in tip top shape. He hates it when people put glasses directly on his countertop or his tables, leaving those stupid rings behind. It often leads to that person's death, unless they have half the mind to wipe it off. Let's hope for their sake that they do.

He both likes and dislikes Cecilia. It depends on the time of day. Alot of people speculate on why he's even with her. They haven't slept together, so where's the profit? Well, you see, Caleb genuinely enjoys pissing the Lycans off. His coven isn't too cheeky about it either, so here we are with this little predicament... but guess what? He could really care less. He does what he wants, when he wants. If Caleb killed his sire because she was trying to trap him into this little box (aka being her little boytoy for all eternity), what do you suppose he thinks about labels? Exactly. He thinks it's shit. He thinks most things are shit, but he does find pleasure in the simple things of life. You know, like being an entertainer, feeding his brethren, and selling humans. All in a day's work, Rousseau.

Caleb Desmond Rousseau was born in Seville, Spain on 1616. He was the eldest of four, although half of his siblings didn't make it passed their early childhood. The cause? Simple things like the common cold that are often underestimated in our day and age. Caleb's family is a direct descendant of royalty from their father's side, so they often frequented the majestically beautiful upper levels of the Alcázar. It has always been one of his favorite places, even to this very day. Their roots were also with the French (particularly with their mother's side), so he's fluent in English, Spanish, and French. In fact, when he gets angry, Caleb tends to start yelling in French.

The remaining male Rousseau heir learned the art of the trade from a rather young age. He went sailing with his younger sister to other countries and often struck up smart conversations with traders or sailors on the ports, trying to learn as much about the business as possible. He was cunning and intelligent, often said to be able to sell fins to a shark. Caleb, of course, enjoyed being the center of attention, made easier just by living in the very capital where people had to travel in order to get New World trade goods.

When he was 24, the Great Plague of Seville swept through the town and claimed a quarter of the population. Caleb lost his family and friends to disease, as well as his closest trade partners. So he was left with nothing, basically. Lost and disoriented, he fled from his home, though others would say that he ran straight into danger. Being rash and opportunistic, however, Caleb didn't see it that way. His sire was either lonely or bored, possibly even both. She spotted him in a state of mourning (his bar is a word play of this) and decided to make him hers. Her problem was that she didn't know about his strong lack of commitment, or the ruthlessness that came with his change. He aroused and cornered her, before pushing her into a furnace and locking her inside. It was then that he gained a new appreciation for the flames, becoming a bit of a pyromaniac. He's rarely seen without a lighter.

Caleb traveled to the New World in search of fresh blood and new business deals. He was part of a jazz band for a good period of time, before hitting the rock 'n' roll scene as the bass guitarist. He dealt with drugs for a while, knowing that a good smoke wouldn't kill him anyway, which also meant constantly relocating when people started to notice his preserved youth. Then he moved out here to Colorado and opened up Good Mourning, which caters to tourists during the day as a friendly bar and becomes a blood bar during the night. He frequently engages in human trafficking, since it's a good business and that's all that matters to Caleb sometimes. He feels no guilt towards the humans that are often sold to be pets for other vampires. If they come around looking for trouble, they're going to get it...

It's easier to list the things that he hasn't done than the ones he has. I mean, it has been like what, almost four centuries? Oh, and another one on his list of do's? A certain lycan by the name of Cecilia. Of course, she was the pick of the litter, the former alpha of the wolf pack, and Caleb knew that she was using him. So he knew that he could get away with practically anything. They've fought fiercely and it's not above her to set him on fire. Caleb is grateful for it too, because this town can get pretty boring, in his opinion. No one else can handle him. No one else ever will.

Your Name: Lil
Age: 21
How Did you Find us: Admin
A little bit about you: I'm a musician, a supernatural junkie, and I'm brain twins with the J.

Bryce took one last look around the tent that he'd come to call home for the last several weeks. He'd lost count, quite honestly, but he always knew what day it was because he kept an eye open for his mail. His brother wrote to him often, which was nice and thoughtful of him, but it was really Zelodide's writing that he was always excited about reading. Sometimes it was silly what their conversations consisted of, but they did get to learn new things about each other. He couldn't remember how many times he started to get really homesick, so he'd just pull out one of her letters and read it again, making him smile and feel better in the process. It was pretty amazing how one person could change your whole life, even with the distance between them. He didn't pack up alot of his things, not wanting to seem suspicious, since someone else was coming back in his place: his twin brother, Adam. He wasn't sure why he was so headset on coming out here, but he assured him that he didn't have anything left to lose, except for each other. He wasn't sure how he was going to thank Adam for this, since he was going home to finally tell Zelodide what was on his mind, but he'd think of something, he was sure. He made his way outside with his platoon, before getting into the back of the humvee, closing his eyes slightly as the dirt picked up once they were on the road.

He knew that this was a result of a charity event and it would be the perfect timing for him to make the switch with his brother. They were of equal stature and weigh, both easy on the eyes as well, but Adam had a sharper tongue. He just hoped that he didn't blow their cover, otherwise they'd both be in some major trouble. But even as kids, it was hard for people to tell them apart. They were identical, except that Adam had a birthmark on his neck. He bragged that it was this big wound during a motorcycle stunt, but Bryce knew better. He was born with it. He smiled lightly at the other soldiers, most of whom were chatting it up. It had been a long time since he'd seen most of these people look this happy. He could feel it from within, tugging on his heart in his chest at the thought of being back home. Of course, that also came with a catch: they had to take an airplane. Now, Bryce wasn't afraid of alot of things, but he wasn't a big fan of planes. There were just way too many accidents on those things, in his opinion. He grimaced just at the thought.

His knuckles were white by the time Bryce got off the plane from holding on to the handrests at the sides of the seats. They were pretty comfortable and all, but he still couldn't stand flying. On the way, he noticed a young couple holding hands and he smiled, finding himself glancing down at his own hand. How well would hers fit into his? It was a tough question, since they'd only gone out on a couple of dates and he never really touched her apart from maybe her shoulder during a fit of laughter of something like that. It was innocent. As he practically rushed off of the plane, he checked out his bag (which only had his mp3 player and some gum, as well as Zelodide's letters), before walking out through the terminal. It wasn't long before he embraced his brother, who gave him a strong hug, patting his back as they greeted each other like any brothers would--Bryce smacked him in the back of the head in anticipation--before they headed out to the car. "So, what do you want to do?" Adam asked him with a knowing grin, keeping his eyes on the road as he headed towards Zelodide's street. "I have a girl to see," Bryce replied with a bright smile, his bright green eyes appearing to have a new light in them as he glanced out through the car window and watched the trees and scenery fly by.

When Adam pulled up to Zelodide's curb, Bryce didn't really wait for Adam to stop the car before he grabbed his bag and practically ran up the small pavement to the door. Once he was there, he wasn't sure why he was out of breath. After all, he had been in training and he had really good endurance. It must be because he was nervous. He was wearing a white shirt with a black tie, along with a dark green suit coat and some khaki slacks. He rubbed his palms against his pants before clearing his throat, taking one step forward with his hand curled up into a fist, but he didn't bring it down to knock. He messed with his bottom lip, trying to think of everything that he would say as he stared back at the wooden door, before taking in a deep breath and then finally knocking. It was light, but not too light that she wouldn't hear him. He then crossed his hands before him, licking his suddenly dry lips as he stood there. He had seen alot of things out on the battlefield, but he had never been as nervous or excited as he was right now, right in this instant. They hadn't seen each other in what seemed like ages. Did she still look the same as in the pictures? He hadn't written to her in a while, but only because he knew that he was coming and the mail was getting harder and harder to track. He didn't want someone accidently reading it and blowing his cover. So he just stood there, waiting to see the woman of his dreams, both at night and during the day, the anticipation making him hum an old rock tune gently as the sunlight bathed over his tall stature.

[JEANNA'S SPELLBOUND]