His kicked dog expression is immediately split open with a smile. Yes, he is impossible, an impossibility, and somehow, not half as stubborn as Louis de Pointe du Lac. Or perhaps equally, in his own way, at least about the things he wants. Louis, about the things he does not.
"Compelling, your argument," Lestat cedes. "But will any of them be able to look at me the way you do?"
They are not companions. This has been established. The heartache Lestat has for the potentiality, and occasionally the certainty, of Louis and Daniel finding each other has no bearing on the simple reality that they both view each other in certain ways.
His eyes hood, a little, as he adds, "Or shall your only documentation of the way you see me be through Daniel Molloy's account?"
Less playful, admittedly, but still soft, established hurt held in reserve. Off-roading into a conversation about himself rather than Louis' latent artistic tendencies. So it goes.
no subject
"Compelling, your argument," Lestat cedes. "But will any of them be able to look at me the way you do?"
They are not companions. This has been established. The heartache Lestat has for the potentiality, and occasionally the certainty, of Louis and Daniel finding each other has no bearing on the simple reality that they both view each other in certain ways.
His eyes hood, a little, as he adds, "Or shall your only documentation of the way you see me be through Daniel Molloy's account?"
Less playful, admittedly, but still soft, established hurt held in reserve. Off-roading into a conversation about himself rather than Louis' latent artistic tendencies. So it goes.