Stuart talks so fluidly about this particular special interest that Lestat, for a minute, stops viewing him as a cardboard cut out, which—is not better, really. Leaning on the countertop, a smile, a question as what music he prefers, an evaluating look that measures the thickness of arteries in the throat.
But, no, he had been given advice. Don't stalk people out of brightly lit places with cameras when you've marked them so obviously. Stick to the edges of things, the shadows. Unfair that the world should become so brightly lit that the old ways are tugging at his hem. Annoying. He should be able to eat whoever he wants.
A hunt later, anyway, maybe the two young women from before. Hunger aside, he will want to get away from Daniel after this is over, at least until it's time to head for DC. Daniel has done nothing wrong. Lestat might.
Dismissing Stuart as a prospective meal, Lestat peels off the packaging for his things as they finish out the paperwork, stiff plastic giving way like wet cardboard under his fingers. Clicking the case into place, hooking the headphones around his neck and pocketing the charger, fiddling with the device as the last of the transaction is complete. Some hours later, his lawyer will be startled out of bed thanks to a telepathic directive that he requires an email address and Daniel will be spared from helping him set up his own Spotify account.
The mall itself is close to empty, preparing to close. A very strange palace, Lestat observing the glass ceiling high above as they go. Even the most common of places are like grand opera houses, in this age.
"His number," is said once he rolls his focus back forwards, offering his new sparkly phone out. "S'il te plaît."
Stragglers only. A few stores have their security panels rolled down already, giving up the ghost for the day. Daniel hates these; old malls had character. Dark carpets and multicolored lights and arcades with drug dealers. LED lights and arched ceilings, ugh.
Anywhoo. He takes Lestat's brand new phone, and does not enter Louis' number— he sends a text to himself, and since they're on the same plan, it automatically logs itself in the phone with his contact. There. Tethered. Suffer. (When his lawyer finds out he's on a journalist's phone plan, she's going to tell him to chuck it in the nearest river for real.) Some juggling. Next, his own phone, from which he copies Louis' number and texts Lestat back, then copies the text, etc, you get it. On his screen, smaller than Lestat's, an iPhone with a password, he has to clear several frantic-looking bubbles that he makes no mention of. Quickquick, we're doing something else right now.
(From 'RJ'. A long, foreign number. What are you doing? - Call me back right now. - DANIEL MOLLOY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING.)
This all seems complicated and Lestat does not try to follow what is happening. He stands and watches it with an increasingly sullen set to his expression, the swift ease with which Daniel does a little array of things beyond his comprehension. Waiting, braced. As if, after this talk of kindness, Daniel was going to
he doesn't know. Set a condition, or something. Flaunt his ability to refuse him after Lestat had just declared his intention not to murder him. Daniel is a more accommodating quality than Claudia, who had been quite clear about the beneficence of what was barely her tolerance for Lestat's reentry into Louis' life, and there is no reason at all to compare them save that Louis has had so few close friends.
Looking after his interests. But, the phone is handed back, and Lestat takes it, and his defenses lower by a margin. Suspicious, but he doesn't detect deceit. At least, not of that kind.
"Merci." The phone is disappeared into a pocket, traded out for his cigarettes. "When do we go to DC?"
"In two days. I'm taking the train, it's a midnight to 5 am trip, but you get let off inside the station, so. Car to the hotel garage. Fun."
Lestat has made his own way so far, and how, Daniel hasn't asked. Flying under his own power? Like Superman, who isn't real? Red eye flights? His business. He's made his own accommodations because he has to get this stuff down and because, honestly, he's used to it. Daniel has assistants and editors and research staffers, proteges, but he's always figured most things out on his own. A nosy detective looking for stories.
"You're welcome to join me."
Which would be... a little buddy-buddy, and it would probably make Daniel feel slightly insane, like contending with Orange Julius in the northeast 2020s (it's a pop-up thing, a flier taped to a kiosk says). But still, welcome. Especially since Talamasca's freaking out, because that's just funny. EHhem. He'll look into those missed texts soon. Maybe.
The end of the cigarette glows and embers as soon as the other is between his teeth, a little wisp of acrid smoke into the perfumed mall air on their way towards the door. (A moment where the nearest security guard seems about to say something, and stalls when Lestat glances his way with a cold and digging look. It induces a spike of terror, a jelly-legged step backwards, and his jaw pinching closed.) The automatic doors slide on the rails.
Internal and external CCTV probably fed to the Talamasca, ever-watching. Just a man and his son-in-law, the latter of whom offers out his pack of smokes to take from, and tucks his hands into the pockets of his coat.
Considers Daniel, this next act of kindness. Even in ways he doesn't mean, maybe, although who can say with writers? Not a do you want to?, just a welcome, an open door.
Smiles around the cigarette, sharp and sudden, and sweeps it between his fingers. "D'accord," Lestat says. "I will join you at the station, if you survive until then."
Sardonic. It's a vampire eat vampire world. But Lestat has perfect faith in this outcome, which is maybe conveyed in the way he says goodbye: a step forward, an unexpected closeness through the smooth motion that carries him into the kiss that grazes Daniel's cheek, and then a pivot to send him on his way with an authoritative clop of boot heels against pavement.
Daniel accepts a cigarette, nimble fingers despite everything. (Still were, still, in between tremors. Just on the edge of downhill, staring at it, clinging to the edge.) The end sparks up on its own as they pass over the threshold of the sliding doors with their cheery chime.
"We'll see."
Survival.
He's thinking about—
Drama queen, more deliberate this time, loud and startled in his head. A funny look at Lestat. Something unsaid, right there, but on the heels of such antics, now isn't the time. The elder vampire's business his is own, for the rest of the night. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling, and tips his head back in a farewell.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But, no, he had been given advice. Don't stalk people out of brightly lit places with cameras when you've marked them so obviously. Stick to the edges of things, the shadows. Unfair that the world should become so brightly lit that the old ways are tugging at his hem. Annoying. He should be able to eat whoever he wants.
A hunt later, anyway, maybe the two young women from before. Hunger aside, he will want to get away from Daniel after this is over, at least until it's time to head for DC. Daniel has done nothing wrong. Lestat might.
Dismissing Stuart as a prospective meal, Lestat peels off the packaging for his things as they finish out the paperwork, stiff plastic giving way like wet cardboard under his fingers. Clicking the case into place, hooking the headphones around his neck and pocketing the charger, fiddling with the device as the last of the transaction is complete. Some hours later, his lawyer will be startled out of bed thanks to a telepathic directive that he requires an email address and Daniel will be spared from helping him set up his own Spotify account.
The mall itself is close to empty, preparing to close. A very strange palace, Lestat observing the glass ceiling high above as they go. Even the most common of places are like grand opera houses, in this age.
"His number," is said once he rolls his focus back forwards, offering his new sparkly phone out. "S'il te plaît."
no subject
Anywhoo. He takes Lestat's brand new phone, and does not enter Louis' number— he sends a text to himself, and since they're on the same plan, it automatically logs itself in the phone with his contact. There. Tethered. Suffer. (When his lawyer finds out he's on a journalist's phone plan, she's going to tell him to chuck it in the nearest river for real.) Some juggling. Next, his own phone, from which he copies Louis' number and texts Lestat back, then copies the text, etc, you get it. On his screen, smaller than Lestat's, an iPhone with a password, he has to clear several frantic-looking bubbles that he makes no mention of. Quickquick, we're doing something else right now.
(From 'RJ'. A long, foreign number. What are you doing? - Call me back right now. - DANIEL MOLLOY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING.)
He hands the glittery portable (!) back.
"All set."
no subject
he doesn't know. Set a condition, or something. Flaunt his ability to refuse him after Lestat had just declared his intention not to murder him. Daniel is a more accommodating quality than Claudia, who had been quite clear about the beneficence of what was barely her tolerance for Lestat's reentry into Louis' life, and there is no reason at all to compare them save that Louis has had so few close friends.
Looking after his interests. But, the phone is handed back, and Lestat takes it, and his defenses lower by a margin. Suspicious, but he doesn't detect deceit. At least, not of that kind.
"Merci." The phone is disappeared into a pocket, traded out for his cigarettes. "When do we go to DC?"
no subject
Lestat has made his own way so far, and how, Daniel hasn't asked. Flying under his own power? Like Superman, who isn't real? Red eye flights? His business. He's made his own accommodations because he has to get this stuff down and because, honestly, he's used to it. Daniel has assistants and editors and research staffers, proteges, but he's always figured most things out on his own. A nosy detective looking for stories.
"You're welcome to join me."
Which would be... a little buddy-buddy, and it would probably make Daniel feel slightly insane, like contending with Orange Julius in the northeast 2020s (it's a pop-up thing, a flier taped to a kiosk says). But still, welcome. Especially since Talamasca's freaking out, because that's just funny. EHhem. He'll look into those missed texts soon. Maybe.
no subject
Internal and external CCTV probably fed to the Talamasca, ever-watching. Just a man and his son-in-law, the latter of whom offers out his pack of smokes to take from, and tucks his hands into the pockets of his coat.
Considers Daniel, this next act of kindness. Even in ways he doesn't mean, maybe, although who can say with writers? Not a do you want to?, just a welcome, an open door.
Smiles around the cigarette, sharp and sudden, and sweeps it between his fingers. "D'accord," Lestat says. "I will join you at the station, if you survive until then."
Sardonic. It's a vampire eat vampire world. But Lestat has perfect faith in this outcome, which is maybe conveyed in the way he says goodbye: a step forward, an unexpected closeness through the smooth motion that carries him into the kiss that grazes Daniel's cheek, and then a pivot to send him on his way with an authoritative clop of boot heels against pavement.
"Thank you for the gifts," over a shoulder.
no subject
"We'll see."
Survival.
He's thinking about—
Drama queen, more deliberate this time, loud and startled in his head. A funny look at Lestat. Something unsaid, right there, but on the heels of such antics, now isn't the time. The elder vampire's business his is own, for the rest of the night. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling, and tips his head back in a farewell.
"Later, man."