It is what he wants to be, after crumbling, after yelling, after clawing for unearned sympathy, something about the fractures he can see in Louis evoking the instinct to make himself useful. Reliable. The instinct that is a century and more the senior. A maker and mentor, or so this is who he should be. Lestat takes the clothes, watching Louis all the while.
Blood on his skin. Likely too dead to be safely licked away. A perverse thought that, of course, his mind produces, confronted with Louis' naked form.
"The incinerator," he confirms. A step away. "I'll be back in a moment."
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It is what he wants to be, after crumbling, after yelling, after clawing for unearned sympathy, something about the fractures he can see in Louis evoking the instinct to make himself useful. Reliable. The instinct that is a century and more the senior. A maker and mentor, or so this is who he should be. Lestat takes the clothes, watching Louis all the while.
Blood on his skin. Likely too dead to be safely licked away. A perverse thought that, of course, his mind produces, confronted with Louis' naked form.
"The incinerator," he confirms. A step away. "I'll be back in a moment."