The video is playing on Louis' tablet as he turns the card in his hands. Lestat's handwriting, the same now as it had been then. A spiritual twin to the card Louis had recently passed across the coffee table in this very room to Daniel for inspection, that is preserved in archival storage along with all the other mementos of Louis' past.
He plays the song once, twice, three times. Then a fourth, trying to let all possible emotions wash through his body. Let the flush of heat in his face fade.
Turns his attention after to the documentation, the backstage pass, the invitation, the record itself. All these things strewn across Louis' coffee table as he watches the video and listens to the lyrics and considers whether he wants to book a direct flight to France, of all places.
Louis has been back since. (Since Claudia. Since the trial.) Has even seen Lestat since, has called him once or twice, had conversations easier than he would have ever guessed at after the book was released. They are—
Something. Friends. Near to friends. All things shaken loose in the hurricane and laid out in new and strange configurations.
Surprise me by coming, the note says, and Louis considers what he is actually being invited into. A party. Private, yes, but a party thrown by Lestat all the same.
Come appraise me the lyrics to the song had growled. Louis swipes two fingers across the tablet's surface, banishing the video, starting a call to his travel agent. Maybe it's a bad idea.
It's most certainly skirting the edges of a bad idea. Testing the delicate balance of the boundaries Louis has laid out for himself.
And yet, he boards a flight.
Daniel points out there are places in France worth looking into. Places that Louis might obtain documents, historical record, items of use. So there is something to this trip beyond just a party.
He is telling himself this as he presents the invitation at the door to a very tall, very slender, very unimpressed mortal at the entryway of the party. Whatever notation is beside his name inspires some urgency. He is sped through, into the crush of the crowd with the assurance, The Vampire Lestat will be notified of your arrival.
will deliver Fashion next tag
He plays the song once, twice, three times. Then a fourth, trying to let all possible emotions wash through his body. Let the flush of heat in his face fade.
Turns his attention after to the documentation, the backstage pass, the invitation, the record itself. All these things strewn across Louis' coffee table as he watches the video and listens to the lyrics and considers whether he wants to book a direct flight to France, of all places.
Louis has been back since. (Since Claudia. Since the trial.) Has even seen Lestat since, has called him once or twice, had conversations easier than he would have ever guessed at after the book was released. They are—
Something. Friends. Near to friends. All things shaken loose in the hurricane and laid out in new and strange configurations.
Surprise me by coming, the note says, and Louis considers what he is actually being invited into. A party. Private, yes, but a party thrown by Lestat all the same.
Come appraise me the lyrics to the song had growled. Louis swipes two fingers across the tablet's surface, banishing the video, starting a call to his travel agent. Maybe it's a bad idea.
It's most certainly skirting the edges of a bad idea. Testing the delicate balance of the boundaries Louis has laid out for himself.
And yet, he boards a flight.
Daniel points out there are places in France worth looking into. Places that Louis might obtain documents, historical record, items of use. So there is something to this trip beyond just a party.
He is telling himself this as he presents the invitation at the door to a very tall, very slender, very unimpressed mortal at the entryway of the party. Whatever notation is beside his name inspires some urgency. He is sped through, into the crush of the crowd with the assurance, The Vampire Lestat will be notified of your arrival.