Louis' turn to think, quietly to himself, He's different.
A thought that goes nowhere. Shunted away, while Louis flips his book back over.
"Rachida would have had good reason," shrugs away the loss of free lodgings. (Presumably not up to the standards of luxury Louis has grown accustomed to and insists upon when he travels these days.) "I assume she knows where she's going now."
Or at least is responsible for putting the coordinates into Daniel's GPS.
His eyes find Lestat in the rearview. Feels something in his chest turn over. Hungry. Not hungry as Louis knows himself to, the perpetual hunger of having just enough and no more, never quite what is needed. But hungry in a way that carries some warmth, some anticipation.
"Is it New Hampshire after this, or up into Canada?"
Further north, into the cold. More opportunity for Lestat and his pillaging of isolated cabins.
There may have been another stop but it got eaten by Vermont. There are too many comments on this post for me to check. Anyway. Daniel pauses, thinks of something—
"Hey, do you," indicating over his shoulder, pointing at Lestat, "have a valid passport?"
There is a pause that probably should not be in response to asking a person if they have a valid passport. There was an email about it. Lestat could check his phone. But, certainly, he does not have on his person such a document, and so,
"I'll figure it out," is a no but also an it's fine.
"I can make some calls," Louis offers, because of course Louis has a valid passport. Because of course Louis is not convinced it's fine.
There are options available to them, of course. But they are far from the days when Louis and Lestat could hold a room frozen around them and simply walk away from a problem. Security cameras create an annoying wrinkle in that approach.
Of course, there are alternate routes. Louis doesn't yet make the proposal, even though he is sure Daniel would enjoy the opportunity to needle about Louis' allegedly underhanded business strategies.
Of course Louis has a valid passport, Louis lives in Dubai and has almost-billions of dollars (probably only just below that threshold because he spends so much money, Daniel figures) and trades art and travels and does payroll.
"Do you know professional forgers as well as art thieves? Do you have a fake Monet?" Squint. "Nah, Monet's not you. Even the Rembrandt's not you, you just like to flex. Is it a Rothko? After all that, is it a Rothko."
in case this veering off into art theft means they're going to make some calls about it,
"I will figure it out." Lestat shrugs, a shiver of dead muppet hide. "Perhaps one day when everyone properly believes your book, border security will account for telepathic flying vampires, but until then."
Louis' smile flexes wider, offers as an aside, "I wouldn't keep a forgery."
Would he sell a forgery? Who can say.
(Maybe. Yes.
Yes, to those he did not respect. Those who did not respect the art. Those who looked at Louis and Armand, or perhaps even just Armand, in a way Louis did not like.
Those who Armand might eat, under different circumstances.)
If Daniel wants to pry further, it will very likely have to wait, as Louis turns further in his seat. Looks to Lestat, watching the great flutter of movement pass through the fluff of his coat.
"I wouldn't mind," because it has always been Louis' most immediate way of expressing devotion, flexing his wealth in favor of the ones he cared for. "It would give Rashid something to do."
Poor Rashid, running a vampire household without a vampire in it.
"Ask him how many Rashids there are," Daniel advises Lestat, at this turn in conversation. Even though, at this point, he's pretty sure Louis is only referring to every single employee as 'Rashid' just to mess with him. See how far through labels he gets. Real Rashid. Fake Rashid. Miss Rashid. New Rashid. Temp Rashid.
Anyway—
He is going to just focus on driving, and allow Louis and Lestat to chat interrupted in a bit, and will rejoin the conversation when they reach the extremely busy and outlandishly overblown truck stop in an hour or so.
is most certainly on the same level as claiming not to know what the Talamasca is, where a second spent on recall might help him out, but Lestat waves a hand. The point, after all, is, "I will take care of it," insisting. Surely some casual illegal border crossing under moonlight is less of a fuss and certainly cheaper than semi-legitimate string pulling.
And then, Lestat leaning across his keyboard towards Louis, he adds, "But thank you, mon ami," sweetly, and it may be a surprise to know that this is not a deliberate needling. It's nice to have an endearment that, in this new world order, can still be theirs.
Louis hears it like fingers pressing down onto a fracture. Mon ami in place of all the endearments Lestat had once bequeathed him.
But a good reminder. A good reminder of where they stand, in spite of recently blurry boundaries. Louis smiles back over the seat, crushing down any more complex reaction in favor of nodding his acknowledgement. Dropping the offers of calls and help, for the time being.
And see, he is capable of making conversation (asking questions about Lestat's compositions and musical findings as of late) until they wind their way to a dingy truck stop wedged alongside the highway exit. The overhead lights flicker, cast a yellow glow across the place. Louis observes the assembly of human patrons with some interest, shifting to amusement as eyes turn to observe the three of them.
Daniel raising the least eyebrows of the three of them, elected to manage a corner booth for them. One of the cushions has been duct taped back together to prevent stuffing from spilling out. The plastic menus are slightly sticky. People are still staring.
"Coffee?" Louis questions, nonchalant, taking his seat first and expecting everyone else to orient themselve around his presence.
Lestat has yet to make much effort in blending in since Louis has returned to America, since Daniel has personally known him, and hasn't chosen to begin now. Stops short of baring his fangs at anyone whose stares might linger, limits his own more supernatural vibe to a vaguely unsettling aura, vampiric charm set to reverse.
Fortunately, at this hour, in this place, there's enough minding one's business to go around. Lestat decides he does not need clearer vision to take in his surroundings and so the heart-shaped sunglasses stay in place.
"Why not," as to coffee. Bitter enough almost for a vampire to enjoy. He uses his fingernails to flip over the menu, tilting his head, a scanning of items out of sheer curiousity. "Do you imagine one day such places will serve our kind? Free O-negative refills, for the road."
Lestat does not appreciate blood bagged, stored and decanted later, Louis knows. He has been polite in Louis' company, but Louis had watched his face as he'd sipped from Louis' own mug. The intimacy of it had been sweet, even as Lestat had run tongue across his teeth, unmistakable lack of enthusiasm in the way he passed back the cup.
"Maybe," is followed swiftly by, "Maybe not. I can't imagine we wouldn't unsettle them, even decades into the future."
Predators. Even Louis. (Especially Louis.) Would there ever be a day when they wouldn't make humans uneasy? Innate instinct, seeking space from what might devour them.
He ceases fidgeting with the menu, placing his chin in hand, elbow on table.
"We only would begin not to unsettle them if they believe they can control our presence on this earth," Lestat says, a splay of fingers, a relaxing. "If we can cultivate an illusion of such, reassuring enough, then perhaps. But as for my hope, I have not gotten as far as that."
Behind his glasses, he scouts the territory. Those here alone, those here with friends. The tired servers, the man in the kitchen. Impulse wonders if it would be fun to massacre the whole diner, which, of course it would be, but it's something to sigh about rather than linger over.
"But it would be amusing, such conveniences." The tip of his head indicates his focus is back across the table. "What is it you hope for?"
Funny, how in spite of how much Louis knows they both have changed, what remains recognizable. What Louis catches in that brief assessing look Lestat sweeps over the space. He can guess at what Lestat contemplates, finds himself amused by the familiarity of it more so than apprehensive as he once might have been.
He lets it pass. Lestat asked a question, and Louis considers it before doing his own sweep of the space and the mortals within it.
"I want them to keep on living," Louis says. "Untouched by us, and the kind of changes we'd put on them."
In which the Great Conversion™ is one, yes, but there are others. Other ways in which vampires touching human society would change them. Maybe diminish all the things Louis loves so much about humanity, still loves even after all this time away.
A smile. The vampire is a prolific hunter. Devastating to the ecosystem. Wholly unnatural, invasive, destructive, and growing more so with each newborn fledgling. This is why Lestat says, "You may need to destroy them all, then," which is good news for Louis, who has clearly found an ethical channel for his rage, even while Daniel shudders back from what feels, to him, as murder.
"The vampires," to clarify, listing back into his seat. "They're making a big show of maintaining our secrecy, oui, but I think it is only to preserve what they view as inevitability."
Domination. Rulership. A master race, if you will. Why else would the vampire want even more vampires around?
The curve of smile in answer, sharp glint of teeth, says I will, even as Lestat moves onwards to the matter of what these vampires want. Of the tenor of their outrage and what they hope will come of it even as they snarl and snap about broken laws, about transgressions.
"I think you're right," Louis tells him. "I think there are more who support the conversion than don't. Happy to let the louder voices do it for them, reap the benefits later."
The benefits of humans brought to heel, whatever that looked like. Cruel, Louise is certain.
It can't be tolerated. Louis and his love affair with humanity, unable to bear what infringe on them. What might keep them from flourishing.
"Suits us," is optimistic. "If they can't be bothered to do something to make it happen they'll let it pass when we take it all apart."
They get to chat for a while, in the corner of the dingy diner— which is at least a diner, and a relief from the blinding bright lights and loud top 20 radio hits of the food court, while Daniel has been elsewhere. He doesn't hurry to interrupt, wanting to give the couple (who he assumes is at least working on it, given the way they act, the way they stare) adequate time without a third wheel when he's able. But they aren't staying long at this roadside layover, and Rachida and her convoy have long passed them, having stopped in briefly to refuel without lingering, hours ahead.
When he enters, he has two humans in tow: Bossy Tiktok adept assistant Jeannie, who Louis and Lestat have already met, and Jeannie's boyfriend, Mark. Jeannie still very much knows about them and, if anyone is paying attention, will notice Mark's thought process upon seeing the two men seated at the only slightly sticky table. Wow, they really are all vampires, he thinks, and doesn't sound as surprised or incredulous as he should be.
"Fellas," Daniel greets. "You remember Jeannie. And this is Mark."
Jeannie is cheerful, reaching out to shake again, happy to see everyone. Mark raises one hand awkwardly, artfully knotted hair and galaxy of freckles speaking to a spiraling heritage, calm demeanor betraying... something?
'Witch stuff,' is what they get, telepathically. Daniel is doing alright, splitting the conversation this way. Proud of himself. Anyway,
"They're selling donuts with cow blood glaze at the tourist trap donut place in here. With little plastic teeth."
In return, Lestat is not shocked to know about witch stuff in the broad sense—and it's a coin toss about whether this is due to being a vampire of a couple centuries and change, or living a human lifetime in New Orleans—but does sharpen his focus on this Mark. Or rather, perceives him as mildly more interesting than the average human being presented in front of him.
Momentarily, anyway. He leans back after these niceties with Jeannie, switches his attention to Daniel. "Why did you not get me one?" is delivered dry. "I said I was hungry."
At some point, at least, during the drive in.
His conversation with Louis, folded up and put away, something pleased in the affirmation that they, together, even if inclusive of Daniel, will wage this war. Speaks to a future, a framework of co-existence.
Lestat can, for their sake, muster an opinion on the state of the world if it means a continued and shared adventure.
advance warning that i am going to make you all decide the seating configuartion in this booth
Louis nudges a variation on this thought to Daniel with some amusement, slid sideways as Louis puts elbows on the table so he might more closely study this newcomer.
It doesn't matter that Louis is eighty years or so removed from New Orleans. He was raised there. Witches do not phase him. How many witches did he once know, hear whispers of back when?
"Will your new friend be accompanying us across the border?" Louis asks Jeannie, leaving Daniel and Lestat to their needling. Questions of their war, all the moving parts involved in it, drop. Nothing to discuss in front of mortals, even if one is a witch.
Louis will get a brief mental illustration of what gives them away, which is: neon Las Vegas style signs pointing at eyes, nails, and the vibe, which to anyone in the know (which Mark is) is as obvious as anything. Sure, people can wear contacts and acrylics, but once you know what you're looking for, well.
Anyway,
"They said it just tasted like shitty pancakes and bacon."
They, because of course the mortals immediately got one. Daniel sits next to Lestat, putting a buffer between the Muppet pelt and anyone else, so Mark is obliged to sit next to Louis. Jeannie slings her enormous bucket bag (effectively the same size as if Jeannie sat there herself, full of Mary Poppins wonders, and also just a ton of shit) towards her partner so that she can squeeze next to her boss and show him things on her phone.
So: food, for the humans, and coffee for the not-humans if they want something bitter and warm to told between their hands, and Jeannie has updates relevant to everybody about the coverage of Roy's death. He's currently wanted for the harassment of several women in Florida, and a strong theory is that he's left somewhere to off himself. She also has some almost-viral videos of the Met incident saved, snagged before they were scrubbed off social media for 'copyright infringement', and also, she is put out that Daniel won't eat her landlord.
Mark is coming with them, he tells Louis over his girlfriend's deluge of news and complaints. They met while she was doing research for Daniel, you see.
Lestat, leaning past Daniel to inform Jeannie of this directly. There follows some conferring about how this can be done, technologically speaking, and somewhere Lestat's lawyer gets a spontaneous migraine as he freely hands his still-on-Daniel's-plan phone over to a journalist's millennial assistant to make it happen.
Mark, so far, can still live, Lestat briefly distracted from the threat of a good looking mortal sitting so closely to Louis by promise of footage of himself. The fun nail polish is also intriguing. But also,
"Why won't you?" To Daniel, about the landlord. Half-earnest, half-instinct towards sensing a bit and wishing to participate. "Is it the flavour?"
No immediate danger from the death of Armand's choice of puppet, a man who Louis would have happily taken apart solely for the way he spoke to and thought of Daniel. Safe too, from the very public spectacle of the near-kidnapping of the Met.
Louis ticks these things off as his body angles by degrees towards Mark, eyes moving over his face. Studying. Catching the strange scent of him, mortal and something other.
"What has he done to deserve being eaten?" Louis questions, attention divided between the unfolding of a bit and the witch with whom they will apparently be traveling.
"I just know that Miss Jeannie," Daniel says pointedly as Miss Jeannie HMMMMS? and transfers videos to Lestat's phone, "has had some extremely pointed, if very professionally worded, emails with this landlord, and if he vanishes, NYPD is putting her, as his most disgruntled tenant, top of the list of suspects."
She says that he doesn't know that, he says he does because he's an investigative reporter, and she asks if blaming him would help if she ever got questioned, and he informs her that this would not help.
Everyone here is very funny.
Jeannie talks a little about the slumlord status of her current apartment, and there's some chat about how she can definitely afford to move, but then no one will be willing to wield the Talk To A Manager role in the building. Mark is clearly smitten. Food arrives, and chatter wheels on, and Daniel does some texting, and they are all almost normal. The truck stop is decently busy, though most patrons are uninterested in the shitty diner, choosing to remain in the food court.
'Are you actually hungry?' is a mental query for Lestat.
Lestat puts forth an argument: the emails would be circumstantial at best. If there is no weapon, no bloody trail leading to her doorstep, no footage, no electronic transcripts directly referencing murder, no witnesses, no history of violent crime, a perfect alibi, then Jeannie would be perfectly fine. He watches true crime content sometimes, and adds, in Mark's direction, for research.
At the same time, an easy habit for multitasking, he tells Daniel: 'Starving.'
A flippant gesture as he slouches back, adding, "But Louis is an owner of property. You're asking he commit cannibalism, chéris."
Louis is quiet within the flow of conversation, content to absorb Daniel's logic and Jeannie's impassioned defense, the surprise of Lestat observing true crime. He has made a little examination of Mark's nail polish, lifting his hand to turn fingers in his own and consider the effect. Inquire in an undertone as to the name of the color, before turning a wide, sharp-toothed smile to the opposite side of the table.
How truthful is it, when Louis says, "Daniel never asked how I got all that property."
Maybe a little true. Maybe the paperwork is all correct, and the implicit bloodbath is real. Maybe none of it is, and Louis is playing.
Regardless—
"She asking me?" a question directed broadly, as Louis looks from Mark to Daniel to Jeannie, conversational. As if this is not a kind of delicate territory. As if Louis had not told Daniel across a polished table and silver platter that he had not killed for over twenty years.
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A thought that goes nowhere. Shunted away, while Louis flips his book back over.
"Rachida would have had good reason," shrugs away the loss of free lodgings. (Presumably not up to the standards of luxury Louis has grown accustomed to and insists upon when he travels these days.) "I assume she knows where she's going now."
Or at least is responsible for putting the coordinates into Daniel's GPS.
His eyes find Lestat in the rearview. Feels something in his chest turn over. Hungry. Not hungry as Louis knows himself to, the perpetual hunger of having just enough and no more, never quite what is needed. But hungry in a way that carries some warmth, some anticipation.
"Is it New Hampshire after this, or up into Canada?"
Further north, into the cold. More opportunity for Lestat and his pillaging of isolated cabins.
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There may have been another stop but it got eaten by Vermont. There are too many comments on this post for me to check. Anyway. Daniel pauses, thinks of something—
"Hey, do you," indicating over his shoulder, pointing at Lestat, "have a valid passport?"
Uh oh.
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There is a pause that probably should not be in response to asking a person if they have a valid passport. There was an email about it. Lestat could check his phone. But, certainly, he does not have on his person such a document, and so,
"I'll figure it out," is a no but also an it's fine.
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There are options available to them, of course. But they are far from the days when Louis and Lestat could hold a room frozen around them and simply walk away from a problem. Security cameras create an annoying wrinkle in that approach.
Of course, there are alternate routes. Louis doesn't yet make the proposal, even though he is sure Daniel would enjoy the opportunity to needle about Louis' allegedly underhanded business strategies.
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"Do you know professional forgers as well as art thieves? Do you have a fake Monet?" Squint. "Nah, Monet's not you. Even the Rembrandt's not you, you just like to flex. Is it a Rothko? After all that, is it a Rothko."
Anyway.
Lestat can probably hop over the border.
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in case this veering off into art theft means they're going to make some calls about it,
"I will figure it out." Lestat shrugs, a shiver of dead muppet hide. "Perhaps one day when everyone properly believes your book, border security will account for telepathic flying vampires, but until then."
Enjoy it while it lasts.
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Would he sell a forgery? Who can say.
(Maybe. Yes.
Yes, to those he did not respect. Those who did not respect the art. Those who looked at Louis and Armand, or perhaps even just Armand, in a way Louis did not like.
Those who Armand might eat, under different circumstances.)
If Daniel wants to pry further, it will very likely have to wait, as Louis turns further in his seat. Looks to Lestat, watching the great flutter of movement pass through the fluff of his coat.
"I wouldn't mind," because it has always been Louis' most immediate way of expressing devotion, flexing his wealth in favor of the ones he cared for. "It would give Rashid something to do."
Poor Rashid, running a vampire household without a vampire in it.
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Anyway—
He is going to just focus on driving, and allow Louis and Lestat to chat interrupted in a bit, and will rejoin the conversation when they reach the extremely busy and outlandishly overblown truck stop in an hour or so.
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is most certainly on the same level as claiming not to know what the Talamasca is, where a second spent on recall might help him out, but Lestat waves a hand. The point, after all, is, "I will take care of it," insisting. Surely some casual illegal border crossing under moonlight is less of a fuss and certainly cheaper than semi-legitimate string pulling.
And then, Lestat leaning across his keyboard towards Louis, he adds, "But thank you, mon ami," sweetly, and it may be a surprise to know that this is not a deliberate needling. It's nice to have an endearment that, in this new world order, can still be theirs.
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Louis hears it like fingers pressing down onto a fracture. Mon ami in place of all the endearments Lestat had once bequeathed him.
But a good reminder. A good reminder of where they stand, in spite of recently blurry boundaries. Louis smiles back over the seat, crushing down any more complex reaction in favor of nodding his acknowledgement. Dropping the offers of calls and help, for the time being.
And see, he is capable of making conversation (asking questions about Lestat's compositions and musical findings as of late) until they wind their way to a dingy truck stop wedged alongside the highway exit. The overhead lights flicker, cast a yellow glow across the place. Louis observes the assembly of human patrons with some interest, shifting to amusement as eyes turn to observe the three of them.
Daniel raising the least eyebrows of the three of them, elected to manage a corner booth for them. One of the cushions has been duct taped back together to prevent stuffing from spilling out. The plastic menus are slightly sticky. People are still staring.
"Coffee?" Louis questions, nonchalant, taking his seat first and expecting everyone else to orient themselve around his presence.
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Fortunately, at this hour, in this place, there's enough minding one's business to go around. Lestat decides he does not need clearer vision to take in his surroundings and so the heart-shaped sunglasses stay in place.
"Why not," as to coffee. Bitter enough almost for a vampire to enjoy. He uses his fingernails to flip over the menu, tilting his head, a scanning of items out of sheer curiousity. "Do you imagine one day such places will serve our kind? Free O-negative refills, for the road."
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"Maybe," is followed swiftly by, "Maybe not. I can't imagine we wouldn't unsettle them, even decades into the future."
Predators. Even Louis. (Especially Louis.) Would there ever be a day when they wouldn't make humans uneasy? Innate instinct, seeking space from what might devour them.
"Is that what you hope comes of this?"
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"We only would begin not to unsettle them if they believe they can control our presence on this earth," Lestat says, a splay of fingers, a relaxing. "If we can cultivate an illusion of such, reassuring enough, then perhaps. But as for my hope, I have not gotten as far as that."
Behind his glasses, he scouts the territory. Those here alone, those here with friends. The tired servers, the man in the kitchen. Impulse wonders if it would be fun to massacre the whole diner, which, of course it would be, but it's something to sigh about rather than linger over.
"But it would be amusing, such conveniences." The tip of his head indicates his focus is back across the table. "What is it you hope for?"
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He lets it pass. Lestat asked a question, and Louis considers it before doing his own sweep of the space and the mortals within it.
"I want them to keep on living," Louis says. "Untouched by us, and the kind of changes we'd put on them."
In which the Great Conversion™ is one, yes, but there are others. Other ways in which vampires touching human society would change them. Maybe diminish all the things Louis loves so much about humanity, still loves even after all this time away.
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A smile. The vampire is a prolific hunter. Devastating to the ecosystem. Wholly unnatural, invasive, destructive, and growing more so with each newborn fledgling. This is why Lestat says, "You may need to destroy them all, then," which is good news for Louis, who has clearly found an ethical channel for his rage, even while Daniel shudders back from what feels, to him, as murder.
"The vampires," to clarify, listing back into his seat. "They're making a big show of maintaining our secrecy, oui, but I think it is only to preserve what they view as inevitability."
Domination. Rulership. A master race, if you will. Why else would the vampire want even more vampires around?
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"I think you're right," Louis tells him. "I think there are more who support the conversion than don't. Happy to let the louder voices do it for them, reap the benefits later."
The benefits of humans brought to heel, whatever that looked like. Cruel, Louise is certain.
It can't be tolerated. Louis and his love affair with humanity, unable to bear what infringe on them. What might keep them from flourishing.
"Suits us," is optimistic. "If they can't be bothered to do something to make it happen they'll let it pass when we take it all apart."
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When he enters, he has two humans in tow: Bossy Tiktok adept assistant Jeannie, who Louis and Lestat have already met, and Jeannie's boyfriend, Mark. Jeannie still very much knows about them and, if anyone is paying attention, will notice Mark's thought process upon seeing the two men seated at the only slightly sticky table. Wow, they really are all vampires, he thinks, and doesn't sound as surprised or incredulous as he should be.
"Fellas," Daniel greets. "You remember Jeannie. And this is Mark."
Jeannie is cheerful, reaching out to shake again, happy to see everyone. Mark raises one hand awkwardly, artfully knotted hair and galaxy of freckles speaking to a spiraling heritage, calm demeanor betraying... something?
'Witch stuff,' is what they get, telepathically. Daniel is doing alright, splitting the conversation this way. Proud of himself. Anyway,
"They're selling donuts with cow blood glaze at the tourist trap donut place in here. With little plastic teeth."
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Momentarily, anyway. He leans back after these niceties with Jeannie, switches his attention to Daniel. "Why did you not get me one?" is delivered dry. "I said I was hungry."
At some point, at least, during the drive in.
His conversation with Louis, folded up and put away, something pleased in the affirmation that they, together, even if inclusive of Daniel, will wage this war. Speaks to a future, a framework of co-existence.
Lestat can, for their sake, muster an opinion on the state of the world if it means a continued and shared adventure.
advance warning that i am going to make you all decide the seating configuartion in this booth
Louis nudges a variation on this thought to Daniel with some amusement, slid sideways as Louis puts elbows on the table so he might more closely study this newcomer.
It doesn't matter that Louis is eighty years or so removed from New Orleans. He was raised there. Witches do not phase him. How many witches did he once know, hear whispers of back when?
"Will your new friend be accompanying us across the border?" Louis asks Jeannie, leaving Daniel and Lestat to their needling. Questions of their war, all the moving parts involved in it, drop. Nothing to discuss in front of mortals, even if one is a witch.
see discord img
Anyway,
"They said it just tasted like shitty pancakes and bacon."
They, because of course the mortals immediately got one. Daniel sits next to Lestat, putting a buffer between the Muppet pelt and anyone else, so Mark is obliged to sit next to Louis. Jeannie slings her enormous bucket bag (effectively the same size as if Jeannie sat there herself, full of Mary Poppins wonders, and also just a ton of shit) towards her partner so that she can squeeze next to her boss and show him things on her phone.
So: food, for the humans, and coffee for the not-humans if they want something bitter and warm to told between their hands, and Jeannie has updates relevant to everybody about the coverage of Roy's death. He's currently wanted for the harassment of several women in Florida, and a strong theory is that he's left somewhere to off himself. She also has some almost-viral videos of the Met incident saved, snagged before they were scrubbed off social media for 'copyright infringement', and also, she is put out that Daniel won't eat her landlord.
Mark is coming with them, he tells Louis over his girlfriend's deluge of news and complaints. They met while she was doing research for Daniel, you see.
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Lestat, leaning past Daniel to inform Jeannie of this directly. There follows some conferring about how this can be done, technologically speaking, and somewhere Lestat's lawyer gets a spontaneous migraine as he freely hands his still-on-Daniel's-plan phone over to a journalist's millennial assistant to make it happen.
Mark, so far, can still live, Lestat briefly distracted from the threat of a good looking mortal sitting so closely to Louis by promise of footage of himself. The fun nail polish is also intriguing. But also,
"Why won't you?" To Daniel, about the landlord. Half-earnest, half-instinct towards sensing a bit and wishing to participate. "Is it the flavour?"
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Louis ticks these things off as his body angles by degrees towards Mark, eyes moving over his face. Studying. Catching the strange scent of him, mortal and something other.
"What has he done to deserve being eaten?" Louis questions, attention divided between the unfolding of a bit and the witch with whom they will apparently be traveling.
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She says that he doesn't know that, he says he does because he's an investigative reporter, and she asks if blaming him would help if she ever got questioned, and he informs her that this would not help.
Everyone here is very funny.
Jeannie talks a little about the slumlord status of her current apartment, and there's some chat about how she can definitely afford to move, but then no one will be willing to wield the Talk To A Manager role in the building. Mark is clearly smitten. Food arrives, and chatter wheels on, and Daniel does some texting, and they are all almost normal. The truck stop is decently busy, though most patrons are uninterested in the shitty diner, choosing to remain in the food court.
'Are you actually hungry?' is a mental query for Lestat.
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At the same time, an easy habit for multitasking, he tells Daniel: 'Starving.'
A flippant gesture as he slouches back, adding, "But Louis is an owner of property. You're asking he commit cannibalism, chéris."
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How truthful is it, when Louis says, "Daniel never asked how I got all that property."
Maybe a little true. Maybe the paperwork is all correct, and the implicit bloodbath is real. Maybe none of it is, and Louis is playing.
Regardless—
"She asking me?" a question directed broadly, as Louis looks from Mark to Daniel to Jeannie, conversational. As if this is not a kind of delicate territory. As if Louis had not told Daniel across a polished table and silver platter that he had not killed for over twenty years.
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