A nearer thing than Louis is perhaps given credit for. It is tempting, to return to the theater to die.
But they have stood still long enough for a different instinct to manifest itself among the all consuming weight of his anger, shape the trajectory of the manic energy gathering inside Louis. He is hurt and weak, and if he is to die, he should take them all with him.
And Lestat, even now, is a gravitational force. (His heart, all the shards of his heart, demand proximity, and more.) The inkling of awareness that Lestat has drunk nothing wedges in the back of his mind, even as Louis drains another Parisian. Less brutal, but no neater. The blood is still drying on Louis when they find their way to their destination.
Stood on the stairs, a gore-splattered ghoul thinking in circles about the murder of a coven of vampires, Louis doesn't immediately understand. It takes him long minutes to respond, having come as far as the bottom step and stalled there, kited thus far by Lestat's purposeful movement.
Stirs finally from his internal reverie to look from the coffin to Lestat, parsing the offer.
"It's yours."
This place. The coffin. A humble assortment of essentials, all of which refuse to lay neatly alongside Louis' assumption of the extent of Lestat's participation.
"Go on," slowly, head tilting as he looks at Lestat. "You have it."
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But they have stood still long enough for a different instinct to manifest itself among the all consuming weight of his anger, shape the trajectory of the manic energy gathering inside Louis. He is hurt and weak, and if he is to die, he should take them all with him.
And Lestat, even now, is a gravitational force. (His heart, all the shards of his heart, demand proximity, and more.) The inkling of awareness that Lestat has drunk nothing wedges in the back of his mind, even as Louis drains another Parisian. Less brutal, but no neater. The blood is still drying on Louis when they find their way to their destination.
Stood on the stairs, a gore-splattered ghoul thinking in circles about the murder of a coven of vampires, Louis doesn't immediately understand. It takes him long minutes to respond, having come as far as the bottom step and stalled there, kited thus far by Lestat's purposeful movement.
Stirs finally from his internal reverie to look from the coffin to Lestat, parsing the offer.
"It's yours."
This place. The coffin. A humble assortment of essentials, all of which refuse to lay neatly alongside Louis' assumption of the extent of Lestat's participation.
"Go on," slowly, head tilting as he looks at Lestat. "You have it."