Hunting prior had been quick affairs, finding easy marks, luring them somewhere dark either by force or by a little flattery, and then draining them down like summer ale. Lestat had not, on these occasions, been so fussy about the selection, but it appears that tonight he is in a mood, and he begs Daniel's indulgence as they wander from bar to bar, the hour ticking later. He gives no specification as to what he is looking for, but the impression that he is looking for something is all clear.
This place, at the end of a long concrete tunnel, with live music past midnight, a crashing noisy drumkit over a piano and a guitar, and a dense patter of lively conversation. There is a small improbable courtyard for smokers, but the scent of it carries in through the main area anyway.
Lestat had left Daniel's side, disappearing into the crush of people. Perhaps Daniel is considering his own prey, or whether he can get away with slipping out the side door, before he hears Lestat's voice in his head—
'Come meet my new friends.'
Outside, where the odds of getting a table are low, Lestat is holding court with three figures. He doesn't quite fit in, the glittering sequined dazzlement of his jacket glittering over a gauzy black shirt, leather pants, his hair half-up and eyes rimmed in black, and the two men he is seated with, close to him in physical age, are a blander and less precise assemblage of denim and flannel. No matter, judging by animated conversation. A woman wedged in between them has chipped nail polish and her head down, rolling cigarettes.
"Daniel," Lestat says when he spies him. His hand will go out to touch his arm, something familiar and claiming to it as he directs a shining smile up at the younger vampire. "This gentleman here was lying to me about owning an acoustic guitar signed by Johnny Cash."
The man protests, laughing, flicking through his phone to find the corresponding picture.
no subject
Hunting prior had been quick affairs, finding easy marks, luring them somewhere dark either by force or by a little flattery, and then draining them down like summer ale. Lestat had not, on these occasions, been so fussy about the selection, but it appears that tonight he is in a mood, and he begs Daniel's indulgence as they wander from bar to bar, the hour ticking later. He gives no specification as to what he is looking for, but the impression that he is looking for something is all clear.
This place, at the end of a long concrete tunnel, with live music past midnight, a crashing noisy drumkit over a piano and a guitar, and a dense patter of lively conversation. There is a small improbable courtyard for smokers, but the scent of it carries in through the main area anyway.
Lestat had left Daniel's side, disappearing into the crush of people. Perhaps Daniel is considering his own prey, or whether he can get away with slipping out the side door, before he hears Lestat's voice in his head—
'Come meet my new friends.'
Outside, where the odds of getting a table are low, Lestat is holding court with three figures. He doesn't quite fit in, the glittering sequined dazzlement of his jacket glittering over a gauzy black shirt, leather pants, his hair half-up and eyes rimmed in black, and the two men he is seated with, close to him in physical age, are a blander and less precise assemblage of denim and flannel. No matter, judging by animated conversation. A woman wedged in between them has chipped nail polish and her head down, rolling cigarettes.
"Daniel," Lestat says when he spies him. His hand will go out to touch his arm, something familiar and claiming to it as he directs a shining smile up at the younger vampire. "This gentleman here was lying to me about owning an acoustic guitar signed by Johnny Cash."
The man protests, laughing, flicking through his phone to find the corresponding picture.