ALL THAT GLITTERS

JUDE LAWRENCE has been in Boston ALL HIS LIFE. They are gifted and have the ability of MEDIUMSHIP. They are registered as CLASS C which is ACCURATE. They were born on OCTOBER 31ST, 1944. They’re THIRTY EIGHT and use HE/HIM pronouns. They’re known to be CHARMING & DISCIPLINED as well as CIRCUMSPECT but look out, they can also be CUNNING and TWO FACED. They are the OWNER OF LAWRENCE DIAMONDS by day and by night they like to GO FOR LONG DRIVES.

Location: Boston Gifted Day Shelter

Her wings shifted beneath the jacket she wore over the grey volunteer shirt they handed out. Cutting holes in the back was a bit of a rushed job, but the last thing Aleida wanted was for the photo crew to know she had wings. It already took 3 fellow volunteers to convince her to join them, being forced to hover in the air for a picture would be the cherry on top for a shit experience. A hand stretched up from behind the camera holding fingers up. 3.. 2..

The bright flash of light came as a surprise before the 1. Such an irritating ploy. Still, this was the best chance she had at making the paper for a good reason. The head of the photographer bobbed up for a moment. “Uh, you in the jacket. Can we get more of a smile this take,” with his words Aleida’s slight scowl turned into a deeper one. Her lip finally twisted up into a sarcastic smile, “good, good.”

In no time the large group had been divided into smaller sections, each waiting with their chosen rich person for the photographer to make his rounds.

Her hands fumbled around with the food they gave the ‘kitchen volunteers’. All brand names and none of it on the precipice of expiration. It made for the most faked photo yet. They’ve outdone themselves. Aleida lifted the container of Folger’s up with the label facing toward their new rich friend. “Is this how I need to hold it for product placement? You are the Folgers guy, right,” her eyelashes batted mockingly before throwing on her best business man voice, “coffee rich enough to be served in America’s finest restaurants.”

@seerjude

A charity event at the very shelter that it was for was an unusual thing. Typically a space would be rented out, artists and music would be brought in to wine and dine the rich into donating. His father, Jude knew, would not be caught dead at this sort of twist on the typical fundraising they were used to but Jude was intrigued. Why not see something new? Perhaps it worked better, to spend less money while still asking for it. Jude would donate either way, of course; he wasn’t in the habit of showing up to an event such as this and not making a contribution. As his father would say; it’d look stingy. 

Jude had meandered through the shelter and into the kitchen to see a young girl holding up a Folger’s container. His brows raised and a laugh escaped him at the voice she used. “Is this what they’re doing for money?” Jude asked, stepping over and taking the container. He had Folger’s once before and thought it was disgusting; made sense they’d take advertising where they could find it. “I really wouldn’t know but the branding of . . .” Advertising a product in what, to Jude, was effectively a soup kitchen. It didn’t seem like the best business decision but then again, Folger’s was not a luxury company like Lawrence Diamond’s was. 

“Here,” Jude passed it back to her, “if I were overseeing an advertisement campaign I’d make it sound valuable. Like . . . There’s nothing better, like you’re somehow better than everyone else just because you bought that. Are they giving you proceeds from their profits or something?” Jude still couldn’t wrap his head around what the event was meant to be, why there were cameras, why it wasn’t a party but he was there to see it through and make a donation before leaving. He just needed to find whoever took the checks. 

“Although I’m not in advertising so maybe my advice isn’t great.” Not to mention, he also didn’t work in the coffee industry and even if he did, it would be a far more expensive brand than Folger’s. “Do you know who planned this fundraiser?”

Nik was entirely unsure how to proceed.

“You have information about Donovan Scott?” He struggled to place exactly who that was at first. He was more likely to remember a case file number than a name, but eventually his mind started to connect the dots. A young man, no evidence of foul play found. Case closed. It’d been one of his easier jobs, although he remembered the detective being particularly annoyed at his conclusions. Could it be true then, he thought, could I have missed something? And how on earth would this man know that?

He could feel himself getting flustered. The thoughts in his head started to tangle as he searched for the correct thing to do. Was he supposed to call the police? Was this a confession of some kind? If he took a statement would it count as evidence? Was he even allowed to take a statement? Was it all a prank? Far too many questions to answer, and not enough privacy to answer them in the waiting room.

“Er - right - could you follow me please?”

Feeling entirely too nervous, Nik turned and lead the way back to his examination room. It was lucky he wasn’t in the middle of a post-mortem just then - he could only imagine the nightmare of cross-contamination that would make.

“Usually people go to the police with this sort of thing, you know.” Unless… “Or are you the police?” But then why not identify himself to the receptionist? “A… a private detective? Something like that?”

Clearly he’d had to do some investigation to unearth whatever he thought he’d unearthed about the dead man. Nik had been certain of his findings. He was always certain of his findings - he’d never thought of that as arrogance, but maybe it was, deep down. None of the evidence he provided had ever been dismissed by a court, or been proven wrong. Though he supposed, with his age, there was plenty of time left for mistakes in his career.

The only chairs in the room were uncomfortable standing stools, but he still offered one to his guest. “Take a seat, Mr… I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name?” Come to think of it, he looks familiar. Nik didn’t sit, because he knew that if he did his leg would start bouncing with nerves, and he still wanted to seem like some kind of an authority.

“Let’s try to get to the bottom of this.”

A naïve, hopeful part of Jude thought that leaving the reception room might leave a few of the spirits behind. Of course it didn’t, of course they followed, interested in what was happening. It was not usual for someone to see and hear them, after all. 

His brows rose when they stepped into the examination room, having expected a proper office space. This was where he . . . Jude shuttered and shook his head; no, he wasn’t going to think too much about it.

“None of those,” Jude answered, waving a dismissive hand, “Just a person, please, call me Jude.” He took the seat that was offered, resting his feet against the stool’s legs and propping his hands up on his thighs. 

“It’s a bit unconventional really, and I do have my registration here in my wallet,” he reached into his pocket as he said it and pulled out an identification card. It was a regular Massachusetts driver’s license except with an extra line of information: CLASS: C, MEDIUM. He held the ID out to the doctor. “Just to avoid any questions about whether I am telling the truth or. . .” Or out of his mind but he wouldn’t suggest it. He shrugged and turned, catching a scowl from Donovan when he did. 

Jude rolled his eyes, clearly in response to something that Nik could not see and then looked back at examiner. “Donovan found me, he seems to believe that your examination was . . . Well, inaccurate. I would have gone to the police but you understand, for whatever reason, this is where he told me to go.”

“I didn’t know!” Donovan snapped. “I just wanted you do something, don’t blame me.”

Jude ignored him and continued. “He told me you believe he asphyxiated due to a drug overdose, heroin, right? He said he didn’t.” Jude cringed, the language Donovan used to explain what happened was so rough that Jude hated to say it himself. 

Infiltrating Boston’s elite was a task heftier than the usual petty crimes Felix liked to commit. He was a low risk, low reward kind of guy and for years it served him well. But the allure of high risk and high reward started looking more appealing as his energy ran low when it came to having to come up so many new identities just to make ends meet. Jude Lawrence was by no means easy prey, but he was big, juicy, bountiful prey so long as he played his cards right. 

The bar was as extravagant as its its reputation boasted, glistening gold and excess around every corner. Felix marveled at the sight of jewel encrusted necklaces and plunging necklines, of signet rings and Cuban cigars. It was hard not to get whisked away in the glamour of such a place. No matter how much intel he gathered, there was nothing that could live up to the experience.

He adjusted the collar of his shirt, tie absent in the illusion of casualness when he was wearing a $3000 dollar sports jacket with its price tag still tucked into his sleeve. He rattled the thick cube of ice in his Old Fashioned, uncertain of how to sip such a thing when the bartender had dropped what looked like an iceberg in his tumbler.

Felix wasn’t given much time to wonder when his target drew his attention with friendly smile and wave. Naturally, he returned it, feeling the ease in which his new mouth curved around such perfect teeth. He ran his tongue against the underside, just to taste the wealth.

“Please, call me Alex. Formalities are so…trite in this new age,” he said in response, squashing as much of his accent behind the slow drawl of old money Americana like how he’d seen on TV. 

“Correct. That exquisite painting is sitting nicely in the lobby of my hotel in Puerto Rico. Expecting to gross 35% this first year, actually. Figured it’d be a nice milestone gift for my daughter.”

Felix chortled and clinked glasses with Jude in a familiar way, his laughter punctuating the suggestion of a joke they both knew. London Thompson was a primadonna who graced the headlines of every paper come the weekend. Felix had read as much while studying the elusive Alexander who was away on business, attempting to clean up the messes she’d made.

“So, how are things faring with the family business? My condolences about your father but it was about time the old man took an extended vacation. You know what they say, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” he said, raising his glass to his lips.

“And dull boy indeed it made. Certainly his son has taken a few notes on what not to do.”

.

Jude was used to people like Alex, people he’d never be friends with on his own but that society expected him to be amicable towards. It wasn’t a distaste for him so much as the knowledge that they had nothing in common aside from their overfull pockets. The difference in Alex’s voice went unnoticed, Jude not knowing him very well in the first place.

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” Jude acquiesced with a smile and a raise of his glass, “congratulations on business going well.” He took a sip and settled into the barstool to Felix’s side, leaning forward on the mahogany. 

“How is your daughter these days? Still traveling?” Small talk, as dull as it could be, was another thing that Jude was very used to. He could walk through life on auto pilot, rubbing shoulders with the upper echelons of society without a second thought. Perhaps he should realize how dull he found it but it was all he knew and so he never complained; sometimes he met people he quite liked, though he was always partial to creatives.

“It’s going well,” Jude answered, with a smile and a shrug that suggested complete confidence, “really, it practically runs itself, I’ve been considering a rebrand but it’s still just an idea. I know I want to do something different though.” He tipped his head and took another drink. “I certainly have shoes to fill.”

Jude pursed his lips as he set his glass back down, studying the ring of condensation forming around the glass. “You know. . .” He stopped himself, brows pressed together. This was something that had always been a talent of his, opening himself up in a way that made others feel close and confided in while not giving away anything all that personal. What he did give up were things easy enough to assume, to relate to, yet his tone and gestures implied it was private. “With businesses as old as ours it can feel kind of impossible to do something really unique, can’t it? A new painting in the lobby,” he smiled kindly at Alex, “or a new mine or deciding to source more ethically, which I’ve been looking into . . . You have to wonder what it amounts to, don’t you? Other than money.”

Another day, another corpse with a terrible injury. For most that might have been a shade out of the ordinary, but for Nik it was a matter of routine. Every morning he came into work, pulled a body off the ice and got to work trying to determine cause of death. Sometimes it was obvious; a dozen knife wounds, a hole in the head. Other times there was nothing. Or rather, there was something, he just wasn’t able to find it. He counted himself as certainly good at his job - adept, even. But even he didn’t have a crystal ball to guide his scalpel. He was sure someone out there did, given all the new gifts that seemed to pop up on a daily basis, but he was also sure it would hold up less than well in court.

One day, he thought, my job might well be obselete. He thought about things like that often. What might the world look like in a decade? Two decades? Three? The radiation had opened up a whole host of paths in every conceivable facet of life, and it was interesting to consider where those paths might lead. Nik didn’t know many people with gifts - or many people, full stop - but he thought that by and large their abilities could be used for something positive.

He’d just finished a stack of overdue forms when the phone rang. Usually it was someone informing him of a new case coming in, or a detective asking for results that never seemed to come fast enough. “I can’t hack and slash,” he’d tell them. “Do you want it done fast or do you want it done right?” Inevitably, they came out with fast and right, just before they slammed the phone down.

This though, was not that.

“Oh. Connie? Is something the matter?” The receptionist never called him. It had been clear just weeks after he started that dealing with aggravated or grieving family members was not his area of expertise, and he doubted she wanted a friendly chat. “A reporter? I don’t really have the - yeah, yeah, I know. Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

Reporters sometimes showed up when a big case loomed. They were relatively easy to shoo away, if you were firm. Nik was never firm.

There was only one man in the waiting room when he emerged, so Nik made his way over, clearing his throat as he approached. “Sir? Is there something we can do for you?” His voice didn’t sound as strong as he wanted it to. “If you’re not family or law enforcement I’m afraid we can’t give out any information.”

Jude let out a little huff when he overheard the woman say he was a reporter but didn’t bother to correct her. Whatever got him talking to the right person, he just wanted Donovan to leave him alone. Most spirits would get bored with him soon enough and although it had only been a day, Donovan was especially distracting. He was young and entitled and saw in Jude an adult that owed him. Maybe he did.

Seeing a man emerge into the reception area, Jude stood up and offered his hand. “I hope so,” he answered, glancing down at the examiner’s badge, “I’m not looking for any information so much as to give it . . . It’s sensitive and a bit unconventional, is there any chance we could speak in private, Doctor Virani?” 

Donovan rolled his eyes from where he sat in the chair behind him. “Just tell him, you’re making this more difficult than it has to be.” 

Jude drew in a deep breath and pushed a smile, continuing to ignore him. Now was not the time to make this poor doctor think he was out of his mind, Jude was sure he’d think that once he started trying to explain himself. Even if he did, Jude hoped Donovan would see that he tried his best and choose to leave. 

He searched the doctor’s eyes, hoping to see some understanding in him. He seemed malleable enough, perhaps not a pushover but Jude couldn’t see those kind eyes turn firm. Just a push, that’s all he needed. Jude leaned in as if to confide in him, lowering his voice.  “It’s regarding Donovan Scott,” he elaborated, “I have some information on the nature of his death.” He hesitated, unsure if he would offend him or not but decided to take his chance. “I think you’ll reconsider your findings after you hear what I have to say but of course, as I’m sure it is for you, the privacy of the deceased and his family is my priority.” Also the privacy of Jude talking about his abilities in any detail, it embarrassed him and he did not want an audience.

“Can you tell him what happened to me too?” One of the spirits asked upon realizing what he was doing, followed by a chorus of more requests that only he could hear. This was undoubtedly the last time he was going somewhere like this. Jude continued to smile and ignore. For the love of god, they better not follow him out of there.

Jude hadn’t seen or heard about the rather controversial Dorothy Archer in years. He remembered hearing the rumors, that she was gifted, that her family disowned her. It surprised no one that they would do so, considering her father, but even then Jude felt a sort of pity for her. He couldn’t imagine losing all that he had, his family, the money. He wouldn’t know how to survive. 

His pity did not extend far, they were never close and so when it happened, he considered the situation a distant, half-real thing. Had he seen her in public he might have offered her a smile, perhaps made small talk, but he certainly wouldn’t get close to her. He had no reason to step on her father’s toes, it would only bring him trouble.

But that was then and now, Jude was the same as her. He was not disowned but he was gifted and so where before his pity was an apathetic, distant and cruel thing now it was more genuine. She rarely crossed his mind but even so, when seeing her sitting in a car (a far cry from the cars she must have been used to once), he recognized her instantly.

“Dot!” He called, grinning and waving at her as he made his way down the steps of the pottery studio he’d paid a visit to and over to the street. He bent down and leaned into the window on the passenger’s side. “I thought I recognized you. What are you doing. . . .” Here, in that car, in those clothes, but he stopped himself. He knew the answer. “Do you have time to grab lunch? It’s on me.”

Iced coffee was a guilty pleasure he picked up in high school and has yet to let go of. He liked it tasting like candy, needed something sweet to go with the bitter morning. His pager kept going off on his belt as he tried to mix in five sugar packets, he paused several times to silence it only for it to go again. He moved onto the cream, pouring in a generous amount until his coffee was no longer a deep brown but closer to a beige. His pager sounded again and he groaned, rolling his eyes up to stare at the ceiling as if to ask god, why now?

He placed the lid back on the cup and then grabbed his pager off of his belt, turning it off at last. No doubt, the other patrons of that coffee shop were just as glad he’d done so as he was. He stuffed it in his pocket and took a sip of his coffee, nodded his head, yes. That was sweet enough. 

“Mm,” he vocalized as he turned and looked across the small shop for a table. He had time to kill so why not? Well, the reason why not is that there were no tables but he did catch sight of one with four chairs and only one woman. He walked over with confident, long strides and tapped the surface of the table in front of her. “Excuse me, you don’t mind if I read the paper here, do you?” He gestured to the rolled up newspaper under his arm. “Pager’s been turned off so I promise to be quiet.” 

He didn’t often find himself going out alone for drinks but that evening seemed like the time to do it. No ghosts were hovering around him, for once, he could relax. At least, relax more than normal. He was still stressed about the recent dip in profits but he knew summer was a slow time for the business, they were a Q4 business. Still, he hadn’t been in charge of the company for long and it was stressful. 

Tonight, however, he wouldn’t let it get to him. Tonight he placed his manicured mask tight upon his features, his charm, that smile that won over so many. The bar was members only, a social club for Boston’s wealthier residents and it showed. The chandeliers sparkled gold and the bar itself was a perfect, polished mahogany. He often saw people he knew there and so, was not surprised when he believed that was the case now. He caught the eye of a gentleman whom he recalled meeting at a few charity events in the past. A winning grin swept across his features and Jude lifted his hand from the bar in a partial, friendly wave. 

“How long has it been? Thompson, isn’t it?” Jude stood with his glass of whisky and moved two stools down to sit beside the older man. Sure, he might be like many others of Boston’s elite, now disdainful since it became public that he was gifted, but Jude tried not to make assumptions. Anyone could be a friend after enough sweetening up. “Hope I’m not making a fool of myself, I’m Jude Lawrence, I think we met at last fall’s charity auction. You outbid me.”

“They said it wasn’t a murder.” The spirit stood between his desk and the door, looking at Jude with desperate, furious eyes. He was young, college age, still carrying himself with the self importance of youth and the punchiness of the living. Jude would have mistaken him for a living person had it not been for their location; not just anyone would be allowed into his office. 

“I know you can see me.” 

Jude had no interest in speaking with the spirit. He rarely did. He sat in his chair with his hands over his eyes, taking in a deep breath; please, go away. They never did listen to him, not when he thought it, not when he said it out loud. So often they wanted something. He drew his hands away with a sigh and looked back toward his monitor, only to find the spirit directly in front of him. He jumped in his seat, causing it to roll back on the wood floor. “Leave,” he said, breathless and standing up, adrenaline rushing through his veins, “I can’t do anything for you, just go.”

“I’ll leave when you help me.” “I’m not helping you.”

It took another day before he gave in and found himself walking into the office of the medical examiner. He didn’t want to be there, that somber place where even more spirits lurked about. They all noticed him, somehow, they knew he saw them. Several swarmed around him and Jude drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes. He must have looked rather distressed, when he opened his eyes he was being stared at by who he could only guess was the receptionist.

“Sir? How can we help you?”

He shook his head, pushed his hair back and raised his chin. This was fine. He’d get rid of the boy after he did this and if he was lucky, none of these new spirits would follow him out. “I need to speak with . . . I don’t know, it’s regarding a Donovan Scott.”

“Donovan Scott? His autopsy was finished a few days ago, are you the family?”

“No,” Jude said, shaking his head, “I’m not. I need to speak with whoever determines the cause of death, I think. I’m not really sure how this works.”

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Jude Hugo Lawrence. He wasn’t named for the meaning as much as the sound, though his middle name has been passed through the Lawrence family for generations. NICKNAME: Jude does not have a nickname, though he wouldn’t be opposed to a close family member or friend making one up for him . . . So long as it isn’t an embarrassing one, of course. AGE AND BIRTHDAY: Jude is thirty eight and was born October 31st, 1944. Since discovering his powers he’s found it all very ironic that he was born on Halloween. That among other things has got him thinking about fate quite a lot these days, he’s not sure free will really exists. SEXUALITY: Jude would call himself straight if anyone asked, given the times and the importance of his reputation but he has had several discreet affairs with other gentlemen. ABILITY: He’s a medium, meaning he has the ability to see/hear/communicate with spirits of the deceased. It’s not something he ever would have wanted for himself and he’d give it up in a heartbeat if someone told him how. He struggles to differentiate spirits from living people and can occasionally be caught speaking to someone nobody else sees, unaware they’re a ghost, as well as ignoring someone that is very much alive when he assumes incorrectly that they’re not. Fortunately, that isn’t an everyday occurrence, a lot of spirits are pretty obvious. He’s not very well practiced with his abilities but were he to gain a higher degree of control, he’d also be able to channel spirits, allowing them to temporarily possess his body. His gift scares and annoys him so he hasn’t done much work to learn more about it.  CLASS: Jude is registered as Class C. It’s fairly accurate, at least as long as he doesn’t cross paths with a spirit that has sensitive information like national secrets. That hasn’t happened yet and it’s unlikely, there are a lot of ghosts out there. When he realized he was gifted and not insane he went immediately to get himself classified, not wanting to deal with the nightmare of others finding out and thinking he had a reason to keep it secret. Being both wealthy and only Class C, he hasn’t experienced too much trouble for being registered, although there are frequent comments from others of similar wealth turning up their noses at him.

PHYSICAL.

SCARS: He has a scar from his appendectomy when he was fourteen, otherwise none! TATTOOS: Jude has no tattoos though he wouldn’t be opposed to getting one somewhere hidden. The only reason he hasn’t is because he doesn’t have any ideas for one. STYLE: He dresses like old money. When he’s at an event that requires him to dress up he shows up in a well tailored suit, one that isn’t flashy. When he’s dressing down he still wears clothes that are more expensive, clothes from high-fashion labels but they blend into the crowd. He doesn’t try to flaunt his wealth so he doesn’t wear clothes that make him stand out, only clothes that are “respectable” and well made. Others of a similar class of society are likely to recognize the brands since old-money is all about covert high-fashion but most wont.  WALK AND POSTURE: His back is straight, his chin is held high, he’ll pass a smile if he catches someone’s eye and strut around as if he’s never been told no. He’s not obnoxious but he certainly walks with a degree of importance, taking long strides with his shoulders pushed back. SPEECH: Jude rarely curses and his voice is pleasant to listen to. He very rarely raises it, speaking at a confident, easy to hear volume without being noisy. He has “no accent” or rather, a very generic American accent.

PHILOSOPHY.

SPIRITUALITY: He was raised nominally Catholic, meaning they went to mass for Christmas, Easter, funerals, and weddings but not much else. These days he doesn’t know what it is that he believes. If there is a god he doubts it’s the Christian god and he doubts that he’s good. One thing he does believe in are ghosts, considering his ability, but that’s the only certainty he has. MORALS: Jude’s philosophy is very up in the air these days. In the past he’d have had an answer about what made something right and what made something wrong but now he’s not so sure. He enjoys trying different philosophies on for size and seeing what he thinks but none have stuck. He wants to be a good person, he’s just not been very proactive about making that a reality. VICES: Jude is cunning. He will do what he needs to not only to survive but to thrive, no matter how many go down because of it. He’s not violent but he’d certainly pull a string or two to secure what he wants, even if that means someone else has to suffer or go down for it. WRONGDOINGS: He’ll tolerate being a con, a cheat, a narc, whatever a shark has to be but he isn’t one for violence. If it comes up he’ll defend himself without hesitation but he considers it immature and ineffective. There are better ways to get what you want when your coffers are full. PICK ONE OF EACH: HERO or VILLAIN    /    RETRIBUTION or REHABILITATION    /    GRUDGE or FORGIVENESS    /    PASSIONATE or APATHETIC

EDUCATION.

SCHOOL: He has a bachelor’s in business administration from Harvard and was a decent student all through high school and college. Whenever he struggled with a subject his parents were quick to hire a private tutor. He went to a private boarding school for his junior and senior year of high school and prior to that he attended a private school in Boston. His favorite subject has always been art and his least favorite is math. TALENTS: Jude is a phenomenal cook. He didn’t need to learn due to any necessity but he picked it up on a whim when he was in middle school. Now that he’s in charge of the family’s finances he doesn’t even have a private chef working full time for him! Wild! He does hire one when he’s hosting any sort of event but otherwise, he enjoys making his own meals. Aside from cooking, he’s also very well educated when it comes to the arts. He loves all of it and will gladly ramble on about art history if given the chance. LANGUAGES: Jude started taking French in high school and continued to study it as his foreign language requirement in college. He loves visiting Paris and although he still has an American accent when speaking French, he communicates well enough that he’s not immediately shut down.

RELATIONSHIPS.

FRIENDSHIPS: He has a lot of friends that he’d abandon in a heartbeat if it suited him and who would do the same to him. Most of them are wealthy, most of them are old money though a few are from new money, he doesn’t mind. He also has a few friends that aren’t rich at all and these ones he is much less cunning towards. They’re artists that he met while at Harvard or at various shows, gala’s, and the like. He enjoys being around creatives and would absolutely consider himself a patron of Boston’s art community. When you’re friends with Jude, whether that’s a genuine friendship or a useful connection to him really just depends. He’s not great at forming deep connections with others though it isn’t due to a reluctance so much as his own ambition makes that difficult. He’d like to meet someone he can be entirely himself around, and he does have that in his brother, he just doesn’t know how to create it outside of his family. FAMILY: Jude was always very close to his family, especially his mother and brother. His mother was his biggest fan growing up and saw to it that he never wanted for anything while his brother became his best friend later on in life, once he stopped finding him annoying for being younger. Jude and his father have a decent relationship, though it isn’t as close, mostly because his father has always had very high expectations for Jude. He does still love his father quite a lot and knows that he is loved in return. ROMANTIC: Jude had several girlfriends in high school, though all of those relationships fizzled out after a few months. He had a girlfriend in college which lasted a bit longer, only for him to get bored of being in a relationship after a few years and end things with her, too. He’s also had multiple dalliances with other men which began in his college years but none were serious and they all ran its course. Jude can be flighty in a relationship, finding it difficult to balance a love life with everything else that he wants to do; he will always prioritize himself. He’s not opposed to being in another relationship but he also enjoys being single, he’s in no rush.  ENEMIES: Most of Jude’s enemies considered him an enemy, first. As mentioned, Jude will prioritize himself at the cost of others but that doesn’t mean he has ill will towards those people . . . It just so happens that those people usually have ill will towards him afterwards. When he does genuinely dislike someone he’s cold towards them, he has mastered the art of backhanded remarks and isolating people from his circle of friends. If he’s furious, depending on the other person’s station in life and amount of power they wield, he’ll quite easily ruin their lives. An artist he once considered a friend humiliated him? Very well, he knows most of the gallery owners in Boston, at least the ones that matter, how does it feel having your work blocked from the art world? Things like that. 

PERSONALITY.

MBTI: ENTJ - The Commander “Commanders are true powerhouses, and they cultivate an image of being larger than life – and often enough they are. Commander personalities have a particular skill in recognizing the talents of others, and this helps in both their team-building efforts, and to keep Commanders from displaying too much arrogance and condescension. However, they also have a particular skill in calling out others’ failures with a chilling degree of insensitivity, and this is where Commanders really start to run into trouble. Emotional expression isn’t the strong suit of any Analyst type, but Commanders’ distance from their emotions is especially public, and felt directly by a much broader swath of people. Especially in a professional environment, Commanders will simply crush the sensitivities of those they view as inefficient, incompetent or lazy. Commanders will do well to remember that they absolutely depend on having a functioning team, not just to achieve their goals, but for their validation and feedback as well, something Commanders are, curiously, very sensitive to.” THE GOOD: Jude is incredibly dedicated and loyal to his family. He wants to be the perfect son, to fill the shoes of his father, and he works hard to do so. It’s not a want that he leaves on the backburner, he’s proactive about it. He’s also open minded, although he can be ruthless and cunning, he’s not evil. He means well, you just can’t get in his way. He doesn’t discriminate based on someone’s wealth and he’s happy to meet people from all walks of life and importantly, he’s happy to learn. He’s also a joy to be around, he’s witty and charming, he doesn’t make others feel small unless he needs to or they made him feel small first. He’s a great person to sit next to at a dinner or to meet at a gallery and a powerful connection to have. THE BAD: His ugly side is contained. Most will never meet it aside from catching him when he’s especially stressed, when he tends to be much more dismissive and cold. The few who have met the full extent of how ruthless he can be will regret having met him, as detailed already, he will do what he thinks he needs to without apology to those he hurts. FIRST GLANCE: Jude is fantastic at first impressions. Upon meeting him you are likely to walk away feeling charmed and like you just met an incredibly intelligent, driven, charismatic fellow. He’s good at getting people to warm up to him and making them feel welcome, really, he’s a marvelous host. If he were to rub someone the wrong way it’s probably due to his own ignorance to what life looks like outside of the bubble he’s in, though he’s good at smoothing over interactions if he thinks he misstepped. TEMPERAMENT: Jude is a people pleaser as long as it suits him to be. He doesn’t anger quickly but he is often stressed out and is liable to take that stress out on those around him. With new people, he’s a fun guy to be around, but once you get closer to him you’ll start to see his mask slip and get a whiff of just how tightly wound he really is.

MOTIVATIONS.

🚫what is one thing my muse wouldn’t want someone else to know about them?

That he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how to control his abilities, doesn’t know how to fill his father’s shoes, doesn’t know how to keep his family united as death and illness take its patriarch and matriarch away. He feels the world on his shoulder, as though failing his family would be the end of the world - How many owned Lawrence Diamonds before him? How many failed completely? None. He feels an immense amount of pressure and feels like a total imposter. He’d be humiliated if anyone realized how much he’s in over his head.

👾what was my muse’s childhood bogeyman?

🎭 A time my muse cried.

A summer funeral, his mother in a casket, the sky more sunny and clear than it had any right to be. He held it together through most of it until, looking up - there she was. She stood beside the priest, looking with wide, sad eyes upon the crowd that had gathered. Jude felt his heart race and he leapt from his seat, turning heads towards him. Words died in his throat, she knew he saw her but she shook her head. No, you shouldn’t be seeing at me. Sit back down. She did not say it seemed to be what she was communicating with that startled, stern gaze he knew so well. He rubbed his eyes, tears glistening on his hand as he pulled it away only to see her still there. 

“Excuse me,” he said in a choked voice. He left.

⚱️ A time my muse gave up.