Who's embarrassed? Not Lestat. That's against his brand.
Especially after a cigarette and a half-pint of rum-laced warm blood, anyway, settling back at the the table, bright eyed and easy smiling. The latter twisting a little, because ah, good, more acronyms he doesn't understand, and also, did he give permission for Daniel and Louis to enjoy themselves while he was away, but he gamely shrugs, placing his elbows on the table, and asks, "What is an NFT?"
So that should take up some time.
They leave late, but before they can be the last ones left being shooed out by the staff, Lestat opting for a jovial enough mood to link both men's arms in his as they walk off the confinement of the bar for a block or so. The air is refreshingly brisk, and recent rain paints everything in reflective shine.
There are a couple hours until dawn by the time they make it back into the hotel, into the lobby, where the human staff are silent and polite and the atmosphere of the place is filled with the noise of foot falls, the sharp clack of heels that echoes in what Lestat judges to be a pleasing manner. The night has not been so wild that he has become disheveled, and he has, this time, remembered he has paint on his eyelids and not smeared it everywhere. He confirms this by being drawn to his own reflection in the gilt panels and glass as they go.
And so he is a little distracted, and as they step into the elevator, it's only when the doors are closing that he seems to notice something, a moment of eye contact with one of Louis' security that unsettles him in some unnamed way. But the doors close, and they are drawn upwards. His expression is still, as is his posture, everything, a subtle shift that nevertheless has a way of changing the mood in the little space of the elevator without saying anything. The sense that Daniel and Louis are not sharing the same space with an amiable Lestat bedecked in gold and feathers, but a wolf, hackles up, eyes blown black.
Maybe they ask him what's wrong. He pays no attention. And when the doors slide open, to the familiar hallway that branches off towards their rooms, Lestat is the first one out with a business-like stride that terminates as soon as they all see it: a shivering Roy Travis, standing facing them.
no subject
Especially after a cigarette and a half-pint of rum-laced warm blood, anyway, settling back at the the table, bright eyed and easy smiling. The latter twisting a little, because ah, good, more acronyms he doesn't understand, and also, did he give permission for Daniel and Louis to enjoy themselves while he was away, but he gamely shrugs, placing his elbows on the table, and asks, "What is an NFT?"
So that should take up some time.
They leave late, but before they can be the last ones left being shooed out by the staff, Lestat opting for a jovial enough mood to link both men's arms in his as they walk off the confinement of the bar for a block or so. The air is refreshingly brisk, and recent rain paints everything in reflective shine.
There are a couple hours until dawn by the time they make it back into the hotel, into the lobby, where the human staff are silent and polite and the atmosphere of the place is filled with the noise of foot falls, the sharp clack of heels that echoes in what Lestat judges to be a pleasing manner. The night has not been so wild that he has become disheveled, and he has, this time, remembered he has paint on his eyelids and not smeared it everywhere. He confirms this by being drawn to his own reflection in the gilt panels and glass as they go.
And so he is a little distracted, and as they step into the elevator, it's only when the doors are closing that he seems to notice something, a moment of eye contact with one of Louis' security that unsettles him in some unnamed way. But the doors close, and they are drawn upwards. His expression is still, as is his posture, everything, a subtle shift that nevertheless has a way of changing the mood in the little space of the elevator without saying anything. The sense that Daniel and Louis are not sharing the same space with an amiable Lestat bedecked in gold and feathers, but a wolf, hackles up, eyes blown black.
Maybe they ask him what's wrong. He pays no attention. And when the doors slide open, to the familiar hallway that branches off towards their rooms, Lestat is the first one out with a business-like stride that terminates as soon as they all see it: a shivering Roy Travis, standing facing them.
Lestat laughs, a loud cackle, echoing off marble.