He leaves the hotel, shrugged into a Chesterfield coat of brushed black wool. He walks. The city is alive around him, and Louis observes it all a great distance. He has much to think about. He is weighed down by it, by what Armand has given to him. By the abrupt end to their conversation, the thing Armand said to him that wedges into Louis' chest though it has no right to do so.
Louis had meant to leave it all in the room behind him, the hotel behind him. But no, it follows. He'd meant to create some distance on the way, but no, the walk does not create any distance either.
It only creates a delay, though Louis does arrive. Sees Lestat from far off, and the sight of him loosens something in his chest by a slight fraction. Lestat, luminous. Always luminous. A welcome sight still, despite their time in this city together.
"Bonsoir," is an impulse, the French foreign and strange on his tongue. A disorienting moment, remembering New Orleans. Remembering long nights together before Louis was turned, when he'd come to Lestat on park benches and in play houses and on bar stools, found him sitting just this way. The memory winds like a vise around his chest, aching, as Louis asks, "Did you find everything you need?"
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He leaves the hotel, shrugged into a Chesterfield coat of brushed black wool. He walks. The city is alive around him, and Louis observes it all a great distance. He has much to think about. He is weighed down by it, by what Armand has given to him. By the abrupt end to their conversation, the thing Armand said to him that wedges into Louis' chest though it has no right to do so.
Louis had meant to leave it all in the room behind him, the hotel behind him. But no, it follows. He'd meant to create some distance on the way, but no, the walk does not create any distance either.
It only creates a delay, though Louis does arrive. Sees Lestat from far off, and the sight of him loosens something in his chest by a slight fraction. Lestat, luminous. Always luminous. A welcome sight still, despite their time in this city together.
"Bonsoir," is an impulse, the French foreign and strange on his tongue. A disorienting moment, remembering New Orleans. Remembering long nights together before Louis was turned, when he'd come to Lestat on park benches and in play houses and on bar stools, found him sitting just this way. The memory winds like a vise around his chest, aching, as Louis asks, "Did you find everything you need?"