Real protest is not entirely off the table. There is some part of Louis that balks, a complex tangle of emotion at Lestat's light tug.
Aware they are in public.
Remembering New Orleans. Remembering their ball, but remembering beyond that. Remembering their home. Remembering Lestat drawing Louis into an embrace, a waltz. The years before Claudia, the years after, when she would join them and they three would dance together.
And now here, in a very public bar, Lestat rises to his feet and means to draw Louis after him. The intention is clear, familiar even after eighty years.
Maybe Louis' hesitance is clear too. Balking, a stretch where he looks into Lestat's face, fingers tightening around his before he permits himself to be drawn up onto his feet.
There is no home for them. No private parlour, no courtyard. Likely no grand parties in their future, Lestat imagines. He will take what opportunities are there.
And for a moment, he thinks Louis won't. But then he does.
He is rewarded with a pleased smile, a subtle one, Lestat positioning their hands like a waltz and his hand finding Louis' waist. He does not wind himself around him like he might if they were making something different of their lives, but it's a friendly intimacy that he sways Louis into.
And maybe this close, Louis can tell that Lestat, also, is quite aware of time, of place. Of behaving in a way even men who were only friends would not risk doing in polite society, once, or even impolite society. And isn't it pleasurable, to exist in this era? Was not Lestat always saying, how profoundly the world can change? He has seen it. They see it now, together.
It had been such a significant thing in New Orleans. Crossing the room. Walking into Lestat's arms. Kissing him, hearing the gasps of shock.
There are no appalled murmurs. Maybe a passing glance, this murmur, that shrug. They are noted, smiled over, dismissed. Another older couple gets up, rangy silver-haired man coaxing his sweet-faced partner along after him into their own waltz as Jeannie sings.
Louis' fingers come to rest at Lestat's neck, thumb running back and forth at the hinge of his jaw. They are farther apart than they once were, and Louis understands it. They are different. Lestat wants different things, but still perhaps wants this remembered intimacy. It takes a few long minutes, but Louis relaxes into the sway of their bodies.
Lestat twirls him, and brings Louis back, as he had always done before into his arms. Louis lets him. Touches him still, hand at his neck, fingers linked as Lestat leads.
There are things Louis could say that would fill the space between them with conversation. But Louis gives it up. He is content to look into Lestat's face, drink in the pleased expression there, while they move together through the last few verses of Jeannie and Mark's song choice.
Warms Daniel's heart despite the worry over domestic abuse. Some things, people can work out. Especially if those people are connected in a cosmic way, if the circumstances are beyond human. He hopes so, at least. He thinks Louis can be his own person and be healed and whole without Lestat, but it's clear to him that he'd be happiest with things mended.
Just a little bit of sneaky phone recording. Maybe a still photo or two. Subtle. Spy-like. No one will ever know, until someday, Daniel decides to send something to one of them.
The 60s pop duet eventually comes to a close with applause from the bar patrons, most of which are guilelessly charmed by a real live couple doing the cover. Daniel claps and whistles for them, and then, when Mark points to him, says "Oh fuck", as he had, of course, forgotten he's next.
But this is a problem for future Lestat. Present Lestat is enjoying himself, pleased to be indulged, executing little courtly turns to an irreverent love song while very little attention is paid them. The song closes, and it takes some remembering to recall himself and end the dance with an overly proper little bow over Louis' hand rather than anything else.
And gives his applause to the stage after, and while doing so, he steals Louis' seat. A strategic location so that he doesn't have to witness a mortal pawing at his ex-husband all night. A worse indignity than anything more substantial.
A cackle, though, at Daniel's realisation, and a bright and clear wolf whistle to urge him along as his name is called.
Displaced, Louis lingers briefly on his feet behind Daniel, palm coming down on one shoulder and squeezing hard.
The warmth of Lestat lingers, burning everywhere he touched. (He takes all the rest, and puts it carefully away to be examined later.)
"Time to give us a glimpse of that showmanship you been on about," Louis reminds, hand lifting so Louis might circle around his chair and take up Lestat's abandoned seat. Grinning, a little nudge of encouragement between their minds as Jeannie and Mark make their cacophonous return to the table.
He could do stand-up. Comedy would probably be fine. He had given a brief consideration to one of those spoken word tracks briefly popular in the 1990s when people were putting out semi-obscene comedy ones, you know, like Chris Rock and his champagne opinions, but he's pretty sure none of those pass the 'aged well' test. It's not the night to remind everyone he's a real-life boomer.
The mood in the room is not enthused to see him, speaking of being a boomer, but a few people definitely recognize the name plus his face, even if only from a promo in the window of the bookshop down the street. Mild curiosity. Maybe he'll sing a vampire song.
and it is, he sings the cher song
The twangy, bassy opening of Cake's obnoxious but catchy Short Skirt, Long Jacket is medium acceptable. Fun, not much real singing involved, funny. Daniel is medium okay at it. A couple people know when to shout repeats of the verses, and he encourages this. Only one minor fumble, saying 'allocutions' instead of 'allocations', which he does correct by speaking over the song, firmly, though he notes either would work in context. Anyway! Nails that shine like justice!!
There is a hasty exchange with Jeannie, the resident and most trustworthy zillennial, and then—
Incidentally also spylike, Lestat props his phone against the back of Louis' shoulder to peek the camera at the stage over the top, though there is still probably some visible sparkle from the case catching the light anyway. Whatever. Stealth mode journalism, recording Daniel's performance, a video which will also catch a low laugh from him at Daniel's smooth talk-singing correction, at the participatory shouts from a nearby table.
Also picks up a muttered complaint, "I don't know this song," to whoever might be listening.
A video which will also capture Louis laughing, soft and contained but unmistakable. Unmistakable, and deeply fond.
Daniel is so.
Himself.
So entirely unchanged, parted only from the disease that had been slowly killing him. Louis is so pleased about it. Had been pleased too, Daniel arriving in Dubai grown old and still sharp, still recognizable and familiar. This is not so far from that moment. An echo of that feeling, only now made more complex by present circumstances.
Explanation of the song is left in Jeannie's capable hands. Louis has hooked an ankle up over his knee, lounging back in his chair into the light, incidental touch required by Lestat's spycraft.
When he time comes, Louis is effusive in his applause. Whistles through two fingers, over the rest of the bar.
Daniel does a respectable bit of 'dancing', hands raised, side to side. Nothing that screams of wanting to recapture his youth, but he's playing along. No stage fright, even through the occasional laugh with his head ducked, incredulous at himself.
"Thank you, thank you," he still has the microphone, "I always knew in my heart I was destined to be a pop idol, and I'm here tonight in the Burlington Coat Factory, Vermont, to debut on this stage— yes, thank you,"
he is doing a bit, see, and this carries on for a minute as he walks as far away from the DJ as he can with the mic still plugged in, as said DJ participates gamely in the bit by trying to herd grandpa offstage, which he eventually does, after making a cartoonish bow.
Does not hop down, that would be pushing it. A normal retreat, passing the baton to whoever is after him, a young man agonizing between something by Johnny Cash and the siren song of Offspring's Pretty Fly for a White Guy.
Lestat only doesn't applaud because he is on 'old man recording' duty, and also a little distracted with a fond and slightly rueful glance to Louis beside him. Mixed feelings. Asshole behaviour, he knows, to want to be the only person in the world capable of making Louis laugh. A part of him he needs to hold back with both hands from devouring his ability to be simply pleased at the sound of it. That it can be evoked so readily.
He manages to stop recording without handing over his phone to Jeannie as Daniel returns (though there is going to be a random blurry few seconds length video after where he doubts he did it properly and starts recording again, and fixes this too). Not as smooth, this spycraft, but the deed is done.
"Naturally weird," he laughs, but follows it up with a "Thank you", so. You know. Not too self-effacing. (Eyes that burn like cigarettes. The song means nothing, and Daniel is heterosexual, don't worry about it.)
Jeannie is hammered, still, but clapping delightedly. Drunk enough that she's considering doing a song by herself, which seems much easier this side of all the alcohol. So it's on a delay when she notices Louis giving her an opening, but she scoots in there— "Everything booked by a bar. By this bar. In the future. But like not here."
"If you sang at your book readings, I would attend them all."
In case this is a major priority for Daniel.
Anyway, it has been too long without the attention of the masses on him alone, so Lestat is standing. He reaches past Mark to go and take Jeannie's hand, because the wobbly hamster wheel churning of song considerations happening in her brain barely takes effort for him to listen in on, and they might as well score a foothold in the queue.
"I leave it to you two to charm Louis into a song," he announces, as he makes to move around the table, leading Jeannie along. "Or I will be very disappointed."
The bottle abandoned on the table is easy enough to take custody of as Lestat absconds with Jeannie. He is filling his own cup to slide over to Daniel, casual about the allocation of resources as Mark levers unsteadily into Lestat's seat.
"He's exaggerating," Louis deadpans. An interjection that heralds a no.
Keeps an eye on Lestat's approach. There are a number of people perking up as the collection of assembled mortals notice Lestat and Jeannie making their way towards the current organizing entity, hands twitching towards phones.
Evidence enough for Louis to stand by it: this is certainly a marketing strategy worth considering.
"It was hardly singing, but thank you. I'm keeping my opera talents hidden. For now."
Most of the videos being taken are going to be wobbly and indistinguishable, even the shiniest, newest Pixel cameras struggling with the dim, low-ceiling bar lights and the bright single stage light with its slowly rotating gel wheel. But still. Alcohol-soaked memories, held by intangible data, whatever that is.
A salute with the glass, to Louis. Close enough to a grasshopper. (Which would taste like glue anyway.)
"Any predictions on what we think their direction'll be?"
Meanwhile: Johnny Cash of some description, and a guy really having a wild go at it.
Louis' amendment gets a pirouetted accusatory look back towards the table, but Lestat leaves it there. He is exaggerating, only because he doubts anyone's ability to make Louis du Lac do anything he doesn't want to.
Least of all Mark's ability. Anyway. (Daniel has the best chance of all of them, Lestat is sure, but Daniel will not wield this ability for evil.)
At the sign ups, there is some fluttering around who should go first, but it's Lestat, Lestat will go first, making his selection while he talks Jeannie into her more ambitious hopes and dreams. Some banter with the DJ. Lestat, promising not to go rogue in such a tone that makes no such promise at all.
"None," Louis admits to Daniel, turning back to him after having met Lestat's look with a small, teasing smile. "He is unpredictable."
Understatement.
Louis says this so affectionately.
Mark has managed his very careful transfer between two chairs. A sign, perhaps, of intoxication, one that becomes clearer without Jeannie to overshadow it. Louis nudges a stray glass of water along the table to him as he touches Daniel's mind, asks: Is he what you imagined?
Mark takes the water; Daniel notices that, every so often, something he's drinking turns blue. Apparently he's not great at magic, but when intoxicated, weird shit can happen anyway. It's a little funny.
'Who, Mark?'
Daniel is very funny.
'Yes and no.' They're talking (sort of) about Lestat. 'He's charming, he's intense. I get it.'
Should he ask if they're making it work, if Louis is comfortable with Lestat around? If he feels safe after that outburst? Mm. Too much, for tonight.
He's having a nice time, and so it's not very pointed, but he still feels it: a spark of suddenly realized guilt. Armand has been in his apartment before Louis. He might say that, in fairness, it's clear Armand had been there on his own prior to Daniel's awareness, but still. Invited him in, more than once. He gave him a fucking key. Again, he could make the pathetic excuse of, well, Armand was breaking in anyway, might as well.
Still.
His junky mismatched decor, his tacky ceilings. He doesn't think Louis will like it. But he resolves to make sure he comes over anyway. Even out the scales.
'Not if I move first,' he jokes. 'If my offer on a house goes through in time, you can just see a pristine, empty home, instead of all my totally pedestrian art and knickknacks.'
Cue the jokes about Louis' long hiatus from true manual labor.
But it's a real offer. Louis would do this for him. (He would also pay to have it done, oversee it from afar.)
Don't sell your apartment, Louis offers. Keep it. You might need it again.
A split between real estate advice and something more genuine. This apartment Louis had never seen that was once Daniel's home. It shouldn't be set aside.
And also—
And I'd like to see it. Your place, before you tidy up all signs of yourself.
'I probably can't even sell it,' he admits. 'I've done too much to it over the years.'
Maybe he just doesn't want to have to paint over the clouds. They're not incredible or anything, but he likes them. Enough that he's been thinking about getting the same thing done in the new place. Maybe different shades, different times of day. Armand would probably have decent input. Frescos, all that shit.
They better not be making wedding plans back there.
A song or two slips by, and the queue, such as it is, is proportionately short compared to the crowd. As the next song wraps up, Jeannie returns to the table. Smiling, face flushed, grabbing at Mark's arm as she swings herself down into his former seat. Drunk and happy, but also mortified. She'd let herself get talked into an Adele song and is second guessing everything. Mark, trying to help, says she sounds great in the shower. She puts her head on the table.
No such attacks of nerves on the stage with Lestat again ascending, mic in hand, as if the space personally belonged to him. "Some of you may be aware," he is saying, and it's fifty-fifty on whether he is mind controlling the DJ yet again into affording him a little dramatic build up, or was simply slipped him a twenty, "of my monstrous proclivities. That I feed on the blood of terrible performers, and perhaps, you think, the Vampire Lestat is attending a buffet."
Some laughs, some jeers, the latter of which he points to and says, "But this is not so. I tell you this, because I will need your help for my next performance, and I wouldn't wish anyone to be afraid of singing with me. Also I will eat everyone who fails to."
A little gesture to the DJ, and moody piano suffuses the room. "Front table, I am counting on you," Lestat adds, before he begins the first line of Bonnie Tyler's karaoke favourite.
Overwrought, comedic on purpose, and as promised, full of audience participation for the overlapping vocals, directing the microphone out for backing as well as the titular lyric. Front table does indeed have his back, but it's an easy song to gather buy-in, and enough drunk people to happily shout-sing along all the way back to the bar, to cheer for the keychange, or laugh at the little improvisations in between.
Of course, alongside it all, Lestat meets the eighties power ballad on its own terms. There was no singing like this a century ago, two centuries ago, but oh, he does enjoy it, clear pleasure taken in making his voice meet the challenge. Good work, modern sensibility.
They are very far away from New Orleans, from the courtyard stage of the Azalea, but the performance is now as it was then. The ability Lestat has to play to his audience, to sweep every individual observing him up into his wake as he fills the space with his presence.
There is simply no comparable performer.
Some awareness of the beginnings of a thing. Louis watching Lestat so attentively, picking up the invocation of the name, the descriptor Louis had relayed to Daniel that had perhaps made it into the book. Louis observes him summon it and realign it, make it into something to suit him.
Something to think about in the coming weeks, whatever they may bring. (Nothing eventful, surely.)
Presently, the expression of satisfaction and joy on Lestat's face matters more. Louis is so pleased to see it. Happier to applaud, whenever opportunity allows.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Aware they are in public.
Remembering New Orleans. Remembering their ball, but remembering beyond that. Remembering their home. Remembering Lestat drawing Louis into an embrace, a waltz. The years before Claudia, the years after, when she would join them and they three would dance together.
And now here, in a very public bar, Lestat rises to his feet and means to draw Louis after him. The intention is clear, familiar even after eighty years.
Maybe Louis' hesitance is clear too. Balking, a stretch where he looks into Lestat's face, fingers tightening around his before he permits himself to be drawn up onto his feet.
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And for a moment, he thinks Louis won't. But then he does.
He is rewarded with a pleased smile, a subtle one, Lestat positioning their hands like a waltz and his hand finding Louis' waist. He does not wind himself around him like he might if they were making something different of their lives, but it's a friendly intimacy that he sways Louis into.
And maybe this close, Louis can tell that Lestat, also, is quite aware of time, of place. Of behaving in a way even men who were only friends would not risk doing in polite society, once, or even impolite society. And isn't it pleasurable, to exist in this era? Was not Lestat always saying, how profoundly the world can change? He has seen it. They see it now, together.
The chorus hits. He twirls him.
enjoy a tag of nothing
There are no appalled murmurs. Maybe a passing glance, this murmur, that shrug. They are noted, smiled over, dismissed. Another older couple gets up, rangy silver-haired man coaxing his sweet-faced partner along after him into their own waltz as Jeannie sings.
Louis' fingers come to rest at Lestat's neck, thumb running back and forth at the hinge of his jaw. They are farther apart than they once were, and Louis understands it. They are different. Lestat wants different things, but still perhaps wants this remembered intimacy. It takes a few long minutes, but Louis relaxes into the sway of their bodies.
Lestat twirls him, and brings Louis back, as he had always done before into his arms. Louis lets him. Touches him still, hand at his neck, fingers linked as Lestat leads.
There are things Louis could say that would fill the space between them with conversation. But Louis gives it up. He is content to look into Lestat's face, drink in the pleased expression there, while they move together through the last few verses of Jeannie and Mark's song choice.
eats it
They're a thing, or they're working on it.
Warms Daniel's heart despite the worry over domestic abuse. Some things, people can work out. Especially if those people are connected in a cosmic way, if the circumstances are beyond human. He hopes so, at least. He thinks Louis can be his own person and be healed and whole without Lestat, but it's clear to him that he'd be happiest with things mended.
Just a little bit of sneaky phone recording. Maybe a still photo or two. Subtle. Spy-like. No one will ever know, until someday, Daniel decides to send something to one of them.
The 60s pop duet eventually comes to a close with applause from the bar patrons, most of which are guilelessly charmed by a real live couple doing the cover. Daniel claps and whistles for them, and then, when Mark points to him, says "Oh fuck", as he had, of course, forgotten he's next.
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But this is a problem for future Lestat. Present Lestat is enjoying himself, pleased to be indulged, executing little courtly turns to an irreverent love song while very little attention is paid them. The song closes, and it takes some remembering to recall himself and end the dance with an overly proper little bow over Louis' hand rather than anything else.
And gives his applause to the stage after, and while doing so, he steals Louis' seat. A strategic location so that he doesn't have to witness a mortal pawing at his ex-husband all night. A worse indignity than anything more substantial.
A cackle, though, at Daniel's realisation, and a bright and clear wolf whistle to urge him along as his name is called.
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The warmth of Lestat lingers, burning everywhere he touched. (He takes all the rest, and puts it carefully away to be examined later.)
"Time to give us a glimpse of that showmanship you been on about," Louis reminds, hand lifting so Louis might circle around his chair and take up Lestat's abandoned seat. Grinning, a little nudge of encouragement between their minds as Jeannie and Mark make their cacophonous return to the table.
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The mood in the room is not enthused to see him, speaking of being a boomer, but a few people definitely recognize the name plus his face, even if only from a promo in the window of the bookshop down the street. Mild curiosity. Maybe he'll sing a vampire song.
and it is, he sings the cher song
The twangy, bassy opening of Cake's obnoxious but catchy Short Skirt, Long Jacket is medium acceptable. Fun, not much real singing involved, funny. Daniel is medium okay at it. A couple people know when to shout repeats of the verses, and he encourages this. Only one minor fumble, saying 'allocutions' instead of 'allocations', which he does correct by speaking over the song, firmly, though he notes either would work in context. Anyway! Nails that shine like justice!!
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Incidentally also spylike, Lestat props his phone against the back of Louis' shoulder to peek the camera at the stage over the top, though there is still probably some visible sparkle from the case catching the light anyway. Whatever. Stealth mode journalism, recording Daniel's performance, a video which will also catch a low laugh from him at Daniel's smooth talk-singing correction, at the participatory shouts from a nearby table.
Also picks up a muttered complaint, "I don't know this song," to whoever might be listening.
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Daniel is so.
Himself.
So entirely unchanged, parted only from the disease that had been slowly killing him. Louis is so pleased about it. Had been pleased too, Daniel arriving in Dubai grown old and still sharp, still recognizable and familiar. This is not so far from that moment. An echo of that feeling, only now made more complex by present circumstances.
Explanation of the song is left in Jeannie's capable hands. Louis has hooked an ankle up over his knee, lounging back in his chair into the light, incidental touch required by Lestat's spycraft.
When he time comes, Louis is effusive in his applause. Whistles through two fingers, over the rest of the bar.
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"Thank you, thank you," he still has the microphone, "I always knew in my heart I was destined to be a pop idol, and I'm here tonight in the Burlington Coat Factory, Vermont, to debut on this stage— yes, thank you,"
he is doing a bit, see, and this carries on for a minute as he walks as far away from the DJ as he can with the mic still plugged in, as said DJ participates gamely in the bit by trying to herd grandpa offstage, which he eventually does, after making a cartoonish bow.
Does not hop down, that would be pushing it. A normal retreat, passing the baton to whoever is after him, a young man agonizing between something by Johnny Cash and the siren song of Offspring's Pretty Fly for a White Guy.
When he returns—
"Never again."
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He manages to stop recording without handing over his phone to Jeannie as Daniel returns (though there is going to be a random blurry few seconds length video after where he doubts he did it properly and starts recording again, and fixes this too). Not as smooth, this spycraft, but the deed is done.
"Never again?" he says. "But you are a natural."
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Is this a viable business strategy? Drum up some local interest prior to the reading?
Louis cuts a glance to Jeannie, perhaps assessing the likelihood of her getting in on the bit.
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No it's fine. Anyway,
"Naturally weird," he laughs, but follows it up with a "Thank you", so. You know. Not too self-effacing. (Eyes that burn like cigarettes. The song means nothing, and Daniel is heterosexual, don't worry about it.)
Jeannie is hammered, still, but clapping delightedly. Drunk enough that she's considering doing a song by herself, which seems much easier this side of all the alcohol. So it's on a delay when she notices Louis giving her an opening, but she scoots in there— "Everything booked by a bar. By this bar. In the future. But like not here."
Nailed it.
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In case this is a major priority for Daniel.
Anyway, it has been too long without the attention of the masses on him alone, so Lestat is standing. He reaches past Mark to go and take Jeannie's hand, because the wobbly hamster wheel churning of song considerations happening in her brain barely takes effort for him to listen in on, and they might as well score a foothold in the queue.
"I leave it to you two to charm Louis into a song," he announces, as he makes to move around the table, leading Jeannie along. "Or I will be very disappointed."
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"He's exaggerating," Louis deadpans. An interjection that heralds a no.
Keeps an eye on Lestat's approach. There are a number of people perking up as the collection of assembled mortals notice Lestat and Jeannie making their way towards the current organizing entity, hands twitching towards phones.
Evidence enough for Louis to stand by it: this is certainly a marketing strategy worth considering.
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Most of the videos being taken are going to be wobbly and indistinguishable, even the shiniest, newest Pixel cameras struggling with the dim, low-ceiling bar lights and the bright single stage light with its slowly rotating gel wheel. But still. Alcohol-soaked memories, held by intangible data, whatever that is.
A salute with the glass, to Louis. Close enough to a grasshopper. (Which would taste like glue anyway.)
"Any predictions on what we think their direction'll be?"
Meanwhile: Johnny Cash of some description, and a guy really having a wild go at it.
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Least of all Mark's ability. Anyway. (Daniel has the best chance of all of them, Lestat is sure, but Daniel will not wield this ability for evil.)
At the sign ups, there is some fluttering around who should go first, but it's Lestat, Lestat will go first, making his selection while he talks Jeannie into her more ambitious hopes and dreams. Some banter with the DJ. Lestat, promising not to go rogue in such a tone that makes no such promise at all.
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Understatement.
Louis says this so affectionately.
Mark has managed his very careful transfer between two chairs. A sign, perhaps, of intoxication, one that becomes clearer without Jeannie to overshadow it. Louis nudges a stray glass of water along the table to him as he touches Daniel's mind, asks: Is he what you imagined?
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'Who, Mark?'
Daniel is very funny.
'Yes and no.' They're talking (sort of) about Lestat. 'He's charming, he's intense. I get it.'
Should he ask if they're making it work, if Louis is comfortable with Lestat around? If he feels safe after that outburst? Mm. Too much, for tonight.
'I'm glad you're here.'
elbows an extra tag in here
I'm glad you're happy.
Among other things. Healthy. Safe, enjoying fame. All good things in the wake of something terrible.
You still owe me a tour of your apartment, by the way.
In case Daniel thinks Louis has forgotten. They left in a hurry, yes. But the interest, the promise, Louis holds all of it still.
owie
Still.
His junky mismatched decor, his tacky ceilings. He doesn't think Louis will like it. But he resolves to make sure he comes over anyway. Even out the scales.
'Not if I move first,' he jokes. 'If my offer on a house goes through in time, you can just see a pristine, empty home, instead of all my totally pedestrian art and knickknacks.'
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Cue the jokes about Louis' long hiatus from true manual labor.
But it's a real offer. Louis would do this for him. (He would also pay to have it done, oversee it from afar.)
Don't sell your apartment, Louis offers. Keep it. You might need it again.
A split between real estate advice and something more genuine. This apartment Louis had never seen that was once Daniel's home. It shouldn't be set aside.
And also—
And I'd like to see it. Your place, before you tidy up all signs of yourself.
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Maybe he just doesn't want to have to paint over the clouds. They're not incredible or anything, but he likes them. Enough that he's been thinking about getting the same thing done in the new place. Maybe different shades, different times of day. Armand would probably have decent input. Frescos, all that shit.
Christ, what a bad thought.
'When we get back. First thing.'
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A song or two slips by, and the queue, such as it is, is proportionately short compared to the crowd. As the next song wraps up, Jeannie returns to the table. Smiling, face flushed, grabbing at Mark's arm as she swings herself down into his former seat. Drunk and happy, but also mortified. She'd let herself get talked into an Adele song and is second guessing everything. Mark, trying to help, says she sounds great in the shower. She puts her head on the table.
No such attacks of nerves on the stage with Lestat again ascending, mic in hand, as if the space personally belonged to him. "Some of you may be aware," he is saying, and it's fifty-fifty on whether he is mind controlling the DJ yet again into affording him a little dramatic build up, or was simply slipped him a twenty, "of my monstrous proclivities. That I feed on the blood of terrible performers, and perhaps, you think, the Vampire Lestat is attending a buffet."
Some laughs, some jeers, the latter of which he points to and says, "But this is not so. I tell you this, because I will need your help for my next performance, and I wouldn't wish anyone to be afraid of singing with me. Also I will eat everyone who fails to."
A little gesture to the DJ, and moody piano suffuses the room. "Front table, I am counting on you," Lestat adds, before he begins the first line of Bonnie Tyler's karaoke favourite.
Overwrought, comedic on purpose, and as promised, full of audience participation for the overlapping vocals, directing the microphone out for backing as well as the titular lyric. Front table does indeed have his back, but it's an easy song to gather buy-in, and enough drunk people to happily shout-sing along all the way back to the bar, to cheer for the keychange, or laugh at the little improvisations in between.
Of course, alongside it all, Lestat meets the eighties power ballad on its own terms. There was no singing like this a century ago, two centuries ago, but oh, he does enjoy it, clear pleasure taken in making his voice meet the challenge. Good work, modern sensibility.
yet another tag of nothing
There is simply no comparable performer.
Some awareness of the beginnings of a thing. Louis watching Lestat so attentively, picking up the invocation of the name, the descriptor Louis had relayed to Daniel that had perhaps made it into the book. Louis observes him summon it and realign it, make it into something to suit him.
Something to think about in the coming weeks, whatever they may bring. (Nothing eventful, surely.)
Presently, the expression of satisfaction and joy on Lestat's face matters more. Louis is so pleased to see it. Happier to applaud, whenever opportunity allows.
nothing but uwu eyes
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