Not because of the songs, all a far cry from anything that might have come from New Orleans over eighty years ago.
It is nostalgic to watch Lestat because it is as Louis remembers. Lestat stepping onto a stage he had so little business occupying and making it all his own, making the audience his own.
Yes, he is so annoying. Annoying and still—
Compelling. Magnetic. Louis feels as if the air he doesn't necessarily need to breathe thins. The room is warm and Lestat is singing and Louis has stopped his idle fidgeting with the damp cloth meant to be shrinking the bruising on his face.
Lestat looks at him and Louis smiles, a small pull of complicated reaction to the way Lestat shifts gravity beneath them.
Doesn't look anywhere but at him. Awareness expanded to keep track of the mortals around them, if anyone attempts to stage a mutiny, but without pressing distraction there is nothing more important to do but watch Lestat sing. Remember their lives together. Mourn it a little, maybe, even though that is not the purpose of this outing.
Daniel had been incredulous when Louis told the Wolverine Blues story. Some white guy slyly dragging in credit for a jazz standard, incidental or not. The recording of his voice for his love song was compelling, the tone of it had stuck in his head for the rest of the day and a while into the next, but still just a flawed recording.
So of course he's great. A jukebox musical straight from Broadway-pop, the kind of thing only somebody who really, really loves music could pull off at the drop of a hat. Even with superpowers. He listens, cheers along with the biggest swells of crowd reactivity, and thinks Lestat could probably read the alphabet and have most everyone in here enraptured, but he's really doing something special. Goofy, sure, obnoxious, definitely, but special. Enough that several tipsy patrons have their phones out, but hey, they opened that pandora's box a long time ago. No one's ripping any van doors off, Talamasca can let this one out into the wild. They're part of the fucking world now.
Master of Puppets gets a chorus spot, shared with Paradise City, an unlikely pivot to Hey There Delilah and Hallelujah into the next verse. The sense that a coherent song could be formed from slightly less songs is there, but clear joy being had instead in climbing his way through the various melodies, lines blending together, some left broken and unfinished in favour of a musically more pleasant transition. Most songs collected from the audience are stitched in, and a host of ones chosen by himself as he pleases. Kiss, Bon Jovi, Hendrix.
Lestat is, in an unironic sense, having fun. Shines under attention, whether it's appreciation or amusement, and sneaks some looks to his table of varied friends (and servants), a breath of a laugh fluttering between words into the mic when he catches Daniel cheer. Casts a smile back to Louis, thinks too of other such moments, playing in the Azalea, in their parlour. He is also a little drunk, which helps make this a pleasant experience instead of sad nostalgia.
He finishes up with the lyrics that belong to the track, showing off by matching Lou Gramm's vocals, a dramatic collapse to his knees on the very last strike of percussion. The Vermonter crowd cheers. It'll probably do some rounds on TikTok. He purrs his thank you into the mic before sliding down off the stage, sweaty and strutting and definitely insufferably pleased with himself, with some of the dignity stolen out of the moment when he skips the last few feet over.
His hands land on Louis' shoulders from behind. The DJ is saying something that they all only get one before he's turning the car around, and that was it.
Hands on Louis' shoulders, Lestat's presence returned to the table. Lestat has always filled a space, and on the heels of his successes, his effect is magnified three-fold.
Louis' hand drifts up, briefly catching Lestat's where he has laid them. A light graze of contact, welcoming, before Louis looks around the room. Laughs a little.
"You've scared off the rest," Louis observes, unnecessarily. The long lag time between Lestat's departure and the ascension of some other karaoke hopeful signals some reluctance to follow Lestat's performance.
A hero's welcome at the back table, the most enthusiasm from Jeannie, who is completely forgetting her own brand of professionalism to cheer loudly. Rachida and Ramiz clap politely, as though not sure if they're allowed to emote. Jeannie, bless her, does not notice, she thinks they are doing the gig economy version of an HR retreat, but she will be sober for the actual book signing. She promises. Normal applause from Daniel and Mark.
"That was pretty fucking cool."
(Mark tells Jeannie he loves it when her seventy year old boss says cool.)
"The undergrad population of Burlingon is going to have a collective winter longing for dazzling karaoke."
And then—
To break the ice of following actual talent, some brave soldier has chosen Sir Mix-A-Lot's Baby Got Back.
Lestat reaches with his other hand to reveal Louis' untouched shot of vodka from where he'd placed the cocktail umbrella inside. Maybe this confused him. Maybe it's the presence of the help nearby, who get a sweep of appraisal as Lestat moves aside to sit at his shared corner with Louis. Or shared side with Daniel. Depends on your perspective.
"Then my education has paid off," he says as he smooths the spokes of the umbrella outward to fan it in reverse. Twirls his handiwork before reaching over to (attempt to) place this behind Louis' ear, like a flower.
For the record, he means Daniel recommending him old man tunes here and there. The kindness of a pair of headphones. Some attribution is perhaps due. "I believe impressing children is half the battle, with a career in rock and roll."
'What's with the long faces?' in private aside to Daniel, re the help down the end.
Briefly, Louis swivels to assess the brave soul ascending the stage. Narrows his eyes. Perhaps considers whether or not he can get away with a second fight, and decides not to push his luck.
Or remain at the table to indulge Lestat and his cocktail umbrella. He permits the nudge of Lestat's fingers for a little longer than one might have guessed before reaching up to snag the umbrella and twirl it in his fingers.
'I think having fun might be forbidden in their employment contracts,' to Lestat, with a note of wry humor. Louis is funny sometimes, even if he doesn't realize it. Daniel considers blaming Armand for this, but—
1) let's not bring up Armand 2) on second thought, it probably is just Louis
"Hey," he protests, speaking of Louis. Catching the implication of himself being included in 'children'. "The diva and I have a great understanding about classic rock, thank you." A beat. "'Diva' is the same in French, right? Is it gendered?"
Lestat gives up his beautifying, instead reaching to grab up the nearest bottle of liquor. "La diva," he says. "Le diva."
'That's new.' Nothing too dire or so serious in this observation, only making it. 'New' is likely relative when his reference point are the prostitutes and muscle that Louis was friendly with literally one hundred years ago, but wHaT's tImE to a wAmpiye, and so on. He tests out a smile at Ramiz, just to see what happens.
"I refer, of course," meanwhile, to Louis, as he refills his glass, "to my future adoring audience. The collective music taste of this era, determined not by virtuoso or his friends in the newspapers, but teenagers and twenty-somethings with TikToks."
Ramiz looks quickly first to Louis, then to Rachida, seeking any clue about what to do about the Vampire Lestat, before deciding on a small, polite nod. Then turns his own gaze down to his drink, very interested in the little toothpick umbrella for the moment.
No intervention from Louis, only observation of this little routine. Observes and toys with the edge of the towel in front of him. The ice is melting. Louis sighs as he hitches the makeshift ice pack up off the table. Keeping up appearances, a necessary condition of his earlier victory.
"They'll be seeing you. Saw more than a few phones out."
And Lestat had done nothing about it, so it was likely an acceptable beginning.
Daniel moves over to Louis, making as to take a look at his 'bruise', checking up on him (not checking him out rELAX, LESTAT) like any good grandpa figure might. The towel is a horrible barback towel and he's taking it away from Louis, to be replaced with the ice going into one of the glasses. There. This is better.
An aside to Lestat,
'Some hellos then I'll cut them loose so Louis can relax, I think.'
"Not enough alcohol in you to give it a go yet?" to Louis.
A softening of expression, something nearing a smile, as Daniel takes him by the jaw and applies the ice. Degrees of thaw, easy to clock at this vantage point. Or easy to clock because it's Daniel, who misses nothing.
"One performance ain't enough?"
Not everyone ascends the stage. Some of us instigate bar fights and sell surprise at the intrusive anger of a jealous boyfriend. Louis' head tips, into Daniel's hand, at enough of an angle to keep Lestat in his sight lines. Assess how much of this is shared demand.
Daniel smiles, returning the pleased feeling from Louis. Getting better at mental communication night by night, in addition to being able to read all his little changes in expression anyway. Alright, alright, easier for him to relax when it's just them, and 'just them' counts in public, too, as long as that public doesn't include people he feels he has to act a certain way around.
"You did great," is a huffed laugh, touching his face for a moment as he leans in. Louis has some leftover shine from the makeshift icepack's moisture, and he swipes it off with his thumb before releasing him into the care of the cocktail glass. "We'll pretend I gave you some ibuprofen to go with it."
A sharp click punctuates Lestat having knocked back a shot of vodka, glass coming down onto the table.
There is something of a tactical retreat where he looks to Jeannie, who is uncomplicatedly friendly, though there is temptation to bully the ones doing an American Gothic impression. Instead, he says, "It is a competition now to see who will not sing," as he refills his glass, and then also Daniel's glass.
She, predictably, also defers, although he can listen in to her internal monologue debating between options, if she were going to. "Dusty Springfield," he says, as if this were said out loud. "It was a success at your sister's bachelorette party, no?"
A glance over to check whether Louis and Daniel are making out yet.
If by making out, one means Daniel is returning to his seat and Louis is resting his chilly cup against his cheek. Smiling a little after him, yes, so maybe it's near to the same thing. Rachida and Ramiz have lapsed out of English to carry on a hushed conversation, perhaps a hasty construction of operating standards for the present social entanglement. Mark is toying with the ends of Jeannine's hair, looking at Louis and at Daniel.
No intrusion onto Lestat and Jeannine's conversation, the possibility of Jeannie taking to the stage interesting enough on it's own. Louis rests chin upon his knuckles, stays quiet while the red imprint of Thad's knuckles speedruns from tender swelling to bruising on Louis' jaw.
A near thing, that he does not bend down and kiss the top of Louis' head. He's happy for him, still, that same overflowing feeling as seeing him laughing and getting his nails painted. Here they are, with Lestat performing, and Louis getting to see him. Louis who had such a quiet reverence letting him listen to that old recording, who had such an impression of Lestat's bombastic performer's presence he was able to keep him as a spiritual advisor even in their years apart.
He ends up venting this tragically saccharine feeling by squeezing the diva-in-question's shoulder as he moves back around, and strikes up conversation with Ramiz and Rachida by rudely but deftly (it's a skill) butting in. The idea of a cigarette and going outside will happen soon enough, and they will offer to go along, and then be free. Daniel will be polite, chat for a while, thank them for their attention to Jeannie and Mark. He'll finish a cigarette and think about his phone and who he isn't texting.
Meanwhile, Jeannie really likes the paper umbrellas, and everything Lestat is wearing. She thinks they can convince Daniel to sing something.
And Lestat cannot help but feel endeared to it, a feeling that settles in him under Daniel's palm passing by. It is a nice night, he has enjoyed a suitable amount of adoration, and he is not feeling too evil. Affection catches him again for the previous grand gesture, and Louis earns a twinged and slightly more secret smile intended for their shared corner of the table more so than anyone else.
To pick back up the conversation, "I think between yourself and Jeannine, you could make a request he would have to look into your innocent faces and tell you 'no'," with a slight lean towards Daniel. "What do we think? Billy Joel? Neil Young? Kesha?"
Thinking of New Orleans. Of nudging his ankle against Lestat's beneath their table at the Azalea. The way Lestat would smile at him just this way, and Louis would feel it this same way, this warmth in his chest.
He rolls the cup against his jaw, looks back at Lestat. A mirrored look, a smile that has always been for him.
"Not Kesha," is perhaps Louis' version of helping. A little disqualifer to prevent Daniel from ending up singing back up vocals on TiK ToK.
Jeannie cooks up a list of things that Daniel is never going to try, because he knows better than to make himself go viral for absurdity despite his general willingness to play ball; Mark volunteers to sing I Got You Babe with her, and this makes her both very excited and very nervous, torn whether or not she'd want to go up. Mark will be terrible, but singing the Sonny half of and Cher means he can get away with it.
Anyway, they'd have to go sign up, which no one has done even by the time Daniel gets back (minus two others who have gratefully bailed)—
"I don't think I'm drunk enough for that yet, am I?"
"I mean," Lestat says, a gesture around at the table, including all of them in his address to Daniel in specific, "either you will go on stage courageous or sober. It is up to you which."
And his sense of decorum a.k.a waiting for at least one other person at this table to go sign up before he takes his second turn is close to expiring.
But he has refilled Daniel's glass, so, he is being helpful.
The breathless effort at Sir Mix-A-Lot stylings (lots of applause) has been replaced by a woman who has finally, herself, had enough themed daiquiris to get on stage and sing an extremely if slightly over embellished rendition of Part Of Your World. The talent itself gets Lestat to acknowledge the stage again with a glance. Confused. What is this song.
"It'll take more than that to sway Daniel's sobriety."
An observation made with a fond smile, softer than one might expect a smile accompanying commentary on alcohol tolerance to be. Fucked, that there is something fond lingering in the memories of San Francisco. The long hours before everything went sideways, Daniel animated and grinning and irreverent as Louis said the worst things aloud, dizzy with the relief of bleeding all those words out of his chest.
(A passing glance towards now emptied chairs at the end of the able, considering, and then deciding not to remark on the brief interlude where Rachida and Ramiz had accompanied them.)
"Disney," tacked in, low aside to Lestat, as Mark snorts at whatever is in Lestat's face as he takes in Disney's take on youthful yearning. Millenials. Louis can find these two endearing. Adds, "There was a movie, once," even if that information is not necessarily helpful.
Daniel raises his hands in protest!! Hello!! He's laughing, but still—
"Revealing my secrets! C'mon."
He's just a little old man, Louis, he can't drink everyone in the state under a table. And it is fucked, but there's something about it. A permanent link. Louis, a very real angel, and Daniel
a drug addict.
ALMOST romantic. Well, anyway. It was also fucked that they kept plying him with booze in Dubai hoping to make him a little less sharp, but that incident was funnier, because Armand kept making martinis and Daniel kept drinking them and nothing kept happening.
Jeannie hand-wrings, and Daniel tells her to bring him a top 5 list from the DJ, and he'll pick something off there. But she's got to put her name on the list with Mark, which she finally agrees to when her boyfriend suggests they put in for more Mai Tais on the walk back. Somebody else is going after Sir Mix-A-Lot anyway, they've got a few minutes at least.
"I know what Disney is," Lestat says. He knows everything. He is caught up, Louis, don't worry about it.
A glance back to Daniel, a flick of his eyeline indicates the full glass of vodka prepared especially—drink up, then—and then back to the stage, an arm slung over the back of his chair in his lean. It is important he fully absorb this mermaid song and its rising orchestral compositions and the overly emotive vibrato-filled performance by (he checks) Susan who works reception at a dentistry clinic.
And hear how it keeps going! Building up and up! Synth and piano and flute and, just as impactfully, a crescendo of silence. Unfortunately for Louis, Lestat would probably very much enjoy Broadway.
Louis' eyes flick to Daniel, as if seeking confirmation. Does Lestat know what Disney is?
Maybe Louis will very much enjoy Broadway. Perhaps his objections to past Parisian theater were very specific, and unlikely to be replicated by mortal creators. There may be only one way to know for sure.
Regardless, in the moment, Louis doesn't seem overly enraptured by Susan's musical stylings, nor her choice in song.
"How many commitments do you have here?" Louis asks Daniel across the table. Genuine curiosity. How much does Vermont wish to see Daniel Molloy
Hunchback? Mulan? His personal favorite out of the Disney Renaissance is Rescuers Down Under, but it's not a musical. Cruelly overlooked. But those mice fucking rule.
"It's not that much," he tells Louis, "just spread out over three days. There's really no fucking reason to come out here, but the owner of the book store wrote a very compelling letter about how, following that, nobody ever fucking comes out here. So there's going to be like, two people driving in from Maine, too, and whatever. A hotbed of literary excitement."
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Not because of the songs, all a far cry from anything that might have come from New Orleans over eighty years ago.
It is nostalgic to watch Lestat because it is as Louis remembers. Lestat stepping onto a stage he had so little business occupying and making it all his own, making the audience his own.
Yes, he is so annoying. Annoying and still—
Compelling. Magnetic. Louis feels as if the air he doesn't necessarily need to breathe thins. The room is warm and Lestat is singing and Louis has stopped his idle fidgeting with the damp cloth meant to be shrinking the bruising on his face.
Lestat looks at him and Louis smiles, a small pull of complicated reaction to the way Lestat shifts gravity beneath them.
Doesn't look anywhere but at him. Awareness expanded to keep track of the mortals around them, if anyone attempts to stage a mutiny, but without pressing distraction there is nothing more important to do but watch Lestat sing. Remember their lives together. Mourn it a little, maybe, even though that is not the purpose of this outing.
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So of course he's great. A jukebox musical straight from Broadway-pop, the kind of thing only somebody who really, really loves music could pull off at the drop of a hat. Even with superpowers. He listens, cheers along with the biggest swells of crowd reactivity, and thinks Lestat could probably read the alphabet and have most everyone in here enraptured, but he's really doing something special. Goofy, sure, obnoxious, definitely, but special. Enough that several tipsy patrons have their phones out, but hey, they opened that pandora's box a long time ago. No one's ripping any van doors off, Talamasca can let this one out into the wild. They're part of the fucking world now.
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Lestat is, in an unironic sense, having fun. Shines under attention, whether it's appreciation or amusement, and sneaks some looks to his table of varied friends (and servants), a breath of a laugh fluttering between words into the mic when he catches Daniel cheer. Casts a smile back to Louis, thinks too of other such moments, playing in the Azalea, in their parlour. He is also a little drunk, which helps make this a pleasant experience instead of sad nostalgia.
He finishes up with the lyrics that belong to the track, showing off by matching Lou Gramm's vocals, a dramatic collapse to his knees on the very last strike of percussion. The Vermonter crowd cheers. It'll probably do some rounds on TikTok. He purrs his thank you into the mic before sliding down off the stage, sweaty and strutting and definitely insufferably pleased with himself, with some of the dignity stolen out of the moment when he skips the last few feet over.
His hands land on Louis' shoulders from behind. The DJ is saying something that they all only get one before he's turning the car around, and that was it.
"As you can tell, I was indecisive."
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Louis' hand drifts up, briefly catching Lestat's where he has laid them. A light graze of contact, welcoming, before Louis looks around the room. Laughs a little.
"You've scared off the rest," Louis observes, unnecessarily. The long lag time between Lestat's departure and the ascension of some other karaoke hopeful signals some reluctance to follow Lestat's performance.
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"That was pretty fucking cool."
(Mark tells Jeannie he loves it when her seventy year old boss says cool.)
"The undergrad population of Burlingon is going to have a collective winter longing for dazzling karaoke."
And then—
To break the ice of following actual talent, some brave soldier has chosen Sir Mix-A-Lot's Baby Got Back.
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"Then my education has paid off," he says as he smooths the spokes of the umbrella outward to fan it in reverse. Twirls his handiwork before reaching over to (attempt to) place this behind Louis' ear, like a flower.
For the record, he means Daniel recommending him old man tunes here and there. The kindness of a pair of headphones. Some attribution is perhaps due. "I believe impressing children is half the battle, with a career in rock and roll."
'What's with the long faces?' in private aside to Daniel, re the help down the end.
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Or remain at the table to indulge Lestat and his cocktail umbrella. He permits the nudge of Lestat's fingers for a little longer than one might have guessed before reaching up to snag the umbrella and twirl it in his fingers.
"Which children?"
Old man baby vampire, or his cohorts?
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1) let's not bring up Armand
2) on second thought, it probably is just Louis
"Hey," he protests, speaking of Louis. Catching the implication of himself being included in 'children'. "The diva and I have a great understanding about classic rock, thank you." A beat. "'Diva' is the same in French, right? Is it gendered?"
La diva, el diva? No, that's Spanish.
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'That's new.' Nothing too dire or so serious in this observation, only making it. 'New' is likely relative when his reference point are the prostitutes and muscle that Louis was friendly with literally one hundred years ago, but wHaT's tImE to a wAmpiye, and so on. He tests out a smile at Ramiz, just to see what happens.
"I refer, of course," meanwhile, to Louis, as he refills his glass, "to my future adoring audience. The collective music taste of this era, determined not by virtuoso or his friends in the newspapers, but teenagers and twenty-somethings with TikToks."
C'est la vie, a shrug.
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No intervention from Louis, only observation of this little routine. Observes and toys with the edge of the towel in front of him. The ice is melting. Louis sighs as he hitches the makeshift ice pack up off the table. Keeping up appearances, a necessary condition of his earlier victory.
"They'll be seeing you. Saw more than a few phones out."
And Lestat had done nothing about it, so it was likely an acceptable beginning.
"What now? Encore performance?"
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He tries for the accent. It's terrible.
Daniel moves over to Louis, making as to take a look at his 'bruise', checking up on him (not checking him out rELAX, LESTAT) like any good grandpa figure might. The towel is a horrible barback towel and he's taking it away from Louis, to be replaced with the ice going into one of the glasses. There. This is better.
An aside to Lestat,
'Some hellos then I'll cut them loose so Louis can relax, I think.'
"Not enough alcohol in you to give it a go yet?" to Louis.
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"One performance ain't enough?"
Not everyone ascends the stage. Some of us instigate bar fights and sell surprise at the intrusive anger of a jealous boyfriend. Louis' head tips, into Daniel's hand, at enough of an angle to keep Lestat in his sight lines. Assess how much of this is shared demand.
Louis' already made up his mind, really.
"I think I delivered already."
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"You did great," is a huffed laugh, touching his face for a moment as he leans in. Louis has some leftover shine from the makeshift icepack's moisture, and he swipes it off with his thumb before releasing him into the care of the cocktail glass. "We'll pretend I gave you some ibuprofen to go with it."
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There is something of a tactical retreat where he looks to Jeannie, who is uncomplicatedly friendly, though there is temptation to bully the ones doing an American Gothic impression. Instead, he says, "It is a competition now to see who will not sing," as he refills his glass, and then also Daniel's glass.
She, predictably, also defers, although he can listen in to her internal monologue debating between options, if she were going to. "Dusty Springfield," he says, as if this were said out loud. "It was a success at your sister's bachelorette party, no?"
A glance over to check whether Louis and Daniel are making out yet.
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If by making out, one means Daniel is returning to his seat and Louis is resting his chilly cup against his cheek. Smiling a little after him, yes, so maybe it's near to the same thing. Rachida and Ramiz have lapsed out of English to carry on a hushed conversation, perhaps a hasty construction of operating standards for the present social entanglement. Mark is toying with the ends of Jeannine's hair, looking at Louis and at Daniel.
No intrusion onto Lestat and Jeannine's conversation, the possibility of Jeannie taking to the stage interesting enough on it's own. Louis rests chin upon his knuckles, stays quiet while the red imprint of Thad's knuckles speedruns from tender swelling to bruising on Louis' jaw.
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He ends up venting this tragically saccharine feeling by squeezing the diva-in-question's shoulder as he moves back around, and strikes up conversation with Ramiz and Rachida by rudely but deftly (it's a skill) butting in. The idea of a cigarette and going outside will happen soon enough, and they will offer to go along, and then be free. Daniel will be polite, chat for a while, thank them for their attention to Jeannie and Mark. He'll finish a cigarette and think about his phone and who he isn't texting.
Meanwhile, Jeannie really likes the paper umbrellas, and everything Lestat is wearing. She thinks they can convince Daniel to sing something.
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And Lestat cannot help but feel endeared to it, a feeling that settles in him under Daniel's palm passing by. It is a nice night, he has enjoyed a suitable amount of adoration, and he is not feeling too evil. Affection catches him again for the previous grand gesture, and Louis earns a twinged and slightly more secret smile intended for their shared corner of the table more so than anyone else.
To pick back up the conversation, "I think between yourself and Jeannine, you could make a request he would have to look into your innocent faces and tell you 'no'," with a slight lean towards Daniel. "What do we think? Billy Joel? Neil Young? Kesha?"
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He rolls the cup against his jaw, looks back at Lestat. A mirrored look, a smile that has always been for him.
"Not Kesha," is perhaps Louis' version of helping. A little disqualifer to prevent Daniel from ending up singing back up vocals on TiK ToK.
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Anyway, they'd have to go sign up, which no one has done even by the time Daniel gets back (minus two others who have gratefully bailed)—
"I don't think I'm drunk enough for that yet, am I?"
An impossible hurdle.
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And his sense of decorum a.k.a waiting for at least one other person at this table to go sign up before he takes his second turn is close to expiring.
But he has refilled Daniel's glass, so, he is being helpful.
The breathless effort at Sir Mix-A-Lot stylings (lots of applause) has been replaced by a woman who has finally, herself, had enough themed daiquiris to get on stage and sing an extremely if slightly over embellished rendition of Part Of Your World. The talent itself gets Lestat to acknowledge the stage again with a glance. Confused. What is this song.
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An observation made with a fond smile, softer than one might expect a smile accompanying commentary on alcohol tolerance to be. Fucked, that there is something fond lingering in the memories of San Francisco. The long hours before everything went sideways, Daniel animated and grinning and irreverent as Louis said the worst things aloud, dizzy with the relief of bleeding all those words out of his chest.
(A passing glance towards now emptied chairs at the end of the able, considering, and then deciding not to remark on the brief interlude where Rachida and Ramiz had accompanied them.)
"Disney," tacked in, low aside to Lestat, as Mark snorts at whatever is in Lestat's face as he takes in Disney's take on youthful yearning. Millenials. Louis can find these two endearing. Adds, "There was a movie, once," even if that information is not necessarily helpful.
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"Revealing my secrets! C'mon."
He's just a little old man, Louis, he can't drink everyone in the state under a table. And it is fucked, but there's something about it. A permanent link. Louis, a very real angel, and Daniel
a drug addict.
ALMOST romantic. Well, anyway. It was also fucked that they kept plying him with booze in Dubai hoping to make him a little less sharp, but that incident was funnier, because Armand kept making martinis and Daniel kept drinking them and nothing kept happening.
Jeannie hand-wrings, and Daniel tells her to bring him a top 5 list from the DJ, and he'll pick something off there. But she's got to put her name on the list with Mark, which she finally agrees to when her boyfriend suggests they put in for more Mai Tais on the walk back. Somebody else is going after Sir Mix-A-Lot anyway, they've got a few minutes at least.
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A glance back to Daniel, a flick of his eyeline indicates the full glass of vodka prepared especially—drink up, then—and then back to the stage, an arm slung over the back of his chair in his lean. It is important he fully absorb this mermaid song and its rising orchestral compositions and the overly emotive vibrato-filled performance by (he checks) Susan who works reception at a dentistry clinic.
And hear how it keeps going! Building up and up! Synth and piano and flute and, just as impactfully, a crescendo of silence. Unfortunately for Louis, Lestat would probably very much enjoy Broadway.
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Maybe Louis will very much enjoy Broadway. Perhaps his objections to past Parisian theater were very specific, and unlikely to be replicated by mortal creators. There may be only one way to know for sure.
Regardless, in the moment, Louis doesn't seem overly enraptured by Susan's musical stylings, nor her choice in song.
"How many commitments do you have here?" Louis asks Daniel across the table. Genuine curiosity. How much does Vermont wish to see Daniel Molloy
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"Maybe we can watch one."
Hunchback? Mulan? His personal favorite out of the Disney Renaissance is Rescuers Down Under, but it's not a musical. Cruelly overlooked. But those mice fucking rule.
"It's not that much," he tells Louis, "just spread out over three days. There's really no fucking reason to come out here, but the owner of the book store wrote a very compelling letter about how, following that, nobody ever fucking comes out here. So there's going to be like, two people driving in from Maine, too, and whatever. A hotbed of literary excitement."
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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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(no subject)