damnedest: (#17248612)
lestat de lioncourt. ([personal profile] damnedest) wrote 2024-06-29 04:19 am (UTC)

"I believe you."

A killer, then. Not in the way the half-maddened and the desperate have become, but a true creature of the current natural order. Lestat flexes a mimicry of piano keys on his free hand, an absent fidget, and pulls back just a little from the way Daryl's mind is now, in a way, playing dead. (Vampires named Clive. This century is the worst.) It can be easy to overwhelm.

"So we have nothing to worry about from each other. C'est bien."

Not true, of course. Daryl is the one making his quiet calculations about Quinn Lastname, which—on the surface, could be messy, with the Englishman having made himself oh so crucial to the order of things, and also tedious, to try to find some form of replacement, but it is a human-eat-human world these days (ha). It pays not to make yourself a villain.

And if Lestat de Lioncourt can learn that, anyone can. His focus shifts across the floor until he sees a familiar figure, occupied in dancing. "A friend, then, or a passing nightmare?" is what he is saying with his mouth, while his voice echoes through the head of this other: something red from the cellar.

He breaks his focus from them and back to Daryl once they detangle from their partner, and move off to the shadows.

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