played by chickenhound
Nickname: Nothing that he'd like, but if you like pain, you can call him Grem.
Alias: Virgile Vigoureux, one his hundreds of aliases that he has used over the years.
Birth Date: A loooong time ago.
Birthplace: Heaven, if ya wanna get technical. But when he has to deal with real people, he currently says he's from France, which is only believed by the drunk and stupid, for he sports no French accent, although well-versed in the language.
Blood Type: B is the closest to Gremory's personality, although he has traits from all of the blood types.
Family: None that he knows of, unless you feel like calling the other Guides his family.
Hair: In color, blonde-ish gray. As in a blonde that's fading, thickly, not like he's going gray, except that it's his natural hair color. It's more on the gray side than it is blonde, though. In length, it varies, but the longest strand ends somewhere around his shoulders. It sticks out wildly, for the most part pointing toward his face. A very unruly, gray nightmare.
Eyes: Black. Supposedly dark brown, but there's no visible brown in eyes, even when you look close. The whites of his eyes are white, like they're supposed to be, but everything else is blacker than black. He often wears a pair of eyeglasses with thin silver frames, not because he can't see but because he's been told glasses make him look sexy.
Body: Tall, an even 6'2". His build is a bit on the feminine side, his waist being a bit thin, the curves of his body curving a bit more than they should. But other than that, as male as male can be.
Marks: Tattooed around his left middle finger is a circle of Celtic knots, like a ring. He has also the Sigil of Gremory tattooed on his lower back.
Clothing: He usually sticks to a certain pattern, as in pants and a shirt. His pants are, without fail, form-fitting black leather and his shirt is some variation of a dress shirt. Be it a white dress shirt, lapels and all, or a jet black poet's shirt with the lace-up neck, the two of which are his favorites. Jewelry is, for the most part, minimal. He usually sticks to silver rings and a black string looped about his neck or wrist several times and tied off. And of course, his glasses, which are listed as clothing because he doesn't really need them.
Most Prized Possession: His books, most likely, although it wouldn't be the end of the world if he lost them. Eventhough it isn't a tangible thing, his freedom and his ability to feel are most important to him.
Hobbies: Reading (he mostly reads anything on the subject of philosophy and history, and for there are quite a number of non-English speaking philosophers, Gremory knows a variety of languages, including lost and ancient ones), partying, drinking and being generally irresponsible. He also is rather fond of horses and camels (despite their EVILNESS), but riding one in Japan is rare.
Occupation: (Bad) Dorm mother for the rest of Guides ::coughcough::. Professional partygoer and wo/manizer.
Food: Anything alcoholic, and anything caffeinated. He's also a chocoholic. XD
Fears: Losing his ability to feel, for the feeling of "hurting God" is what keeps him alive. If he did not feel like he was doing bad things, or he could not feel himself doing them, such as feeling the buzz of alcohol or the pleasure of sex, he would be devoured by his hate for God. That, and any type of rodent. He's deathly afraid of everything from rats to hamsters to rabbits. As in suddenly-pale-frozen-solid-don't-move-a-muscle-scream-your-lungs-out scared. Don't ask.
Goals: Awaken Kemeul, seduce this person or that person, finish reading a certain book and try not to forget to do the laundry. For the most part, Gremory lives day-to-day.
Positive Characteristics: Gremory is definitely a sensualist and very experienced, if you know what I mean. If you're sexually interested in him, I hope you have high stamina. ::kaff:: Besides that, he's very intelligent and intellectual (you'd never know, with all of his drinking and partying and . . . sexing XD) and if you actually manage to have a civil conversation with him, prepare to be enlightened! XD And if it counts, he has the uncanny ability to find anything. A store downtown, missing keys, lost animals, Atlantis . . . the list goes on.
Negative Characteristics: He's rather irresponsible, and definitely not the kind of guy who you want to trust with your life. He can be a bit harsh (good luck, Kemeul) and is viciously sarcastic and gruff. He also has a nasty habit of sporadically killing his lovers.
Personality: Gremory doesn't have much of a personality. When he's in a nightclub, he doesn't need to have one at all, for he rarely leaves the dance floor unless it's to take someone home with him. Besides that, he's resentful of having to play the part of mother-hen for the Guides, but he does care for them, despite his irresponsibility. And besides that, his basic traits are sarcasm and cynicism. For him, the glass is always half empty. Don't talk to him if you want to be flattered and look like crap; he's blunt and sarcastic to the point of being cruel. Unless he has a physical interest in someone, he keeps affection for people hidden, for no reason other than he doesn't want to be annoyed. If someone likes him, they'll go out of their way to talk to him, and Gremory has better things to do. Although he dislikes being disturbed when he's reading, that's probably the best time to experience the deepest parts of his personality: his intellect and intelligence. Express an interest in his own interests, and he'll talk your ear off.
History: Past - Gremory was born loving God. He was created bursting with love and devotion, and craving it as well. Eventhough God created him wingless, He was repelled by Gremory's winglessness, and he was tossed aside. Gremory's immeasurable devotion was disregarded and forgotten. He had wanted nothing more to love and be loved back, and he had been denied such. He was confused and hurt; God had created him the way he was, and was revolted by the perverse being He had manifested. It was His own work! Gremory could not find the sense in such a thing, and became bitter and angry. His undying love twisted itself into undying hate. Gremory does everything he can possibly do to spite God, despite the fact that God's interest in this whole ordeal has slackened. He has killed humans, committed adultery, sodomy, and has even worn an inverted cross.
Present - Gremory was called away from studying/partying in Rome to go to Tokyo. He was somewhat excited about visiting Japan again, but now he wishes he'd stayed where he was, for he's made the discovery that he has to watch over the rest of the Guides, as well as train and awaken his own Vengeful.
The hotel room was dark and cramped, the cushion of the seat hard, thought
not as hard as the mattress had been. The air was hot, stuffy, and sweat still
pooled off Gremory's body. Even now, lightningl crackled in little jumps and
sparks along his relaxed frame, slumped easily in the annoyingly uncomfortable
chair. The dripping of blood -drip, drip, drip, it went- had not ceased; it
was like thunder in the silence of the dark hotel room.
Gremory stared, wordlessly, motionless save the rise and fall of his chest, at the bloody tangle of bodies on the bed. The man had been bad, inexperienced, and the woman had simply been an irritating slut. Although they were both beautiful, they lacked intelligence, their ditzy personalities grating his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Still the blood dripped -drip, drip, drip- from the knives he held in both hands, thrown carelessly over the arms of the chair.
Moonlight filtered in from the drawn shades of the room. Pure. Perfect. It shone, barely, on the grotesque scene within, illuminating a ring on a bloody and delicate hand. Gremory looked at the bar of light gracing his leg. A shiny, pink tongue darted out to lick at the blood that had splattered on his lips, and he smiled an animalistic and wicked smile. He had committed so many sins tonight: God would surely be upset by this, wouldn't He?
Eventually the crackle along his body stopped and the knives slipped from his fingers with a gut-wrenching schlop on the carpet. He rose, then, and walked into the tiny bathroom to shower.
When he was done, the blood still flowed -drip, drip, drip- and was starting to spill onto the floor surrounding the bed. The carpet soaked it up, hid it away from sight, made it disappear. Gone, but the stink of death still filled the air. Gremory doubted it would ever leave. He gathered his clothes from the farthest corner of the room, carefully thrown there to avoid being touched by the blood that he knew would surge and flow and fly later. His glasses were folded neatly on the night stand beside the bed; he picked them up, cleaned them off, placed them carefully over night-black eyes. After a moment of staring at the grisly scene before him, with a small grin of lurid joy, he slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. Who knew what the other Guides were doing to the house? He grimaced at the thought of Freyr trying to use the microwave.
As he snatched up his keys and walked out of the dark hotel room, Gremory wondered if he should pick something up to eat on the way back. As he closed the door to the nauseating scene within, he decided on pizza. And as he walked down the hallway to the elevators, he figured that the blood never would stop dripping. And he liked that.