Francotalia - Jamais

By askhetahazardengland.deviantart.com

Francotalia – Jamais
In the dead of night as stars lit up the smoggy sky of Victorian London, the undead were on the prowl.

Francis Bonnefoy was visiting the prosperous city on a business venture. He had been hired by some gentleman called Lord Kirkland, a shorter blond man than himself in height and hair, to design some French-style clothes for himself and some other members of his family. For now, Francis had been invited to stay at Lord Kirkland's manor.

The manor itself was rather flashy for its time, and there were souvenirs from voyages abroad to places like America, India and Australia. Francis was very happy to sleep in a four-poster bed, one with silks and other finery. Perhaps this Lord Kirkland had friends in high places?

Speak of the devil, Lord Kirkland appeared at the guest bedroom doorway. “Good evening, Monsieur Bonnefoy. I trust that your room is... comfortable?”

Francis sat up quickly in bed and smiled. “Mais oui! Merci, Lord Kirkland. Did you like ze coat designs? It's all ze rage with French nobility. I was particularly excited to add ze ruffles.”

The English lord hummed and nodded in appreciation. “Yes. I believe that you are most suited for this job. Would you be willing to stay for... oh, much longer? I know of other nobility whom would benefit from your talents.” Kirkland grinned, although there was something slightly off about that action, but Francis could not make out his facial features clearly in the darkness, only lit up by gas lamps.

The Frenchman was far too grateful to care. He had secured employment. This was a wonderful turn of events. “Merci! Merci beaucoup!”

“Oh don't thank me just yet,” Kirkland purred, striding into the room with ghost-like grace. “I know that this is normally a duty for my butler, but I would like to join you with some wine. Come, join me on the balcony.”

Now, Francis never said no to wine, so he eagerly followed the nobleman's lead. On the balcony were two crystal glasses with some mature wine.

The two business men conversed civilly, sipping their vino right into the midnight hours and the Frenchman became particularly tipsy. For the past half-hour Lord Kirkland was eyeing Francis hungrily.

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Kirkland was in Monsieur Bonnefoy's personal bubble, breathing down his neck with a feral grin. Francis sat upright as the hairs on his skin prickled in fright. “Ah, Lord Kirkland? I did not know ze British were this... affectionate?”

“Join my family, Francis Bonnefoy. My... brethren.” His voice was sultry, breathy...

Francis shot out of his chair. “NON! You are drunk, monsieur! Keep your hands to yourself, s'il vous-plaît.”

“Join me,” Kirkland said matter-of-factly, not fazed by Bonnefoy's reaction.

“Jamais! Jamais! Non!”

“Fool.” The vampire aristocrat pulled the Frenchman close and poised his fangs at his neck. “I've not had frog's blood in such a long time. Thank you for joining me in this... business exchange.”

As dawn graced the busy and shady streets of London, Francis Bonnefoy died and was reborn.