damnedest: (lestat-00263)
lestat de lioncourt. ([personal profile] damnedest) wrote 2025-03-10 09:12 am (UTC)

A hand touches his hair, and if there is a coin flip between accepting comfort from this gesture or lashing out, it finds itself weighted to the former thing by the recent memory of warm water, of Louis' fingers against the nape of his neck, of Louis saying just as gently that he will never regret coming to find Lestat again.

Vampires don't need to breathe, but the body forgets. It certainly sounds like it as Lestat barely muffles this latest bout of grief into silky robe fabric, just as vital and damp and struggling as any mortal, and slow revs down as Daniel speaks. The slightest lean towards that hand as he does so.

Looks to him, vision a rosy blur, as Daniel speaks of his companion, his former companion, lost in the wind still.

Absorbing. Some sense of internalisation, information for sifting through, shredding apart like paperback pulp print. Lestat says, "He said he didn't like my music," but this time it's with a laugh, quiet and wet, a brief flash of white, blunt teeth, because isn't that funny, even if tears haven't quite stopped.

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