[ What more can be done, now that they've already been positioned separate from everyone else, set apart by their hosts? To examine it at a glance, it might seem to be an honor — but the longer they sit here, the more it could also double as a sentence. Yet all else pales in Lestat's mind to the view before him, and he can sense Louis' struggle even if he no longer has the ability to read his mind, that particular connection severed from the moment they made vows of their own in the church that night so long ago.
He wants to offer Louis the blood, and he also wants to lead him away from all of this — and those two instincts war within him, leaving him frozen between one choice or the other. When Louis accepts that offering, it doesn't feel like a triumph, but Lestat still watches him, transfixed, for the span of moments that pass between that slow feasting and when Louis lifts his head again. ]
More of the strange magic that plays with perception. Even ours.
[ The woman whose wrist he's taken from says something — to Lestat, to Louis, to both of them — but the words don't register in his hearing, not when he's more concerned about ensuring Louis makes it away from this table without sacrificing something he can't afford to lose. ]
Once, I would have questioned your restraint, Saint Louis, but now I believe it may be even more imperative. [ If they appear to be indulging themselves, without fully drinking someone dry, perhaps that will be enough to satisfy — but that doesn't solve the problem of the other mortal guests, and Lestat directs his attention down the length of the table. ]
Unless... no one will remember a thing after tonight.
no subject
[ What more can be done, now that they've already been positioned separate from everyone else, set apart by their hosts? To examine it at a glance, it might seem to be an honor — but the longer they sit here, the more it could also double as a sentence. Yet all else pales in Lestat's mind to the view before him, and he can sense Louis' struggle even if he no longer has the ability to read his mind, that particular connection severed from the moment they made vows of their own in the church that night so long ago.
He wants to offer Louis the blood, and he also wants to lead him away from all of this — and those two instincts war within him, leaving him frozen between one choice or the other. When Louis accepts that offering, it doesn't feel like a triumph, but Lestat still watches him, transfixed, for the span of moments that pass between that slow feasting and when Louis lifts his head again. ]
More of the strange magic that plays with perception. Even ours.
[ The woman whose wrist he's taken from says something — to Lestat, to Louis, to both of them — but the words don't register in his hearing, not when he's more concerned about ensuring Louis makes it away from this table without sacrificing something he can't afford to lose. ]
Once, I would have questioned your restraint, Saint Louis, but now I believe it may be even more imperative. [ If they appear to be indulging themselves, without fully drinking someone dry, perhaps that will be enough to satisfy — but that doesn't solve the problem of the other mortal guests, and Lestat directs his attention down the length of the table. ]
Unless... no one will remember a thing after tonight.