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.
"We already know," Daniel and Jeannie say at the same time, like a comedy act.
Not even Louis can hide from FOIA requests. Daniel does his homework and teaches his assistants how to do the same. He really wasn't respecting that NDA, Fake Rashid had been correct to be annoyed. Anyway, Jeannie insists she would never ask anyone besides her actual employer to eat somebody, but if Louis is looking to buy out some dickhead—
It could be delicate. Or it could just be people, being normal, being out and about. Not quite going out to see a shitty movie, but, you know. Mortals and vampires cannot live peacefully side by side, not all of them. But maybe a few.
And maybe that's enough?
'Do you mind babysitting?' this time, a query for Louis.
A widened smile, shark teeth sharper for a brief moment, then gone.
His thumbnail sets delicately to one of Mark's painted fingertips, making a little show of considering. Of course, with any acquisition, Louis likes to see what he's buying but he has made exceptions in the past—
I don't think they need a babysitter, is not declining, only putting a little point on something unspoken. Perhaps Louis is the one being baby-sat, kept company while Daniel and Lestat go out to hunt.
Mark is laughing as Jeannie pulls a face, describing the condition of the building. A fixer-upper, doesn't Louis like those...?
But I can stay with them. Go on ahead with him, they'll keep me busy.
What's the over-under on if they leave Louis alone, this so-called Mark will seduce him? Lestat's eyes tracking down to where this little hand play is happening, chin resting on his knitted together fingers, matter-of-factly sifting through the witch's mind to see where he falls on the common sex-food-home ternary, before, maybe, a slight buzz of static that is not overwhelming but does indicate this mortal knows he is being observed in this manner—
Past Daniel, Jeannie is trying to give Lestat back his phone. He snaps his focus in this direction, awarding her a bright smile, merci beaucoup, ma belle, he's never murdered anyone in his life.
Out loud: "Alright, scoot, kid, we're gonna get donuts—"
Sure, donuts. Minor commotion as Jeannie gets up to let the two immortal men out, some more chat, Mark offers to give Louis space and sit next to Jeannie, Jeannie says she's fine with her own entire bench, what color should Louis paint his nails?
"Keep an eye on him, he gets lonely." This instruction to the mortals, about Louis. And to Louis, Daniel sends, 'You'll let me know if you need, or want, anything?'
Declining the offer of space, scoffing at Daniel's instruction. Whatever mood Louis carried into the car, bore miles and miles in the passenger seat, there is no sign of it in the present moment. He favors Mark with a smile, fans out a hand indulgently for Jeannie's inspection. They can pass the time together, all three of them.
Of course, Louis lies, head tipped up to them as Lestat and Daniel extricate themselves from the booth.
"Have fun," sounds a little more like Be careful, but that can't be helped.
Is there any dignified way of getting out of a three-person booth bench from the far side? Lestat, who prefers to move with jungle cat grace at all times doing all things, is resigned to a little shuffling, not the least of which being preoccupied with the problem of
well, this "Mark", but also, leaving Louis behind in general, exclusion, certainly now that Louis has confessed to no longer hating the prospect of hunting together.
But it seems the other two vampires have organised some logistics, par for the course, so he slants a smile at him as if to assure him they will indeed have fun, before they move on out of the diner.
"They're too bold, your humans," Lestat tells Daniel, once they're out of earshot. He might be joking. Hard to tell, in this moment. "They might begin thinking all of our kind are as agreeable as we."
Louis gets to spend time with plucky humans, both of whom are sharper than they appear, but who are still only young mortals. Jeannie wanted to be a politician, but her spirit has been too ground down, and she can barely talk politics at all anymore without feeling on the verge of tears too quickly; easier, to think of horrors in the night. Mark isn't much of a witch, the spark only ever taking with any panache in the women in his family, of which there are few, though he is very educated about it, and does some alright protective rune tattoos.
Neither of them will end up immortal. Most people won't. Just how it is. Better that way.
"Are you agreeable?"
We have fun.
"All my better, older researchers quit when I doubled down on the book. My editor of thirty years dropped me. Jeannie stayed." Daniel shrugs. "They're making their own choices. I hope they don't end up killed for it."
A sentiment that sounds borderline dismissive, but it's a real concern. The thing is—
"Do you really want to talk about how modern youth generations are too rooted in despair to fear gruesome deaths?"
A fluffy readjustment of his coat accompanies a sidelong smile in answer as to how agreeable he is. This Barbie has never been bad to be around in her life.
"No," Lestat says, next, flicking his attention back forwards, taking off his glasses, folding up the cheap plastic to pocket. He would hate to lose them in the imminent violences, casting a look around for some midnight snack options. Caffeinated truckers, black coffee and Red Bull, but who knows what other qualities this place will attract in the middle of the night. "I would have to talk about how in my day, gruesome death clogged the gutters. Existential dread, a rich man's game. Hence the guillotines."
Of course, ask a young human Lestat about it all, and he'd not have wanted to talk about any of that either.
"I could actually talk about that for quite a while," he admits. "But that's just me, I can talk about anything. How's the songwriting coming?"
Guillotines do sound nice, though. For comedic effect, Daniel does not shield very well when he imagines several presidential candidates and a few CEOs being beheaded as they head outside, towards rows of gasoline pumps.
It's not snowing out, but the weather seems like it might turn that way any moment. Freezing cold and just damp enough to have the threat of it in the air, fluffy clouds dotting a dark velvet sky hovering with potential. Beneath feet, parking lot asphalt sounds sharp, bits of grass peeking through the cracks sound crunchy. Daniel thinks they're looking for someone traveling alone, maybe taking a bit of a wander. He's gotten good at figuring out where cameras are through sound, though he does not yet have the ability to nudge them away.
He's a good listener about composing. Music is cool.
It's pleasant, the cold, after the relative warmth of a car, the keyboard growing hot where he'd balanced it across his thighs, the blasting heat inside the diner. It's been a long time since snow, enough that the idea of it has become romantic again.
Like guillotines, maybe. Lestat cannot provide Daniel any gory memory reels in playful reply, however. He'd hated to watch that kind of thing back when.
So. Songwriting.
"Well," he reports, as they scout around for their likeliest meal. In no particular rush to do so, despite his complaining. "Tonight, I have a melody to untangle. It exists somewhere, and I only need to discover it." A little gesture, hands lifting, fingers spidering after invisible keys. "Unfortunately for you both, lyric comes after."
So, no Lestat singing broken poetry in loops on the way to Canada, probably. They will be forced to make conversation to fill the void instead. His hands slip back into his coat pockets.
"I told Louis a long time ago that I would go on tour. He's taken me quite seriously."
"Oh, but I bet you could come up with something on the fly," he goads. How can Lestat argue in the face of Daniel's total faith in his artistic soul? C'monnn.
Poetry is rough, though. Daniel, a writer, has no knack for it. No artist's brush for his journalistic endeavors, just a sledgehammer and a knife. At least it worked well enough to pry Louis free of his prison.
(The warden of which now haunts Daniel.)
"You told me you want to be a rock star. Seems to follow the same track. Do you actually want to tour?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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.
no subject
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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Not even Louis can hide from FOIA requests. Daniel does his homework and teaches his assistants how to do the same. He really wasn't respecting that NDA, Fake Rashid had been correct to be annoyed. Anyway, Jeannie insists she would never ask anyone besides her actual employer to eat somebody, but if Louis is looking to buy out some dickhead—
It could be delicate. Or it could just be people, being normal, being out and about.
Not quite going out to see a shitty movie, but, you know.Mortals and vampires cannot live peacefully side by side, not all of them. But maybe a few.And maybe that's enough?
'Do you mind babysitting?' this time, a query for Louis.
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His thumbnail sets delicately to one of Mark's painted fingertips, making a little show of considering. Of course, with any acquisition, Louis likes to see what he's buying but he has made exceptions in the past—
I don't think they need a babysitter, is not declining, only putting a little point on something unspoken. Perhaps Louis is the one being baby-sat, kept company while Daniel and Lestat go out to hunt.
Mark is laughing as Jeannie pulls a face, describing the condition of the building. A fixer-upper, doesn't Louis like those...?
But I can stay with them. Go on ahead with him, they'll keep me busy.
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Past Daniel, Jeannie is trying to give Lestat back his phone. He snaps his focus in this direction, awarding her a bright smile, merci beaucoup, ma belle, he's never murdered anyone in his life.
'Well?' is for Daniel.
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Out loud: "Alright, scoot, kid, we're gonna get donuts—"
Sure, donuts. Minor commotion as Jeannie gets up to let the two immortal men out, some more chat, Mark offers to give Louis space and sit next to Jeannie, Jeannie says she's fine with her own entire bench, what color should Louis paint his nails?
"Keep an eye on him, he gets lonely." This instruction to the mortals, about Louis. And to Louis, Daniel sends, 'You'll let me know if you need, or want, anything?'
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Of course, Louis lies, head tipped up to them as Lestat and Daniel extricate themselves from the booth.
"Have fun," sounds a little more like Be careful, but that can't be helped.
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well, this "Mark", but also, leaving Louis behind in general, exclusion, certainly now that Louis has confessed to no longer hating the prospect of hunting together.
But it seems the other two vampires have organised some logistics, par for the course, so he slants a smile at him as if to assure him they will indeed have fun, before they move on out of the diner.
"They're too bold, your humans," Lestat tells Daniel, once they're out of earshot. He might be joking. Hard to tell, in this moment. "They might begin thinking all of our kind are as agreeable as we."
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Neither of them will end up immortal. Most people won't. Just how it is. Better that way.
"Are you agreeable?"
We have fun.
"All my better, older researchers quit when I doubled down on the book. My editor of thirty years dropped me. Jeannie stayed." Daniel shrugs. "They're making their own choices. I hope they don't end up killed for it."
A sentiment that sounds borderline dismissive, but it's a real concern. The thing is—
"Do you really want to talk about how modern youth generations are too rooted in despair to fear gruesome deaths?"
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"No," Lestat says, next, flicking his attention back forwards, taking off his glasses, folding up the cheap plastic to pocket. He would hate to lose them in the imminent violences, casting a look around for some midnight snack options. Caffeinated truckers, black coffee and Red Bull, but who knows what other qualities this place will attract in the middle of the night. "I would have to talk about how in my day, gruesome death clogged the gutters. Existential dread, a rich man's game. Hence the guillotines."
Of course, ask a young human Lestat about it all, and he'd not have wanted to talk about any of that either.
"What would you like to talk about, Daniel?"
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Guillotines do sound nice, though. For comedic effect, Daniel does not shield very well when he imagines several presidential candidates and a few CEOs being beheaded as they head outside, towards rows of gasoline pumps.
It's not snowing out, but the weather seems like it might turn that way any moment. Freezing cold and just damp enough to have the threat of it in the air, fluffy clouds dotting a dark velvet sky hovering with potential. Beneath feet, parking lot asphalt sounds sharp, bits of grass peeking through the cracks sound crunchy. Daniel thinks they're looking for someone traveling alone, maybe taking a bit of a wander. He's gotten good at figuring out where cameras are through sound, though he does not yet have the ability to nudge them away.
He's a good listener about composing. Music is cool.
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Like guillotines, maybe. Lestat cannot provide Daniel any gory memory reels in playful reply, however. He'd hated to watch that kind of thing back when.
So. Songwriting.
"Well," he reports, as they scout around for their likeliest meal. In no particular rush to do so, despite his complaining. "Tonight, I have a melody to untangle. It exists somewhere, and I only need to discover it." A little gesture, hands lifting, fingers spidering after invisible keys. "Unfortunately for you both, lyric comes after."
So, no Lestat singing broken poetry in loops on the way to Canada, probably. They will be forced to make conversation to fill the void instead. His hands slip back into his coat pockets.
"I told Louis a long time ago that I would go on tour. He's taken me quite seriously."
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Poetry is rough, though. Daniel, a writer, has no knack for it. No artist's brush for his journalistic endeavors, just a sledgehammer and a knife. At least it worked well enough to pry Louis free of his prison.
(The warden of which now haunts Daniel.)
"You told me you want to be a rock star. Seems to follow the same track. Do you actually want to tour?"
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