Being needy on purpose or not, there's a genuine pleasure to be had in listening to the sharp plucking of the guitar, the lingering on the first string, the odd way the lax resolution of each riff threatens to put his teeth on edge before it concludes. It's possible Daniel saves them from a repeated loop of this specific twenty seconds as Lestat's focus is drawn back over.
His lifetime. A hummed sound, amused. "I thought I would always return to the music of my century," he says. "We went to enough concertos and symphonies that I think Louis can say he has absorbed as much of the golden era of Beethoven and Bach and Lizst as I have, isn't that so?"
Lestat's hand lifts, settles back down, a shrug. "The first time I heard someone play Mozart with skill, it felt like a revelation. Something like that again, in opening my heart to this century's masters. A constellation of influences, stars rapidly dying, blooming. I don't play favourites anymore.
"What's the Talamasca?" Seems important, he guesses.
"The creepy secret agent librarians," Daniel supplies, after 'oddities'. He looks at Louis, and there is no telepathy involved, communicating via the old fashioned unspoken way of clear expressions: he absolutely explained Talamasca to Lestat, but apparently he was not adequately tuned in at the time.
"Don't worry about it, you're way too pretty to be the brains of the operation."
ANYway—
"We can compare notes with what we've got so far. Got a fair bit of data off the one guy's phone, and I've been running down stuff in there where I can. The drives I took with me out of London," Daniel you did what, "have ended up to be mostly archive stuff. Sam might have better immediate intel."
This being not the first time Daniel has gently roasted Lestat, evidently—
A quiet kind of sinister laugh for this, before Lestat turns his voice more towards Louis to tell him, "He flirts with me," apologetically, innocently. "Tell him to stop."
And he slithers back into the backseat, picking up his phone to continue to curate the audio experience. A quick check will confirm: he has not taken to sulking, but absorbed, perhaps, the premise of the Talamasca, the desire to meet with DJ Sam, and is allowing them to continue.
"Oh my god," is the only right response to both Lestat's dramatic fainting couch removal and Louis babying him about it. You fucking dweebs. But, and this is another one of those things he'll probably never say out loud because of his terminal allergy to sentiment, he thinks they deserve to have funny little sweet moments.
People can grow. Maybe it'll be okay, in the long run. He'd like that for them.
"No assault attempts. Smart, with the fake out."
Daniel suspects he knows why, but that's a part of the thing he'd like to discuss with Louis. Not now. Everything right now is—
Fine? Good, even. Kind of nice, despite it also being the craziest fucking thing ever.
"Hey, I like this song."
True of whatever Lestat has landed on. They'll be at the hotel soon, and so will the car with Louis' things.
Logistics break up the conversation after they pull in, a car ride with a slightly scattered education on the early history of the electric guitar thrumming beneath loose plans and intentions. Lestat offers to take the roses out of Louis' hands to see them somewhere safe and leave his woman valet to more important things.
Maybe there are other people for this, true, but Lestat would like something to do with his hands, all of a sudden. Exiting out of the elevators and onto the floor that belongs to them for the time being, and it isn't so difficult to find a decorative vase on some stand somewhere, and a water source. This, while personal assistants are attended to, phonecalls are made, important business everywhere.
He doesn't mind being frivolous, sometimes. Don't tell anyone.
And if Lestat suspects an !AMBUSH! by the time Daniel and Louis have drifted back to the main central area—well, good news, he doesn't. Splays his hands at the extremely expensive flower arrangement now arranged on the table from where he is lounging. Voilà.
Rachida is already in residence when they arrive, directing the arranging of luggage, among whatever other necessities Louis has traveled with. (Damek, for one, collecting his suitcase and making himself scarce.) It occupies Louis momentarily, seeing to this and that.
And in the course of settling in, trading murmurs between his mind and Daniel's. An opening in which Louis informs him:
He asked, and I didn't wish to speak of San Francisco without you.
Conciliatory: It's not only my story to share.
They've had some practice, haven't they? Piecing together the events of that week, speaking of them? (Not enough. Not enough practice, not really.) Louis is holding fast to that as he re-enters the space, in time to observe Lestat's handiwork. To catch a question that he assumes is for Daniel.
"I can have something sent up for me."
Whatever that looks like. The twinge of defensiveness, of self-consciousness, is there and gone so quickly it may never have appeared at all.
"We might stay in," Louis offers, moving on briskly. "Better to speak here than in an alleyway."
'Christ, Louis.' Exchanges while they sort things. 'Sure, you're owed an ambush,' we have fun here, joking about cornering him with the Talamasca recordings, and Daniel feels a brief, slightly hysterical bubble of almost-laughter threaten to overtake him as he thinks of what it'll look like. Louis and Daniel sitting there explaining a thing that happened in the past to Lestat. Daniel should put his laptop in front of him and hit record. Give him a notepad.
'Just tell me if you want to tap out, alright?'
It's not only Louis' story, but Louis was the one who ran out into the bright morning sun, and is volunteering to relive it again. He hopes it's therapeutic instead of harmful. When he gives the man a friendly squeeze to his shoulder as he walks into the living-room-foyer area connecting their web of rooms, it's both a comfort about the vegetarian lifestyle and support for what he's about to undertake.
"Takeout always gives me heartburn."
Flippant. He was aware they'd have to navigate around certain lifestyle differences, and has already decided to hard ignore it whenever possible. A moral crisis for Someday Daniel. Today Daniel is too busy to worry about all that.
Their energy isn't too weird and conspirational, at least not until the So, which is a drop of blood in the water, vibes-wise. Lestat closes the loop on glancing, Daniel to Louis.
Amusement, tugging his mouth. Maybe it's just weird. It might be nice, to not be the only one who thinks so. "That's the thing about an orgy," Lestat says, a big sigh out, a gesture around at the trio of them. "Someone has to be the one to suck the first cock before someone else panics and reaches for the backgammon board."
A hand up, a splay of fingers. "I'm kidding. Scrabble, for the writer."
That second So. Louis had already been looking towards Daniel. At the invocation of backgammon though:
A moment where it feels as if he's been caught out. Eyes flick between Daniel and Lestat, before Louis tell him, "I didn't pack either. My backgammon days are well behind me, anyway."
Backgammon, and Daniel has already made an odd noise, like a choke or a laugh or something almost a cough, and he's pushing his glasses up where he's pinching the bridge of his nose. Oh for fuck's sake, this guuUUUUYYY.
He shakes that off and looks back up, still nearly laughing, but at least not (uncontrollably) choking (for the rest of the teaser).
"I didn't tell him anything," he says to Louis, aloud, because they're putting this all out there anyway. "I think that was a legitimate board game joke, unless you learned that trick from him."
Woof. He's going to need to sit down for this one. Daniel moves to the large windows, tugging aside sweeping curtains for a look out into the night and its millions of moving parts and lights. Venting some restlessness at the prospect of this conversation, before he moves to find an empty square of suitable furniture.
Mon fucking Dieu, so much for breaking the ice with his comedic stylings.
Well, perhaps the ice is broken. Half-cracked. Lestat looks to Louis as Daniel moves away, understanding clicking, and that feeling he'd had on the phone, the oddly floaty impact of jealous aftershock, makes its return without warning. The story of these two, yes, he had wanted to know, and how Daniel was nearly Louis' fledgling, the source of that warm thread of affection disappearing into the fog of memory that he had been very polite about not intruding.
And now something about backgammon and/or orgies.
"He learned all his tricks from me," an impulsive rejoinder, even though he has no idea what they're talking about, arms folding across his chest.
A brief smile at that assertion, though it is slightly wan.
In the wake of Daniel's So, Louis suspects it has fallen to him to begin. He has drifted towards the table, running admiring fingers over the rose petals, and abandons that now in favor of considering the room. The room, and his position within it. Where he might set himself to put Lestat at ease, to avoid stranding Daniel.
Near impossible.
Habit wins out. He finds a chair. Hauls it out of alignment into some middling space as he imparts, "I used my backgammon board to store items of interest, in those days."
Those days.
"I'd invited Daniel up to an apartment in a building I owned. I took out the board to offer him his pick, after I showed him my coffin."
FYI. It's kind of Louis to be demure about it, but Daniel has never hidden his past. It's all out there in his own book, even. Whether Lestat hears this or whether he's ascended into another universe already thinking they're telling him about an insane sexual escapade and has shut down—??
"I was a junkie pretending to be a journalist, or a journalist who was a junkie. Something in there. I was cruising at a gay bar, and Louis picked me up."
A beat.
"Sort of."
He looks at Louis, more serious now than incredulous laughing about backgammon. Softer, "What order are we doing this in?"
A familiar thing—Lestat watching Louis move, watching where his hands go, where he chooses to be in the room, where he settles. Transfixing, always, and so, he has Lestat's attention, and keeps it.
He remains in this universe, attuned to the room, as Daniel joins in from his corner, granted a look that drags from Louis at a delay. He still feels insane, like some terrible trick is about to be played on him by two men who have more than demonstrated an interest in maintaining his comfort, but he is well-bundled into the corner of the couch and too curious to do anything but stay there.
Drugs and coffins. The 70s, or something. He was busy at the time. Good music, though.
Lestat doesn't pipe up here, deciding to focus on some amount of getting a grip while Louis answers the question.
Straight forward. As linear a recounting as they can, considering the effort that had gone in to piecing together the horrible string of days they'd lived through together.
"I was hunting then," Louis admits to Lestat. "Your favored prey."
A tangled bit of truth. Prey chosen for a reason, even if Louis hadn't been able to see it at the time.
"Daniel was at one of the bars I frequented with his tape recorder. He offered to interview me, and I agreed."
A tip of his hand to Daniel, inviting: this is more or less how it went, wasn't it?
The missing piece: Armand, demurring. Louis holds that in his hand, uncertain where to place it.
More or less. He opts to mention the absent monster as it will become relevant in short order, though this, too, creates an order fumble for Daniel. Surely Louis always remembered him at the bar, but Daniel did not; for fifty years, just Louis, then Louis and 'Rashid', dark eyes covered by lenses his mind put there because it couldn't remember the real man, then Louis and Armand, the truth of it.
"His then-partner checked in before we got in the cab." Forging ahead with the tale. "It was behavior I was used to seeing out of gay hookup culture, so I didn't think anything of it. I had plenty of experience already with doing whatever was asked of me to get high."
A writer. He can foreshadow.
"And Louis asked about my work, wanted to be interviewed, engaged with a weird loser about the gigantic tape recorder he was lugging around."
Daniel shrugs, spreads his hands. Hook line and sinker, a very charming cute guy while Daniel was pretending he wasn't queer and was only doing it for drugs, he got into the taxi, they went to his crash pad. This is rough, but there's an element of pleasant nostalgia to it, too. He meant it, what he'd said when they spoke not too long ago, sitting and chatting across the planet. I liked it.
"And then, yeah. Your creepy hitman safe house and your sex coffin and your backgammon board full of quaaludes and coke. I was invested. Extremely cranked and on another planet in an easy ten minutes, but invested."
Relaxes enough that Lestat can detangle himself from the defensive curl he had begun, listing back to retrieve cigarettes from his jacket pocket. Rattles the pack, not so many left, selects one, lights up by way of ancient vampire magic and then leans to toss the pack onto the table. In case anyone is interested.
Smoke trails thick from mouth to cigarette as he catches it between his fingers, swoops it aside.
"Did you know he was a vampire," he asks of Daniel, "or did the sex coffin tip you off?"
Cigarettes were discarded long ago. Pared away along with the rest of Louis' many vices, it has been an age since he indulged.
Maybe, if they were discussing something else, he would have demurred. But this is fraught. Louis would like to pretend it js only difficult for Lestat to hear.
And so he accepts the silent offer, draws a cigarette out of the pack. Treads over to the sofa to solicit Lestat's indulgence as he relays with sly amusement:
"He didn't believe me, until I demonstrated. And even then, I think he had his doubts."
A slow burn (hah) for Daniel; he will accumulate it secondhand until he breaks down. Which he surely will— slowly adopting vices back into himself now that he has fewer reasons to have quit them. If only he'd reformed his life because of a change of heart and strong moral fiber, and not because he didn't want to die in a flop house.
"Mmhm." Oh, the adventures we had, in an apartment with a slant to the north. "Pretty sure I asked you if you were the Zodiac Killer, and then to show me your fangs again, which I thought were super fucking cool. No idea if I thought it was real or not. Nothing's real when you're that high, and you kept giving me more."
And a junkie has no manners. Daniel did not give a single fuck that Louis wasn't indulging and that he as wasting thousands of dollars worth of product and was, apparently, not even going to ask Daniel to blow him (disappointed at the time in a way he still doesn't like looking too closely at, but they're not here to talk about Daniel's closet space). All too happy to consume, more, more, more.
"For hours. Louis talked, and told me about his life as a vampire, and I just kept doing lines and drinking. Until the reality of picking up a weird loser with a tape recorder hit, and I really, really pissed him off."
Pleasing, Louis' approach, Lestat drawing a breath from his cigarette to coax the embers hotter before he offers it out with a graceful turn of his hand, a fond tip to his head.
This does all feel like it's going somewhere, and not just, and then they fucked around and Louis bid him adieu. How does that become a reunion, fifty years in the future? With the premise of vampirism on the table? How does Daniel live through it, when it sounds a little like he should not have? These questions and more, sure to be answered, but before they continue—
"Your book implied it," Lestat says, looking to Daniel. "That it was a second interview. This is the first, then. Do you have your recordings still?"
Bros before exposing each other being the most cringe—
"Nope." A shrug. "I chucked the tapes into a bin and Louis let it on fire, it was very spooky. A peace offering, starting over."
He doesn't even have to lie. The high quality re-recordings were done by Talamasca, from piecing together their shoddy 1970s surveillance footage and, apparently, having broken into his home in the 90s and made copies while he was in Ireland on research.
But his recordings are gone, and Louis is spared having to reveal he spent about six hours screaming about Lestat being the worse, and Daniel is spared the whole 'turn me uwu' thing. Bad. Horrible.
"Très dramatique," as if the current state of his French accent isn't clinging to his voice for dear life. At least the New Orleans verve that remains is accommodating to it.
Lestat takes a breath at sideways, and looks to Louis. The man who, in that room, would have had all the power. Would have the final decision of what the night would look like. No matter how compelling or clever a human is, this is simply the truth of the thing. A prey animal living at the discretion of the lion.
Doesn't harp on about lost media, just looks to him. Encouraging.
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His lifetime. A hummed sound, amused. "I thought I would always return to the music of my century," he says. "We went to enough concertos and symphonies that I think Louis can say he has absorbed as much of the golden era of Beethoven and Bach and Lizst as I have, isn't that so?"
Lestat's hand lifts, settles back down, a shrug. "The first time I heard someone play Mozart with skill, it felt like a revelation. Something like that again, in opening my heart to this century's masters. A constellation of influences, stars rapidly dying, blooming. I don't play favourites anymore.
"What's the Talamasca?" Seems important, he guesses.
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Oddities.
His thumb continues it's path up and down Lestat's wrist.
"You wanted me to gather more information," he reminds Lestat. Enter: the Vampire Sam.
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"Don't worry about it, you're way too pretty to be the brains of the operation."
ANYway—
"We can compare notes with what we've got so far. Got a fair bit of data off the one guy's phone, and I've been running down stuff in there where I can. The drives I took with me out of London," Daniel you did what, "have ended up to be mostly archive stuff. Sam might have better immediate intel."
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A quiet kind of sinister laugh for this, before Lestat turns his voice more towards Louis to tell him, "He flirts with me," apologetically, innocently. "Tell him to stop."
And he slithers back into the backseat, picking up his phone to continue to curate the audio experience. A quick check will confirm: he has not taken to sulking, but absorbed, perhaps, the premise of the Talamasca, the desire to meet with DJ Sam, and is allowing them to continue.
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"The perception is that I went to Europe," Louis tells him. "I thought a false starting point would be for the best."
And ensure the building would be intact when he returned.
"Have you had trouble, or have you been occupied by your travel?"
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People can grow. Maybe it'll be okay, in the long run. He'd like that for them.
"No assault attempts. Smart, with the fake out."
Daniel suspects he knows why, but that's a part of the thing he'd like to discuss with Louis. Not now. Everything right now is—
Fine? Good, even. Kind of nice, despite it also being the craziest fucking thing ever.
"Hey, I like this song."
True of whatever Lestat has landed on. They'll be at the hotel soon, and so will the car with Louis' things.
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Maybe there are other people for this, true, but Lestat would like something to do with his hands, all of a sudden. Exiting out of the elevators and onto the floor that belongs to them for the time being, and it isn't so difficult to find a decorative vase on some stand somewhere, and a water source. This, while personal assistants are attended to, phonecalls are made, important business everywhere.
He doesn't mind being frivolous, sometimes. Don't tell anyone.
And if Lestat suspects an !AMBUSH! by the time Daniel and Louis have drifted back to the main central area—well, good news, he doesn't. Splays his hands at the extremely expensive flower arrangement now arranged on the table from where he is lounging. Voilà.
"Should we order in? Italian, perhaps."
Vampire jokes.
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And in the course of settling in, trading murmurs between his mind and Daniel's. An opening in which Louis informs him:
He asked, and I didn't wish to speak of San Francisco without you.
Conciliatory: It's not only my story to share.
They've had some practice, haven't they? Piecing together the events of that week, speaking of them? (Not enough. Not enough practice, not really.) Louis is holding fast to that as he re-enters the space, in time to observe Lestat's handiwork. To catch a question that he assumes is for Daniel.
"I can have something sent up for me."
Whatever that looks like. The twinge of defensiveness, of self-consciousness, is there and gone so quickly it may never have appeared at all.
"We might stay in," Louis offers, moving on briskly. "Better to speak here than in an alleyway."
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'Just tell me if you want to tap out, alright?'
It's not only Louis' story, but Louis was the one who ran out into the bright morning sun, and is volunteering to relive it again. He hopes it's therapeutic instead of harmful. When he gives the man a friendly squeeze to his shoulder as he walks into the living-room-foyer area connecting their web of rooms, it's both a comfort about the vegetarian lifestyle and support for what he's about to undertake.
"Takeout always gives me heartburn."
Flippant. He was aware they'd have to navigate around certain lifestyle differences, and has already decided to hard ignore it whenever possible. A moral crisis for Someday Daniel. Today Daniel is too busy to worry about all that.
"So." So!!! He looks at Louis, then Lestat.
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Amusement, tugging his mouth. Maybe it's just weird. It might be nice, to not be the only one who thinks so. "That's the thing about an orgy," Lestat says, a big sigh out, a gesture around at the trio of them. "Someone has to be the one to suck the first cock before someone else panics and reaches for the backgammon board."
A hand up, a splay of fingers. "I'm kidding. Scrabble, for the writer."
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A moment where it feels as if he's been caught out. Eyes flick between Daniel and Lestat, before Louis tell him, "I didn't pack either. My backgammon days are well behind me, anyway."
Just moving past the orgy invocation.
"I promised you a story."
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He shakes that off and looks back up, still nearly laughing, but at least not (uncontrollably) choking (for the rest of the teaser).
"I didn't tell him anything," he says to Louis, aloud, because they're putting this all out there anyway. "I think that was a legitimate board game joke, unless you learned that trick from him."
Woof. He's going to need to sit down for this one. Daniel moves to the large windows, tugging aside sweeping curtains for a look out into the night and its millions of moving parts and lights. Venting some restlessness at the prospect of this conversation, before he moves to find an empty square of suitable furniture.
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Well, perhaps the ice is broken. Half-cracked. Lestat looks to Louis as Daniel moves away, understanding clicking, and that feeling he'd had on the phone, the oddly floaty impact of jealous aftershock, makes its return without warning. The story of these two, yes, he had wanted to know, and how Daniel was nearly Louis' fledgling, the source of that warm thread of affection disappearing into the fog of memory that he had been very polite about not intruding.
And now something about backgammon and/or orgies.
"He learned all his tricks from me," an impulsive rejoinder, even though he has no idea what they're talking about, arms folding across his chest.
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In the wake of Daniel's So, Louis suspects it has fallen to him to begin. He has drifted towards the table, running admiring fingers over the rose petals, and abandons that now in favor of considering the room. The room, and his position within it. Where he might set himself to put Lestat at ease, to avoid stranding Daniel.
Near impossible.
Habit wins out. He finds a chair. Hauls it out of alignment into some middling space as he imparts, "I used my backgammon board to store items of interest, in those days."
Those days.
"I'd invited Daniel up to an apartment in a building I owned. I took out the board to offer him his pick, after I showed him my coffin."
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FYI. It's kind of Louis to be demure about it, but Daniel has never hidden his past. It's all out there in his own book, even. Whether Lestat hears this or whether he's ascended into another universe already thinking they're telling him about an insane sexual escapade and has shut down—??
"I was a junkie pretending to be a journalist, or a journalist who was a junkie. Something in there. I was cruising at a gay bar, and Louis picked me up."
A beat.
"Sort of."
He looks at Louis, more serious now than incredulous laughing about backgammon. Softer, "What order are we doing this in?"
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He remains in this universe, attuned to the room, as Daniel joins in from his corner, granted a look that drags from Louis at a delay. He still feels insane, like some terrible trick is about to be played on him by two men who have more than demonstrated an interest in maintaining his comfort, but he is well-bundled into the corner of the couch and too curious to do anything but stay there.
Drugs and coffins. The 70s, or something. He was busy at the time. Good music, though.
Lestat doesn't pipe up here, deciding to focus on some amount of getting a grip while Louis answers the question.
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Straight forward. As linear a recounting as they can, considering the effort that had gone in to piecing together the horrible string of days they'd lived through together.
"I was hunting then," Louis admits to Lestat. "Your favored prey."
A tangled bit of truth. Prey chosen for a reason, even if Louis hadn't been able to see it at the time.
"Daniel was at one of the bars I frequented with his tape recorder. He offered to interview me, and I agreed."
A tip of his hand to Daniel, inviting: this is more or less how it went, wasn't it?
The missing piece: Armand, demurring. Louis holds that in his hand, uncertain where to place it.
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More or less. He opts to mention the absent monster as it will become relevant in short order, though this, too, creates an order fumble for Daniel. Surely Louis always remembered him at the bar, but Daniel did not; for fifty years, just Louis, then Louis and 'Rashid', dark eyes covered by lenses his mind put there because it couldn't remember the real man, then Louis and Armand, the truth of it.
"His then-partner checked in before we got in the cab." Forging ahead with the tale. "It was behavior I was used to seeing out of gay hookup culture, so I didn't think anything of it. I had plenty of experience already with doing whatever was asked of me to get high."
A writer. He can foreshadow.
"And Louis asked about my work, wanted to be interviewed, engaged with a weird loser about the gigantic tape recorder he was lugging around."
Daniel shrugs, spreads his hands. Hook line and sinker, a very charming cute guy while Daniel was pretending he wasn't queer and was only doing it for drugs, he got into the taxi, they went to his crash pad. This is rough, but there's an element of pleasant nostalgia to it, too. He meant it, what he'd said when they spoke not too long ago, sitting and chatting across the planet. I liked it.
"And then, yeah. Your creepy hitman safe house and your sex coffin and your backgammon board full of quaaludes and coke. I was invested. Extremely cranked and on another planet in an easy ten minutes, but invested."
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Relaxes enough that Lestat can detangle himself from the defensive curl he had begun, listing back to retrieve cigarettes from his jacket pocket. Rattles the pack, not so many left, selects one, lights up by way of ancient vampire magic and then leans to toss the pack onto the table. In case anyone is interested.
Smoke trails thick from mouth to cigarette as he catches it between his fingers, swoops it aside.
"Did you know he was a vampire," he asks of Daniel, "or did the sex coffin tip you off?"
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Maybe, if they were discussing something else, he would have demurred. But this is fraught. Louis would like to pretend it js only difficult for Lestat to hear.
And so he accepts the silent offer, draws a cigarette out of the pack. Treads over to the sofa to solicit Lestat's indulgence as he relays with sly amusement:
"He didn't believe me, until I demonstrated. And even then, I think he had his doubts."
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"Mmhm." Oh, the adventures we had, in an apartment with a slant to the north. "Pretty sure I asked you if you were the Zodiac Killer, and then to show me your fangs again, which I thought were super fucking cool. No idea if I thought it was real or not. Nothing's real when you're that high, and you kept giving me more."
And a junkie has no manners. Daniel did not give a single fuck that Louis wasn't indulging and that he as wasting thousands of dollars worth of product and was, apparently, not even going to ask Daniel to blow him (disappointed at the time in a way he still doesn't like looking too closely at, but they're not here to talk about Daniel's closet space). All too happy to consume, more, more, more.
"For hours. Louis talked, and told me about his life as a vampire, and I just kept doing lines and drinking. Until the reality of picking up a weird loser with a tape recorder hit, and I really, really pissed him off."
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This does all feel like it's going somewhere, and not just, and then they fucked around and Louis bid him adieu. How does that become a reunion, fifty years in the future? With the premise of vampirism on the table? How does Daniel live through it, when it sounds a little like he should not have? These questions and more, sure to be answered, but before they continue—
"Your book implied it," Lestat says, looking to Daniel. "That it was a second interview. This is the first, then. Do you have your recordings still?"
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Do they have the recordings still?
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"Nope." A shrug. "I chucked the tapes into a bin and Louis let it on fire, it was very spooky. A peace offering, starting over."
He doesn't even have to lie. The high quality re-recordings were done by Talamasca, from piecing together their shoddy 1970s surveillance footage and, apparently, having broken into his home in the 90s and made copies while he was in Ireland on research.
But his recordings are gone, and Louis is spared having to reveal he spent about six hours screaming about Lestat being the worse, and Daniel is spared the whole 'turn me uwu' thing. Bad. Horrible.
He takes a breath, and lets it out.
"Here's where it goes sideways."
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Lestat takes a breath at sideways, and looks to Louis. The man who, in that room, would have had all the power. Would have the final decision of what the night would look like. No matter how compelling or clever a human is, this is simply the truth of the thing. A prey animal living at the discretion of the lion.
Doesn't harp on about lost media, just looks to him. Encouraging.
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