~An Unnamed Faction 1999 Calendar~

Yet another calender perpetrated with words because the stick figures I can draw just don't cut it when trying to capture the images I have in my head. <g> This one actually has a claim to being systematic, as I intend to follow Nicholas and Lacroix step by step through the centuries. Then in September, October and November I will take an image from each of the three seasons of Forever Knight. Like last year, the first "image" you will see will be the current month's, with the previous months in chronological order below.

The Pin Up

Well, heck, look at what I found at the end of my calendar. It's a fold out poster for Saturnalia! That's the Roman holiday which started December 17th, celebrating the Golden Age of the god, Saturn. During this time, in reflection of that idyllic time when all men lived as equals, Roman masters and their slaves swapped roles, balancing what went on during the rest of the year.

There are so many games Nicholas and Lacroix could play during Saturnalia. Here's one...

Setting: Inside Lacroix's broadcast booth at the Raven. The console has a swath of dark cloth tossed across one end, while its chair has been swung to one side to angle perpendicular to the controls. An electric-blue light shines from above, and outside the dark windows vague humanoid shapes can be discerned.

Nick slouches in Lacroix's broadcast seat, turned so that he leans against the right arm, placing him in three-quarter profile. His left leg is crooked at the knee over the other arm of the chair. His other foot rests on the floor, that leg stretching out to the front and left. Tucked up close to the chair, sitting back on his heels on the floor in front of Nick, Lacroix matches the angle of Nick's slanting sprawl, putting him in profile.

Lacroix is shirtless, the light playing along the bunching muscles of his shoulder and biceps, tinting his pale skin an eerie blue. His arms are behind him, fingers of his left hand clasping his right wrist at the small of his back. A blue highlight shines softly in the glossy black leather pants stretched taut across Lacroix's thigh.

Nick's black shirt is open, untucked from his black jeans. The light cools his skin, darkening the line of curling hair from his chest down the center of his belly. The top two buttons of his jeans are undone, folded back to reveal the thickening thatch of fuzz above his groin.

Lacroix's cheek rests on the inner thigh of the leg Nick has cocked over the chair's arm, just above the outline of the shaft snaking up the inside of Nick's pants. Lacroix's lips are parted, the fabric below them and above the shaft's tip darker, as though damp. Lacroix gazes up into Nick's face, his eyes glinting with mischief, while Nick smiles slightly, his lids heavy with an arrogant complacency.

Nick's left hand rests on Lacroix's head, his fingers lightly curved, suggesting a gentle caress over the bristling buzz cut. His right arm drapes lazily from the chair, the fingers of that hand curled around the haft of a long, thin bamboo cane, its wood gleaming pale blue in contrast to the black leather where its end rests along Lacroix's hip.

Previous "Pictures"

January

Setting: 1228. A windowless room, its pale grey stone walls hung with tapestries depicting hunting scenes, their figures bright splashes of color in the deep green and blue backgrounds. The room's center is dominated by a large, four poster, canopied bed, with its thick, deep red silk curtains gathered and roped back. A spread of matching fabric covers the high mattress, reaching to the floor. Tall, heavy iron, many armed candelabra stand in the corners of the room, a dozen creamy, beeswax candles burning.

Nicholas reclines back, half sitting, propped up by the mass of large, white pillows shoved against the head of the bed. His muscular torso, arms and upper thighs are draped in a long, fine, white linen shirt. The ties at the neck are completely unlaced, revealing the sturdy column of his throat with the deep hollow at its base. Though his complexion is fair, the candlelight brings out the lingering traces of a golden tan. His far leg is bent slightly at the knee, the other set flat against the mattress. Both legs are bare.

Lacroix parallels Nicholas on his far side, as though he had crawled up beside him on the bed, resting his weight on his far knee and arm. His near leg extends behind him, the black silk of his leggings snug against his lean buttock, thigh and calf. His full white shirt also falls open at the neck. His near hand rests on Nicholas's bent leg, on the upper inner thigh. The light linen of the other's shirt bunches under his hand, the cloth gathered in small folds as though his palm had slipped up the inside Nicholas's leg. Just above this hand, at the joining of Nicholas's thighs, the lengthening bulk of his phallus has begun to lift the fabric from beneath.

Nicholas's near hand grips the bedding beside him, twisting. The other is at the middle of Lacroix's chest, clenching the fabric of his shirt, the tendons of his forearm tight.

Lacroix's head is lowered, a half foot from Nicholas, tilting a bit to fit in the angle between his protégé's shoulder and throat. He studies Nicholas's face from beneath his lashes, his ice blue eyes glittering, his full, curving lips slightly parted, his intent expression a mingling of arousal and wicked amusement. Nicholas's head is turned slightly away from him, his chin lifting as he watches Lacroix from the corners of his eyes. His mouth is opened slightly, the very tip of his tongue visible between his gleaming front teeth. The anticipation enlivening his features carries the slightest hint of fear.

February

Setting: 1328. A narrow city street lit only by a bright, cold winter's moon. The windows of the two story buildings on either side are shuttered tight against the freezing night and those that walk abroad in it. The cobbled street is covered in a layer of churned, dirty snow. Two figures, their limbs sprawled as though tossed aside, wraps against the cold in tangled disarray, lay crumbled to one side of the road.

Nicholas and Lacroix stand facing each other in the ankle deep snow. Without cloaks, in only knee length tunics over hose, they are dressed for ease of movement rather than warmth. Mid-calf boots protect their feet from the muck of the cobble-stoned street. The moon light glints silver in Nicholas's dark gold waves and makes a luminescent nimbus of the white spiked bristles of Lacroix's hair. It transmutes their faces to living alabaster, perfect but for their stained lips and the smeared crimson trickle at the corner of Nicholas's mouth. The pale winter light casts a sheen on the dark silk of their tunics.

Nicholas's near hand has seized the leather belt at Lacroix's waist, just beside the buckle. Lacroix's near hand grips the fabric at the neck of Nicholas's dark blue tunic and the shirt beneath it. Lacroix's far hand is caught between their faces, Nicholas's fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist. The elder vampire's finger's are spread, curving slightly, the middle digit extended a bit beyond the others. Its tip is glossy with a deep liquid red. Nicholas's open mouth, upper lip drawn back slightly, displays his glittering white fangs. His tongue has come forward a bit, tip resting on his lower front teeth. His eyes, burning a lambent gold, are locked on the carmine stained fingertip before his face. Lacroix's full lips are parted just enough to reveal the points of his canines. The pale yellow fire of his stare is fixed on his protégé's mouth, open to take in his blood tipped finger.

March

Setting: 1448 ("Trophy Girl"). A Roman styled bath. Bronze lamps hang by fine chains from the ceiling, their flames warming the room with a clear, golden light. Mosaic figures of gods, mortals and beasts cavort over the floors and walls. The white marble bath itself, set in the floor, could comfortably contain eight seated, placid bathers, two or three more active ones. The door to the room beyond is open; through it, across the room, the lower end of a bed is visible, a woman's arm clad in a white sleeve draping limply over its edge.

Submerged up to his sternum, Nicholas sits in the bath, his back drawn up against Lacroix's chest, who is seated behind him. Lacroix's right arm crosses Nicholas's chest, his hand resting on the firm pectoral muscle of his left breast. The elder vampire's thumb and index finger are clamped on the pale pink nipple. Lacroix's left arm reaches down, in front of Nicholas, the hard, rounded muscles of the shoulder and biceps tightly flexed in a movement unseen under the water.

Nicholas's head is tossed back, tilted slightly to one side, resting on Lacroix's left shoulder, his wet hair slicked away from his face. This exposes his arched and muscular throat. His left arm is stretched to one side, muscles corded as his fingers clamp on the edge of the bath. His right arm is lifted, his fist clenched in the water-spiked hair on top of Lacroix's head. Lacroix's face is bent to Nicholas's neck, his open lips set lightly on the taut skin over his protégé's jugular.

Nicholas's eyes are closed, his lips parted, features alight with an abandoned rapture. Lacroix, head bent, studies Nicholas's face from the corner of his eye, a glint of ice blue beneath his lashes.

April

Setting: 1578, Spain. A bedroom, the whitewashed walls unadorned except for a couple of curved Moorish swords crossed and hung on the right side of the far wall. To the swords' left, heavy black damask cloth has been draped over the window. A large bed dominates the center of the room, the dark red covers stripped back to the foot of the bed, revealing white linen sheets, well rumpled. A single pale yellow candle burns on the low table beside the head of the bed.

Lacroix is sprawled on the bed, a couple large pillows under his head and upper back. His legs are spread to accommodate the crouching Nicholas between his thighs. Sitting back on his heels, his pelvis tucked close to Lacroix's and own knees spread wide, Nicholas has the elder vampire's long, lean thighs resting across the top of his own. Knees raised and bent, Lacroix curves his lower legs around behind Nicholas. Lacroix's near arm is bent and folded under his head.

Nicholas leans over Lacroix, supporting himself on his near arm, the knuckles of his fisted hand resting on the bed just above the other's hip. His far hand is curled around Lacroix's phallus, the rigid shaft spearing up between their bellies. Lacroix's far hand grasps the wrist of the hand holding him, the cording of the tendons and muscles in his forearm hinting at the force of his grip.

The light of the single candle glints in the tousled waves of Nicholas's dark gold hair and highlights the bunched muscles of his arm and shoulder. The alabaster pale skin of his side, curving as he bends over Lacroix, and the hard length of Lacroix's thigh are warmed by its glow. It deepens the shadows arcing beneath Lacroix's pectoral muscles and the ridges of his tensed belly. Both men have turned their heads to one side, placing their faces in three-quarters profile. Their expressions are set, almost mask-like in their intent concentration, as though they had just heard an unexpected sound. The candle reflects as points of bright flame in their fixed, widened eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"They took us as we slept." Nicholas, Sons of Belial.

May

Setting: 1601, London, England. A sitting room, the walls, where they are not covered by shelves of books, are of white plaster. A Turkish carpet, its creamy white background almost filled with traceries of black and dark, rich reds, greens and blues covers the floor. A causeuse, or love seat, covered with a red damask which picks up the red in the carpet, is centered on the carpet. Two matching great chairs to either side of the causeuse face each other across the rug's expanse.

Nicholas and Lacroix are seated on the causeuse, apparently facing a fireplace, as the warm light seems to come from before them. Lacroix, on the right, lounges back, his legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles. His black hose are up across the seat of the causeuse. The other leg crosses it, knee over the ankle, his lower leg dangling so that only the ball of that foot and its toes rest on the carpet. His dark blue hose conform to the calves' and thighs' dense, rounded muscles. Like Lacroix, he is casually dressed, eschewing a doublet over his plain white linen shirt. The neck ties are comfortably lax. His arm closest Lacroix is draped across the back of their seat, behind the elder vampire. His far hand grips the edge of one side of cheaply bound book, more a sheaf of rough paper, one side resting on his leg, the other on Lacroix's lap. Lacroix holds his half of the book open at its lower corner. This is apparently a theater prompt book, as the only word legible on its front cover, amidst a jumble of smaller print, is the hand written "Hamlet." Lacroix's other hand, the strong, pale fingers relaxed and slightly curved, rests upon Nicholas's blue clad thigh beside him.

Nicholas's face is turned toward Lacroix, the firelight making his hair a ruddy bronze and highlighting the strong planes of his cheekbone and jaw. He leans slightly toward the other man, his mouth open as though he were speaking directly and intently into his maker's ear. He reads the book from the corner of his eye, the blue darkened with the focus of his interest. Lacroix's head rests back upon Nicholas's arm behind it. His eyes are closed, his full lips slightly parted, a subtle yet sublime pleasure suffusing his features.

June

Setting: 1711, France. We last saw this courtyard in "Blood Money," as Nicholas toyed with and then drained his mortal partner in crime. All the while an irritated Lacroix had chided his defiant protégé for the folly of greed.

Nicholas and Lacroix stand facing one another, perhaps a foot apart. Lacroix's near hand is twisted in the cloth at Nicholas's near shoulder as he pushes the other vampire up against the rough brick wall at his back. The fabric of Lacroix's doublet, from the center of his chest to his near shoulder, has been slashed, its gape revealing the smooth, pale flesh beneath. Nicholas's far arm is curved up, flat against the wall, his hand over his head, gripping the hilt of his rapier. Lacroix's far arm extends above them as well, his fist wrapped around the blade of Nicholas's sword six inches above the guard. A trickle of blood runs from between his thumb and fingers down his wrist.

Nicholas's near hand is free and he has reached down between Lacroix's legs to grab his crotch. He stares into his maker's face, eyes burning with vampiric excitement, his mouth open in a wolfish grin. Blood from his recent kill has trailed down the side of his chin. Lacroix glares back at him, eyes white hot, the muscles along his jaw bunched, his expression one of mingled rage and arousal.

July

  Setting: Germany, 1857. (At this time, Nicholas attempted a cure for his vampirism with Dr. Spense, the "Resurrection Doctor," as seen in The Fix. The cure involved draining Nicholas' blood from his body, leaving him weak and helpless in the hands of a man whose motives were not of the best. Janette and Lacroix freed Nicholas, one of them killing the doctor. The last moment shown of this rescue is Nicholas accepting Lacroix' hand as he helps him up the stairs out of the burning lab.)
  A bedroom, wainscoted with glossy ebony, the upper portion of the walls papered in white. The paper has delicate pattern picked out in gold, creating a scattering of glints as it catches the lamp light. The heavy burgundy drapes are pulled back from the window on the right of the wall, revealing the tightly closed shutters just outside the glass. To the left is the large four poster bed, also made of polished ebony, the curtains and covers of the same burgundy as the drapes. The small table beside the head of the bed is set with a lighted oil lamp.

Nicholas lies stretched out on his back on the bed, the pallor of his skin stark against the burgundy covers. Both his arms are raised, bent at the elbow to curve over his head. The muscles are taut, the pull deepening the hollow of his armpit. Lacroix lies full on top of him, belly to belly. Where their flesh presses together, Lacroix' skin appears faintly ruddier than his protégé's, showing how much Nicholas' experience has drained him.

Propped up with his elbows set upon the biceps of the man beneath him, Lacroix lifts his head and shoulders so his face is centered over Nicholas'. The warm lamp light runs along the curved ridges of muscle on either side of his backbone to the hard, lean mounds of his buttocks. His forearms parallel the bed, his hands locked with his protégé's above the other's head, their fingers tightly interwoven. Nicholas has spread his legs, bringing them up over Lacroix' to twine their limbs together, the long muscles of his thighs bunching with the force of this hold.

Lacroix stares down into his protégé's face, slightly parted lips revealing his fang tips, the light making hard points of fire in his icy eyes. Nicholas' eyes are shut tight and a trickle of blood leaves a ruby bright trail across the taut, alabaster skin over his cheekbone, ending in the dark gold hair in front of his ear. His opened mouth, the front teeth tinted a liquid pink, is up-turned to catch the thick drop of blood welling from the slash in Lacroix' full lower lip.

August

Setting:  Bihn Loc, Vietnam, 1971. In the background, night's blackness is stained a sullen red by dying flames consuming the last of the angular, skeletal structures of a couple village homes. Another home must be burning off to the left, for from that side, the thick bole and the underside of the large heavy leaves of a surprisingly undamaged fig tree are tinted with a ruddy light.

Nick's set his back against this tree, braced on slightly spread legs. Lacroix, a bit to one side, leans into him, left breast to left breast, his left thigh slipped between his protégés'. Nick's white T-shirt has been pushed up to his chest, revealing one side and half his flat belly. The web belt looped to his dark green fatigue pants has been unfastened. The weight of the belt drags at the waist band, making the opened fly gape. Lacroix's fingers are tucked under the drooping cloth, his palm cupped over the point of Nicholas's hip. His own hip presses against Nick's groin.

Lacroix's dark trousers are still securely belted, though he is shirtless. The unseen fire warms the stone-white skin of his back, highlighting the edges of his shoulder blades. The curved hollow of his spine has been cast into shadow. His right arm is raised to rest his hand flat on the tree trunk above Nick's head, the trapezoid and shoulder muscles bunching as he supports some of his weight. Nick's right hand is set in the small of Lacroix's bare back, the force of his grip dimpling the firm flesh. The fingers of his other hand, just under Lacroix's right shoulder blade, are curved, pressing hard, the nails biting into the skin. A single, dark red trail of blood trickles down the ridge of muscle beside Lacroix's spine.

Nick's head is twisted to one side, putting it in three-quarter profile, the lift of his chin sharpening the jaw. Head ducked down and turned, Lacroix has set relaxed lips lightly on the exposed carotid beneath his protégé's ear. Lacroix's one visible eye is open, peering up from under his brow, studying what he can see of Nick's features. His expression, unseen by his favorite, contains an element of cool sympathy.

Nick's full lips are slightly parted and his eyes are half hidden by their hooding lids. The firelight glitters on the liquid crescents beneath the shielding lashes and sparkles on the trail of the single blood tear trickling down his unshaven cheek.

September

Note:   As in the first season Lacroix appeared only in flashback (until LYTD), I'm taking my inspiration from one of my favorite pieces of film, Dark Knight, and Nick and Lacroix's brief initial reunion in modern Toronto.

Setting: the abattoir from Dark Knight, on the catwalk above the main floor. The Mayan cup has shattered below and Nick, in a clinch with Lacroix, has just yelled at Alyce to run, which she has, intelligent woman.

Nick holds Lacroix against the brick wall behind him, his left forearm across the other's throat, that hand gripping the collar of Lacroix's black coat. The dark background emphasizes the pallor of their skin, and turns Nick's rumpled hair a dull bronze and makes a white nimbus of Lacroix's bristling buzz-cut. Nick's body, shoved up against Lacroix's right side, is in three-quarter profile, his long black duster covering him past the knees. Lacroix stands, legs braced, his left arm still flung out wide from having caught himself against the wall when Nick smashed into him. His long leather coat has spread open with this motion, revealing the dark shirt beneath. The black leather encasing his long, lean legs gleams in the pallid florescent lighting.

Lacroix's right hand has dropped to the small of Nick's back, the long, spread, white fingers stark against the black fabric of the duster. That hand's tendons flex, revealing the pressure he is exerting to pull Nick's pelvis forward against his own. Nick's face, streaked with pig's blood, is turned up to Lacroix's, eyes burning amber, parted lips and dropped jaw showing his fangs. His expression is mingled astonishment and rage. Lacroix's lambent yellow eyes stare down into his, brows lifted, sharp canines glinting in a wicked, open-mouthed grin.

October

Setting: From second season's "The Fix," the kitchen area of Nick's loft. The stove, counters and cupboards in the background are bright with indirect sunlight.

Lacroix sits on the edge of the kitchen table, left hand flung back to catch himself. Beside the table, knocked onto its back, lies a chair. Nick stands facing him, his braced legs straddling Lacroix's left thigh. His left hand, fingers spread wide, is planted in the center of Lacroix's black-clad chest, the sleeve on that arm rolled up past the elbow. His right hand is next to Lacroix's on the table top as he leans over him, pressing his maker back. The cuff at this wrist is still buttoned. His sweat-soaked blue cambric shirt stretches taut across his back.

They are both wreathed in the smoky haze wafting from Lacroix's body. His skin has a pinkish tint, though its pallor contrasts starkly with Nick's ruddy complexion. The younger vampire's hair is disheveled, darkened with sweat. The wrist of the hand he has pressed between the double buttons of Lacroix's jacket still bears the marks of Lacroix's grip upon it, livid white on the sun-burnt skin. Lacroix's hand is now beneath Nick's forearm, the long, pale fingers slightly curved, their tips resting on the underside of his protégé's wrist, along the pulse point.

Lacroix gazes down at his own hand, brow furrowed, his upper lip lifted in an expression between fascination and distaste. Nick, forehead and temple slick with sweat, turns his head to stare down into Lacroix's face. His eyes are hazy with an inebriated heaviness, though a look of alarm lingers on his features, in the slightly raised brows, the dropped jaw and parted lips. There is something beyond alarm, however, speaking more of a fascination of his own, as his tongue slips forward to rest on his front teeth.

November

Setting: Before the bar in the Raven, after closing hours. A wine bottle, nearly full of a dark liquid, and a glass, empty except for the traces of red at its bottom, rest on the polished wood. Tossed to lie beside them is Nick's dark jacket.

Nick and Lacroix stand facing one another in front of the bar. They are nearly identically dressed, in black dress shirts and slacks. While all the buttons on Nick's shirt are still fastened tight, the cuff at Lacroix's near wrist is unbuttoned, the sleeve draping down to reveal the white skin of his forearm. Both Nick and Lacroix's near arms are bent at the elbow, the back of Lacroix's wrist cupped in the up-turned palm of Nick's hand, Lacroix's fingers loosely curled. A final trickle of blood from the healing puncture wounds at Lacroix's pulse point, bright red upon pale skin, spills over the base of Nick's gripping thumb.

The top button of Lacroix's collar has also been undone, Nick's far hand resting on Lacroix's chest beneath that open V. He's set his first two fingertips on the bared skin of the hollow at the base of Lacroix's throat. Lacroix has placed the fingertips of his far hand lightly on Nick's waist.

Lacroix stares into Nick's face, full lips slightly parted, pale blue eyes intent and searching. Nick returns his gaze, eyes burning bright gold. His own lips, glistening crimson with the blood he's just taken from Lacroix, are parted, revealing the fine points of his canines. The ferocity of his expression is lightened, exalted even, as though with an astonishing discovery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm guessing you can fill in the blanks for me. Help me figure out who I am. All of who I am.  ~  Nick to Lacroix, Night in Question

December

In November, the images culminated with the Third Season. For December, I've dreamed up something post-Last Knight.

Setting: a modern living room, its details obscure, as it is illuminated by old-fashioned fire light rather than electric lamps. A large, thick Turkish carpet stretches before a broad fireplace. Far to either side of the rug are two low end-tables, set with many branched candle holders. The glow from the numerous creamy candles and the flames flickering in the fireplace bring out the rug's deep burgundy patterns.
   On the wall above the stone mantel piece hangs a large portrait, though whether it is a painting or a photograph is difficult to tell. What can be discerned is that the picture is of four people; three sit together on a small couch, the dark blond man in the center smiling with a certain relaxed arrogance. An elegant dark haired woman sits to his left, shapely legs crossed at the knee, one hand resting upon the man's thigh. There is a hint of wicked amusement in her smile. On the man's right is another woman, chestnut hair in dense curls around her face. She also has crossed her legs at the knee and holds one of the man's hands in her lap. She does not smile as she gazes out, clear eyed with a somewhat challenging expression. The fourth person stands behind them all, both hands resting on the couch back. He leans forward slightly, the stony impassivity of his features belied by the intent stare of his ice blue eyes.

Nick lies belly down on the carpet, the foot of his near leg hooked lightly over the far ankle. His near arm bends at the elbow, bringing that hand to rest beside his shoulder, fingers in a relaxed arc. The light from the candles on the tables to either side of him warms the alabaster of his skin, playing along the long curve of his back, the roundness of his buttocks, the sturdy muscularity of his thighs.

Propped on one arm, Lacroix sits behind Nick, his near leg stretched along the length of Nick's far one, the other drawn up, bent at the knee. He leans forward slightly, reaching out to set his free hand on Nick's near buttock. The hand rests lightly, the palm and fingers cupped to fit precisely over the firm mound. The candle light glows on the rounded muscles of Lacroix's biceps and shoulder, the curving length of his side, as shadows pick out the hollow at the base of his throat.

The fire behind Lacroix limns the bristling hair on his slightly lowered head with a ruddy light. His pale gaze rests upon his own hand, as his lips bend in a faint smile, his awareness apparently focused on what rests beneath his palm. Nick, the side of his face resting on the thick carpet, has his head turned away from Lacroix, candle light glinting in the tousled bronze waves of his hair. His lower eye is closed, but the upper one has cracked open to peek up and back over his shoulder. The corner of his mouth lifts in an easy, roguish smile.


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This page created on Thursday, December 31st, 1998
Most recent revision Saturday, December 18th, 1999