"He deserves to be himself. He hasn't been, for a while."
Lestat is the love of Louis' life. Daniel is sure of it. Looking back in 1973, he thinks he might have been sure of it then. No one is that passionate about someone they don't love, even if the moon was turned around on it, for a while. He hears the tone of Lestat's voice, feels the closely guarded, coveted thing behind it. They need each other and they have the luxury of all the time in the world. It'd be beautiful if it wasn't all so fucked up. But maybe it's a little beautiful anyway.
My love ran a theater company for a hundred and fifty years, Daniel. — Your love was in a box pondering a premeditated neck wound, according to Claudia.
Sure of it. In the 70s, and six months ago. Your love, and Armand still trying not to laugh at a joke Daniel had made a moment before, and to Daniel's recollection now, only half-hearing the exchange about the name he had once lost his mind over.
Disregard.
Quiet for a while. Disliking the shift for several reasons; Daniel has consistently disliked speaking of present Armand, though, having taken a bit to warm up to even mentioning him at all.
"I think so," is perhaps a worrying start. A bit poker face. A bit more genuine. But he continues. "Do you feel Louis? We're in different worlds a bit, I'm aware, I'm more than fine with Armand not being able to speak to me from afar. But I still feel something, and it's not always the same something, and it..."
He trails off, making a gesture that further illustrates his difficulty conceptualizing the bond between maker and fledgling.
no subject
Lestat is the love of Louis' life. Daniel is sure of it. Looking back in 1973, he thinks he might have been sure of it then. No one is that passionate about someone they don't love, even if the moon was turned around on it, for a while. He hears the tone of Lestat's voice, feels the closely guarded, coveted thing behind it. They need each other and they have the luxury of all the time in the world. It'd be beautiful if it wasn't all so fucked up. But maybe it's a little beautiful anyway.
My love ran a theater company for a hundred and fifty years, Daniel. — Your love was in a box pondering a premeditated neck wound, according to Claudia.
Sure of it. In the 70s, and six months ago. Your love, and Armand still trying not to laugh at a joke Daniel had made a moment before, and to Daniel's recollection now, only half-hearing the exchange about the name he had once lost his mind over.
Disregard.
Quiet for a while. Disliking the shift for several reasons; Daniel has consistently disliked speaking of present Armand, though, having taken a bit to warm up to even mentioning him at all.
"I think so," is perhaps a worrying start. A bit poker face. A bit more genuine. But he continues. "Do you feel Louis? We're in different worlds a bit, I'm aware, I'm more than fine with Armand not being able to speak to me from afar. But I still feel something, and it's not always the same something, and it..."
He trails off, making a gesture that further illustrates his difficulty conceptualizing the bond between maker and fledgling.