Shockingly, Louis isn't overly impressed by a Shrek coloring book page. He does find something nice to say about shading, use of blending.
Probably no danger of Louis stealing it off the wall.
His accent comes through so clearly tonight, summoned maybe by drink, maybe by Lestat's chosen toast. A little loose, drinking slower now, no intentions towards the kind of excess Lestat and Daniel have seen from him at different points in his life.
"Would you like one of us to scare away your competition?"
A strong choice of word to describe the others lined up for a turn on the stage.
Lestat is watching a lady in real time realise she has drastically underestimated the vocal prowess of both Agnetha and Frida, his chin settled in his hand and allowing himself to be amused rather than judgmental about a voice reaching and failing to grasp certain heights. Points for enthusiasm. He sways a little in place to the music.
Twists enough in his posture to glance across at Louis. A roll of his eyes, but an affectionate one. What competition, yadda yadda.
"Maybe whoever has put down 'Hallelujah' that I saw. After this one, I think." To Daniel, tipping in the other direction to indicate he is being asked, "Buckley or Cohen?"
Well, some covers of that can be lively, but Lestat's right. It'd bring the mood down, and anyway—
He pulls a face. "KD Lang."
Buckley is too watery and Cohen is overplayed, he's rejecting both options. (Which one of them did the version in Shrek, speaking of? But the answer is neither, but a third guy doing yet another version still not as convincing as Lang. When you want a job done right, a lesbian, etc.)
Louis has straightened in his seat, absently tugging the sleeves of his cardigan up as he observes the room. Quicker than Daniel, having spent no time contemplating the various versions of the song in questions, nods towards a willowy woman, red hair braided into two plaits.
"Her," Louis indicates.
Not alone. A full table, mixed company. Louis considers them for a moment.
"Her boyfriend is hoping to leave," is tacked on, something to consider. "He and the bartender had a fight last time he was here."
The look Molloy gets certainly contains a slur in it. A fond one.
Lestat slides a look to where Louis indicates. Yes, this young women is quite proud of her 'Hallelujah' rendition, convincing herself that her skill will outweigh the compromised vibe. "She doesn't remember how many verses it has," he adds, although perhaps the karaoke version has less.
Whatever. She's in his way. A glance back to Louis is all affection for his handsome fledgling flexes his powers. "What about?" in part because he is rewarding good behaviour, but he would also like to know what dweebs get into fights about in Vermont.
He can tell Lestat is fawning over Louis, so he doesn't interject with anything— instead, hops up because he sees Jeannie's truck stop-purchased knit cap (trying not to rhyme Jeannie and beanie here in this tag) peeking up over some senior citizen heads towards the denser part of the crowd by the bar.
"I'll be back," he advises the other two vampires, and hops up to grab her.
Given the crush of people, it may take a minute, especially if she's in line for booze. They have plenty, though, so—
A hum of acknowledgement, a little nudge at the edge of Daniel's mind not unlike a hand at his elbow. Absent kind of gesture that says Don't be long, even as Louis' attention swings between Lestat and the subject of their gossip.
Louis props his chin back on his knuckles. Closes his eyes briefly, fingers of his free hand circling the rim of his cup. He dips into one mind, then the other, skimming through thoughts and impressions. Louis lets them make a picture, bring it into focus. Opens his eyes to look back across the table at Lestat.
Relates, "Football. Misplaced bet, some lost money and a tab that was left unpaid. She smoothed it over."
All for the opportunity to skip a verse of Hallelujah in front of a crowd.
"Riveting," Lestat says, with a smile that says: it is a little riveting, if only because Louis is saying it.
Spares a glance aside, noting Daniel's journey to pick up his mortals. If Lestat is going to be honest with himself, he is not terribly concerned that Mark will steal Louis away from him—but he is jealous anyway, just of the little things. Of sitting near, of doing nails, of playing at flirting without it all feeling miserable and fraught.
But he doesn't feel too miserable and fraught in this moment, a sliver of time with them at a table, and Lestat suffused with enough vodka and tequila not to wander too far from the present moment.
"How will you make her go away?" is teasing, a challenge.
Edited (random space begone) 2024-12-30 05:17 (UTC)
A little smile back, one that must be familiar because Louis had worn it often in New Orleans. Worn it each time he intended to get up to something, each time they were out and the night was going well, and Louis had something to whisper into Lestat's ear or tease him with over the table.
"I think if he goes, she will go with him," Louis says, very serious in his estimation in spite of the levity in his face. "So maybe he needs to be asked to leave. There is no tolerance here for fighting."
Aware they are going to ruin someone's night. Louis is comfortable with the concept. Except, there is a caveat—
"If I let him hit me, you'll have to promise not to take it personally."
"Louis," is chiding, but more like he is reacting to being bought a lavish gift rather than being told of imminent violence.
It helps that a punch thrown by some human guy won't do a lick of harm to any of them. A kitten batting its paws. A kitten from Vermont, at that. "I promise," he says. "And you must promise me that you do not get kicked out and miss my performance."
Grin widening, Louis reassures, "No one's going to kick me out."
The picture of innocence. Who would believe this to be the face of an instigator?
Louis tosses back the remainder of his drink, sets down the cup. Turns his head to observe again their target, watch as the girl gets up from her seat. A light brush of her mind reveals the intention: circle the bar, locate the one missing friend from their number.
"Pour me another for when I get back," Louis says, rising from his seat. "I'll be a few minutes."
It turns out that zillennial mortals aren't going to drink straight spirit shots after having mixed cocktails and light beer with dinner, and Daniel is held hostage at the bar with their new additions. Jeannie is delighted at the prospect of karaoke (watching only, she says), and aghast at the cocktail prices (Daniel is incredulous at this, given her paychecks), and everyone else—
(everyone else?)
—is happy to pick one thing, or maybe two things in case there's a line later, and get on with, and so at last, a small group of people begins moving back to the table at which there is...
Only Lestat, but it's easy to identify which way Louis went from the way he is gazing lovingly in his direction.
Everyone's glasses are refilled with straight vodka, Louis' waiting for him at his empty seat that is otherwise claimed with the drape of his coat. Lestat tears his focus away towards Daniel, who gets a smile and a little flutter of a gesture to invite him and Jeannie (at least?) down to sit.
"Louis is going to fight someone," he announces, pleased. "Not too seriously, I think. We can watch from here."
Louis has plucked a prop from a cluttered table as he passed, a neglected cup of water doing who knows what among half-empty pint glasses and discarded bottles. Moving at a graceful clip through the bar, Louis has very little to do other than step in front of the girl at the right moment and let the jostling around the bar do the work for him.
Water splashes up Louis' forearm (mercifully, most of the cups contents splatters onto the floor) and soaks the cuffed sleeve. Louis knocks back into another patron. The girl looks mortified, reaching already for him. No mind-reading necessary to gather her response, an embarrassed: Are you okay?
And then seems to actually see Louis, and blushes pink, pinker when Louis smiles back at her.
Across the room, a head swivels. The tow-headed boyfriend, already short of patience, narrowing his eyes as he observes the interaction.
"Are you starting a fight? In a karaoke bar? About Hallelujah?"
Daniel is carrying a horrible-looking concoction which has both a pink cocktail umbrella and a novelty snowman straw. He mostly thought Lestat would appreciate it. Behind him, flanked like a down-on-their luck hockey team just looking to turn things around for a heroic rags-to-riches story, is Jeannie, Mark, Rachida who was just kindly giving the aforementioned pair a ride but then got peer pressured into coming along so Jeannie isn't the only girl and couldn't figure out how to say no without being extremely rude to her boss's guests, and the other employee of Louis' who was in the car, because it seemed weird to leave him out. Everyone has an overpriced mixed drink.
is sort of like assurance, but distracted from delivery as he realises that the number of anticipated mortals has grown. Feels a sort of crotchety irritation for it that bleeds into exasperation in a glance slid to Daniel (they're vampires!!!) but otherwise, as long as none of them are stealing Louis' seat from beside him—
Lestat points. "See, there," at the boyfriend who is rising from his seat, making an urgent line through the venue to where Louis is smiling so charmingly to the woman. Exasperation melts away into fondness. Unable to be anything but pleased at Louis going to the trouble.
Across the room, Louis has taken this woman's hand in his own. Laci, she is stammering out, a flustered introduction as Louis steadies her. Reaches up to brush a stray wisp of hair back from her forehead as he reassures, Ain't no harm done. It's only water.
And hardly any water on Louis, but Laci is hardly keeping track.
It's crowded. Everyone in this place is required to stand close, to some degree. Louis is only being polite, reassuring, a most innocent collision, a most innocent exchange of apologies. Innocent, to everyone except Laci's boyfriend.
A few hoots from the tables adjacent vampires and co. A groan from a heavy-set man, his ABBA-enthusiast partner muttering, There goes Thad again. A few scraping chairs, people rising as Thad hones in on his target.
The desired outcome plays out: Laci shrieking. Thad's fist cracks across Louis' jaw. Some minor scuffling. A trio of patrons tug Thad backwards. Louis, dramatically touching fingers to his jaw, swelling lower lip, expression bewildered and furious. The bartender jabbing a thumb towards the door while Laci's entire table empties out, scrambling to catch up as Thad is hauled out, Laci shouting at him, trailing behind.
Presently, Louis being fussed over by two of the waitresses. Bound to be sent back to the table with ice for his battle wounds, extra drinks, and so on. He has not yet turned back to the table, containing his smug satisfaction until certain of victory.
Jeannie gasps (for real this time), Mark takes a deep sip from his cocktail to keep from laughing, and Louis' longsuffering employees who are paid very well not to react to insane things observe this with stone faces. (Rachida had a tame drink, and the other guy, who needs to be named still, is carrying a virgin piña colada, over a combination of lax religious beliefs and the awareness of potential designated driver responsibilities.)
Daniel sighs, but its fond.
He sets his own fancy ass cocktail on the table and slides it over near Lestat's glass, for him to discover in his own time.
The lady on stage continues to learn about ABBA's Dancing Queen, and the lesson this time is that it's close to three minutes in length. Bless her, she's leaning into the deterioration as the chaos within the audience unfolds, the sounds of shouting and the pull of focus, hitting offkey notes with a sense of comedic flare. Front table loves it.
Scattered applause erupts early as Thad and Laci and their friends empty out from the bar, Lestat joining in with polite golf clap.
"I never really got past the way the only rhyme for the titular word is 'ya'," he says, on aside, only then clocking the gifted cocktail, evoking a delighted laugh. The umbrella is taken up, twirled, and placed in Louis' full shot glass. "But perhaps that is a part of the genius," he will grant, comment tossed aside to the nameless employee while taking up his cocktail glass, rising to his feet.
Not to leave just yet, but readying to meet Louis with his hero's welcome.
The waitresses have wrapped ice into a thin, clean towel for Louis. Some last worried, agitated conversation, the concept of a lifetime ban introduced and graciously dismissed, before Louis takes his leave.
Winds through the tables and passing townies to return. A moment's pause, clocking Rachida and Ramiz' appearance alongside Daniel's mortals. Whatever silent communication passes between Louis and Rachida, it does not necessarily indicate approval.
"Got a whole fan section for your audience," Louis remarks, ice pack lowering as he draws up to the table. ABBA has surrendered the microphone. The harried bartender is scratching off lines on the clipboard.
Mr. Molloy insisted, is the explanation Rashida offers, unprompted. Ramiz slouches a little in his chair. Louis lets the ice pack drop to the table. Doesn't sit, no reach for his drink, or turn a questioning eye to Daniel.
First, Lestat. Standing, perhaps about to wind his way to the stage.
"They gonna call you," is a little smug. Giving himself a moment to enjoy this minor accomplishment. "Ready?"
Cruelly thrown under the bus!! But he'll live. It's not like he told them to turn around and get back in the car, anyway.
"Very noble, turning the other cheek," he says, golf clap.
Louis' employees look like hostages. Jesus Christ. Daniel almost laughs about it, and maybe that's a bit of it, but he mostly ends up laughing about Jeannie's squeal of delight about Lestat heading up to sing. She covers her mouth immediately after — already a little tipsy, perhaps betraying why she has a very serious Dubai escort — and Mark pats her shoulder, sitting beside her with an arm slung around her after.
Behold a vast audience for Lestat, despite the tableful of patrons that have been kicked out.
Standing and ready to wind his way to the stage, but first—
Lestat uses his free, non-cocktail wielding hand to gently take Louis' chin and plant a kiss on his cheek, both showing off as well as tender. "Oui, mon chevalier," sounds as dramatic and sincere as anything he might say, just as the gesture itself is as absurd as it is sweet.
And his name is called. The DJ has likely read out weirder than 'The Vampire Lestat', and does so without flinching. A wink to Jeannie, and then he is on his way.
Prowling up onto the stage, Lestat takes a sip of the terrible cocktail he has been given before ducking to the mic to say, "Bonsoir Burlington," and then, voice pitched lower, "Hello, front table," which gets a louder cheer than the random whoop he got first. By now, there should be music playing, but the DJ presiding over the music has gone a little glassy eyed and lost, sitting slackly.
Mic taken up out of the stand, Lestat holding his drink aside. "I have never sang karaoke," he tells the venue as he does so. "And I have been informed we can only perform a single song at a time. But if it is worth doing once, it is worth doing the most. You," pointing to a beer-flushed face in the immediate front. "What song should be sung?"
The suggestion of Free Bird is immediate, echoed by someone else, and Lestat tips his head back dramatically and with enough exaggeration to inspire some laughs, then flicks his hand, points to someone else. "You, same question."
This time, the offer is Like A Prayer, which gets a hum of satisfaction from Lestat before casing out to the venue, "More, now," as he drinks. Someone just shouts Metallica, perhaps not understanding the assignment. Other titles drift by, Paradise City, Single Ladies, Total Eclipse of the Heart.
Does Lestat know all these songs? Louis has wondered about his immersion into the present, his only measure the flurry of touchstones exchanged between them that first night in New Orleans. Enough time has passed, perhaps, for Lestat to have caught up. Or caught up enough that he can pluck something workable from the sampling laid out for him.
(It feels as if the press of Lestat's lip left a scorch mark on his cheek. It's a distraction.)
Rachida and Ramiz unavoidably altar Louis' presence. Whatever seamless working relationship they have is demonstrably not the same relationship Daniel enjoys with Jeannie, though this mustn't come as any kind of surprise. A tightening of Louis' affect, his posture, winding back in where he had loosened by degrees earlier as he'd relaxed into Lestat and Daniel's company. Cup untouched, fingers toying with the frayed hem of the ice-chilled cloth on the table as Louis observes Lestat command the room.
(Thinks of New Orleans. Lestat inviting himself behind Jelly Roll's piano. Lestat in their parlor, humming over a new piece of sheet music.)
Back table?
Louis turns his eyes to the assembly of mortals, to Daniel. Raises an eyebrow, but offers no suggestion of his own just yet.
If they are really going to do some kind of Downton Abbey can't-interact-with-the-help paranoia, Daniel will take pity on everyone involved and free Louis' employees after (round one of?) Lestat's performance. But he's going to laugh about it, because it seems entirely crazy to him that Louis is uncomfortable with his goons having one single funny work memory, preferring to keep it all to muted horror stories they have to take to their graves.
Too long in the fucking tower, he thinks.
He also thinks—
"Hallelujah!" he suggests, innocent, because he is a funny guy.
But before Lestat can teleport to the back of the bar and put him in a headlock, Jeannie shouts, "STEVIE NICKS!" and this gets a hoot of support from somebody else at the bar proper.
Lestat is busy drinking rum and coloured liqueur and simple syrup through a novelty snowman straw so his response to Daniel is a mute bird flip, and then a pointing of approval at Jeannie. He sweeps his hand across to another table, where someone gamely suggests Bohemian Rhapsody, which gets a boo from the bar, which prompts some counter-jeering. More titles are collected, from Elton John to Taylor Swift, as Lestat goes to set his cocktail aside.
"Alright," he says, moving back to centre stage. "I've heard enough out of all of you. Maestro," to the DJ, who blinks, coming out of the fog they were pushed into.
No one had suggested Juke Box Hero by Foreigner, but nevertheless, this is the opening bassline that pulses from the speakers. An unconventional hijacking of the stage has drawn focus, peripheral conversations dying out to instead focus on the stage and replaced with a sort of anticipatory confusion. No lyrics show up on the screen just yet, but Lestat begins to sing anyway.
"Just like the white winged dove sings a song, sounds like she's singing," is Stevie Nicks, key and tempo adjusted to his own voice, the backing track, and it diverts swiftly into, "Like a dog without a bone, an actor out on loan, riders on the storm," blending in the Doors seamlessly. He gets through snatches of Taylor Swift (a moody tribute to Shake It Off) and Madonna before the tempo and noise kicks in, pivoting to Joan Jett's love of rock and roll.
And so on. He is very annoying and front table is losing their shit.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Probably no danger of Louis stealing it off the wall.
His accent comes through so clearly tonight, summoned maybe by drink, maybe by Lestat's chosen toast. A little loose, drinking slower now, no intentions towards the kind of excess Lestat and Daniel have seen from him at different points in his life.
"Would you like one of us to scare away your competition?"
A strong choice of word to describe the others lined up for a turn on the stage.
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Twists enough in his posture to glance across at Louis. A roll of his eyes, but an affectionate one. What competition, yadda yadda.
"Maybe whoever has put down 'Hallelujah' that I saw. After this one, I think." To Daniel, tipping in the other direction to indicate he is being asked, "Buckley or Cohen?"
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He pulls a face. "KD Lang."
Buckley is too watery and Cohen is overplayed, he's rejecting both options. (Which one of them did the version in Shrek, speaking of? But the answer is neither, but a third guy doing yet another version still not as convincing as Lang. When you want a job done right, a lesbian, etc.)
"Let's see..."
Psychic games. Who's trying to Free Bird?
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Louis has straightened in his seat, absently tugging the sleeves of his cardigan up as he observes the room. Quicker than Daniel, having spent no time contemplating the various versions of the song in questions, nods towards a willowy woman, red hair braided into two plaits.
"Her," Louis indicates.
Not alone. A full table, mixed company. Louis considers them for a moment.
"Her boyfriend is hoping to leave," is tacked on, something to consider. "He and the bartender had a fight last time he was here."
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Lestat slides a look to where Louis indicates. Yes, this young women is quite proud of her 'Hallelujah' rendition, convincing herself that her skill will outweigh the compromised vibe. "She doesn't remember how many verses it has," he adds, although perhaps the karaoke version has less.
Whatever. She's in his way. A glance back to Louis is all affection for his handsome fledgling flexes his powers. "What about?" in part because he is rewarding good behaviour, but he would also like to know what dweebs get into fights about in Vermont.
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"I'll be back," he advises the other two vampires, and hops up to grab her.
Given the crush of people, it may take a minute, especially if she's in line for booze. They have plenty, though, so—
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Louis props his chin back on his knuckles. Closes his eyes briefly, fingers of his free hand circling the rim of his cup. He dips into one mind, then the other, skimming through thoughts and impressions. Louis lets them make a picture, bring it into focus. Opens his eyes to look back across the table at Lestat.
Relates, "Football. Misplaced bet, some lost money and a tab that was left unpaid. She smoothed it over."
All for the opportunity to skip a verse of Hallelujah in front of a crowd.
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Spares a glance aside, noting Daniel's journey to pick up his mortals. If Lestat is going to be honest with himself, he is not terribly concerned that Mark will steal Louis away from him—but he is jealous anyway, just of the little things. Of sitting near, of doing nails, of playing at flirting without it all feeling miserable and fraught.
But he doesn't feel too miserable and fraught in this moment, a sliver of time with them at a table, and Lestat suffused with enough vodka and tequila not to wander too far from the present moment.
"How will you make her go away?" is teasing, a challenge.
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"I think if he goes, she will go with him," Louis says, very serious in his estimation in spite of the levity in his face. "So maybe he needs to be asked to leave. There is no tolerance here for fighting."
Aware they are going to ruin someone's night. Louis is comfortable with the concept. Except, there is a caveat—
"If I let him hit me, you'll have to promise not to take it personally."
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It helps that a punch thrown by some human guy won't do a lick of harm to any of them. A kitten batting its paws. A kitten from Vermont, at that. "I promise," he says. "And you must promise me that you do not get kicked out and miss my performance."
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The picture of innocence. Who would believe this to be the face of an instigator?
Louis tosses back the remainder of his drink, sets down the cup. Turns his head to observe again their target, watch as the girl gets up from her seat. A light brush of her mind reveals the intention: circle the bar, locate the one missing friend from their number.
"Pour me another for when I get back," Louis says, rising from his seat. "I'll be a few minutes."
And heads off to intercept.
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(everyone else?)
—is happy to pick one thing, or maybe two things in case there's a line later, and get on with, and so at last, a small group of people begins moving back to the table at which there is...
only Lestat?
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Everyone's glasses are refilled with straight vodka, Louis' waiting for him at his empty seat that is otherwise claimed with the drape of his coat. Lestat tears his focus away towards Daniel, who gets a smile and a little flutter of a gesture to invite him and Jeannie (at least?) down to sit.
"Louis is going to fight someone," he announces, pleased. "Not too seriously, I think. We can watch from here."
no subject
Louis has plucked a prop from a cluttered table as he passed, a neglected cup of water doing who knows what among half-empty pint glasses and discarded bottles. Moving at a graceful clip through the bar, Louis has very little to do other than step in front of the girl at the right moment and let the jostling around the bar do the work for him.
Water splashes up Louis' forearm (mercifully, most of the cups contents splatters onto the floor) and soaks the cuffed sleeve. Louis knocks back into another patron. The girl looks mortified, reaching already for him. No mind-reading necessary to gather her response, an embarrassed: Are you okay?
And then seems to actually see Louis, and blushes pink, pinker when Louis smiles back at her.
Across the room, a head swivels. The tow-headed boyfriend, already short of patience, narrowing his eyes as he observes the interaction.
Phase one of this plan: complete.
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Daniel is carrying a horrible-looking concoction which has both a pink cocktail umbrella and a novelty snowman straw. He mostly thought Lestat would appreciate it. Behind him, flanked like a down-on-their luck hockey team just looking to turn things around for a heroic rags-to-riches story, is Jeannie, Mark, Rachida who was just kindly giving the aforementioned pair a ride but then got peer pressured into coming along so Jeannie isn't the only girl and couldn't figure out how to say no without being extremely rude to her boss's guests, and the other employee of Louis' who was in the car, because it seemed weird to leave him out. Everyone has an overpriced mixed drink.
Gasp.
no subject
is sort of like assurance, but distracted from delivery as he realises that the number of anticipated mortals has grown. Feels a sort of crotchety irritation for it that bleeds into exasperation in a glance slid to Daniel (they're vampires!!!) but otherwise, as long as none of them are stealing Louis' seat from beside him—
Lestat points. "See, there," at the boyfriend who is rising from his seat, making an urgent line through the venue to where Louis is smiling so charmingly to the woman. Exasperation melts away into fondness. Unable to be anything but pleased at Louis going to the trouble.
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And hardly any water on Louis, but Laci is hardly keeping track.
It's crowded. Everyone in this place is required to stand close, to some degree. Louis is only being polite, reassuring, a most innocent collision, a most innocent exchange of apologies. Innocent, to everyone except Laci's boyfriend.
A few hoots from the tables adjacent vampires and co. A groan from a heavy-set man, his ABBA-enthusiast partner muttering, There goes Thad again. A few scraping chairs, people rising as Thad hones in on his target.
The desired outcome plays out: Laci shrieking. Thad's fist cracks across Louis' jaw. Some minor scuffling. A trio of patrons tug Thad backwards. Louis, dramatically touching fingers to his jaw, swelling lower lip, expression bewildered and furious. The bartender jabbing a thumb towards the door while Laci's entire table empties out, scrambling to catch up as Thad is hauled out, Laci shouting at him, trailing behind.
Presently, Louis being fussed over by two of the waitresses. Bound to be sent back to the table with ice for his battle wounds, extra drinks, and so on. He has not yet turned back to the table, containing his smug satisfaction until certain of victory.
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Daniel sighs, but its fond.
He sets his own fancy ass cocktail on the table and slides it over near Lestat's glass, for him to discover in his own time.
"Thad is the most Vermont name."
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Scattered applause erupts early as Thad and Laci and their friends empty out from the bar, Lestat joining in with polite golf clap.
"I never really got past the way the only rhyme for the titular word is 'ya'," he says, on aside, only then clocking the gifted cocktail, evoking a delighted laugh. The umbrella is taken up, twirled, and placed in Louis' full shot glass. "But perhaps that is a part of the genius," he will grant, comment tossed aside to the nameless employee while taking up his cocktail glass, rising to his feet.
Not to leave just yet, but readying to meet Louis with his hero's welcome.
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Winds through the tables and passing townies to return. A moment's pause, clocking Rachida and Ramiz' appearance alongside Daniel's mortals. Whatever silent communication passes between Louis and Rachida, it does not necessarily indicate approval.
"Got a whole fan section for your audience," Louis remarks, ice pack lowering as he draws up to the table. ABBA has surrendered the microphone. The harried bartender is scratching off lines on the clipboard.
Mr. Molloy insisted, is the explanation Rashida offers, unprompted. Ramiz slouches a little in his chair. Louis lets the ice pack drop to the table. Doesn't sit, no reach for his drink, or turn a questioning eye to Daniel.
First, Lestat. Standing, perhaps about to wind his way to the stage.
"They gonna call you," is a little smug. Giving himself a moment to enjoy this minor accomplishment. "Ready?"
no subject
"Very noble, turning the other cheek," he says, golf clap.
Louis' employees look like hostages. Jesus Christ. Daniel almost laughs about it, and maybe that's a bit of it, but he mostly ends up laughing about Jeannie's squeal of delight about Lestat heading up to sing. She covers her mouth immediately after — already a little tipsy, perhaps betraying why she has a very serious Dubai escort — and Mark pats her shoulder, sitting beside her with an arm slung around her after.
Behold a vast audience for Lestat, despite the tableful of patrons that have been kicked out.
no subject
Lestat uses his free, non-cocktail wielding hand to gently take Louis' chin and plant a kiss on his cheek, both showing off as well as tender. "Oui, mon chevalier," sounds as dramatic and sincere as anything he might say, just as the gesture itself is as absurd as it is sweet.
And his name is called. The DJ has likely read out weirder than 'The Vampire Lestat', and does so without flinching. A wink to Jeannie, and then he is on his way.
Prowling up onto the stage, Lestat takes a sip of the terrible cocktail he has been given before ducking to the mic to say, "Bonsoir Burlington," and then, voice pitched lower, "Hello, front table," which gets a louder cheer than the random whoop he got first. By now, there should be music playing, but the DJ presiding over the music has gone a little glassy eyed and lost, sitting slackly.
Mic taken up out of the stand, Lestat holding his drink aside. "I have never sang karaoke," he tells the venue as he does so. "And I have been informed we can only perform a single song at a time. But if it is worth doing once, it is worth doing the most. You," pointing to a beer-flushed face in the immediate front. "What song should be sung?"
The suggestion of Free Bird is immediate, echoed by someone else, and Lestat tips his head back dramatically and with enough exaggeration to inspire some laughs, then flicks his hand, points to someone else. "You, same question."
This time, the offer is Like A Prayer, which gets a hum of satisfaction from Lestat before casing out to the venue, "More, now," as he drinks. Someone just shouts Metallica, perhaps not understanding the assignment. Other titles drift by, Paradise City, Single Ladies, Total Eclipse of the Heart.
"Back table?" Lestat prompts.
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(It feels as if the press of Lestat's lip left a scorch mark on his cheek. It's a distraction.)
Rachida and Ramiz unavoidably altar Louis' presence. Whatever seamless working relationship they have is demonstrably not the same relationship Daniel enjoys with Jeannie, though this mustn't come as any kind of surprise. A tightening of Louis' affect, his posture, winding back in where he had loosened by degrees earlier as he'd relaxed into Lestat and Daniel's company. Cup untouched, fingers toying with the frayed hem of the ice-chilled cloth on the table as Louis observes Lestat command the room.
(Thinks of New Orleans. Lestat inviting himself behind Jelly Roll's piano. Lestat in their parlor, humming over a new piece of sheet music.)
Back table?
Louis turns his eyes to the assembly of mortals, to Daniel. Raises an eyebrow, but offers no suggestion of his own just yet.
Well?
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Too long in the fucking tower, he thinks.
He also thinks—
"Hallelujah!" he suggests, innocent, because he is a funny guy.
But before Lestat can teleport to the back of the bar and put him in a headlock, Jeannie shouts, "STEVIE NICKS!" and this gets a hoot of support from somebody else at the bar proper.
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"Alright," he says, moving back to centre stage. "I've heard enough out of all of you. Maestro," to the DJ, who blinks, coming out of the fog they were pushed into.
No one had suggested Juke Box Hero by Foreigner, but nevertheless, this is the opening bassline that pulses from the speakers. An unconventional hijacking of the stage has drawn focus, peripheral conversations dying out to instead focus on the stage and replaced with a sort of anticipatory confusion. No lyrics show up on the screen just yet, but Lestat begins to sing anyway.
"Just like the white winged dove sings a song, sounds like she's singing," is Stevie Nicks, key and tempo adjusted to his own voice, the backing track, and it diverts swiftly into, "Like a dog without a bone, an actor out on loan, riders on the storm," blending in the Doors seamlessly. He gets through snatches of Taylor Swift (a moody tribute to Shake It Off) and Madonna before the tempo and noise kicks in, pivoting to Joan Jett's love of rock and roll.
And so on. He is very annoying and front table is losing their shit.
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enjoy a tag of nothing
eats it
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elbows an extra tag in here
owie
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yet another tag of nothing
nothing but uwu eyes
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