There will be poses, Louis is certain. Their however long drive to Vermont. Whatever occupies them there, between one public appearance and the next. Lestat will pose, Daniel will grouse, Louis will run through the film and then—
Then perhaps that is all.
The little camera feels strange in his hands. Flimsy. Far from what he remembers, what he recalls of the cameras he'd used in Paris.
"You look good," Louis tells him, something Lestat of course already knows but has always liked to hear. Lets the camera dangle from one hand while he hooks the other into the bend of Lestat's elbow. "Always do."
A small fortune, dismissed.
The first photo taken in almost eighty years, and it's of Lestat. (A photo, at last. After hunting his ghost nightly in Paris.) Louis doesn't intend to part with it.
no subject
Then perhaps that is all.
The little camera feels strange in his hands. Flimsy. Far from what he remembers, what he recalls of the cameras he'd used in Paris.
"You look good," Louis tells him, something Lestat of course already knows but has always liked to hear. Lets the camera dangle from one hand while he hooks the other into the bend of Lestat's elbow. "Always do."
A small fortune, dismissed.
The first photo taken in almost eighty years, and it's of Lestat. (A photo, at last. After hunting his ghost nightly in Paris.) Louis doesn't intend to part with it.