Recovered from his self-indulgent wallowing, Lestat is content to walk over arm in arm and toss a glance to the artwork being gestured at. "Oh, lovely," he says, before Louis can confirm. "Will this guy of yours be coming back to finish his painting and collect his ladder? Quite careless, if not."
Back to form.
Quick, too, to make himself central to the orbit of the three of them, unable to bear the idea of trailing along like a spiraling comet. He releases Louis' arm to clatter nearer to Daniel by the time they're on their way, pointing out the Warhol Mona Lisa print, disdain for the piece itself smoothing the way for querying if Daniel had ever met the man or his hangers on, professes to have seen a movie that definitely never escaped containment from private viewings, let alone reaching New Orleans—
He continues to be the most okay as they go, mood tempering back to an equilibrium through the next exhibit, the mezzanine, the door that leads out to the rooftop that only requires a little bit of tampering for them to escape through.
It is a brisk near-winter evening. The layers of his suit and waistcoat are barely enough to withstand it, but, we suffer for fashion, and he grew up in colder climes. Lestat wanders for where the view of the city stands stark and glittering under a night sky, and cloud cover is rendered in oil painting brushstrokes of deep grey.
Still breathtaking large, this city. And he had imagined Paris overwhelming, back then.
no subject
Back to form.
Quick, too, to make himself central to the orbit of the three of them, unable to bear the idea of trailing along like a spiraling comet. He releases Louis' arm to clatter nearer to Daniel by the time they're on their way, pointing out the Warhol Mona Lisa print, disdain for the piece itself smoothing the way for querying if Daniel had ever met the man or his hangers on, professes to have seen a movie that definitely never escaped containment from private viewings, let alone reaching New Orleans—
He continues to be the most okay as they go, mood tempering back to an equilibrium through the next exhibit, the mezzanine, the door that leads out to the rooftop that only requires a little bit of tampering for them to escape through.
It is a brisk near-winter evening. The layers of his suit and waistcoat are barely enough to withstand it, but, we suffer for fashion, and he grew up in colder climes. Lestat wanders for where the view of the city stands stark and glittering under a night sky, and cloud cover is rendered in oil painting brushstrokes of deep grey.
Still breathtaking large, this city. And he had imagined Paris overwhelming, back then.