The raw capability of defining good or bad. Such things have no bearing on a person's appearance. I would argue that it is independent of personal biases of that nature.
Or, well, it should be.
Or are you seriously attempting to tell me that one's looks are all that define "good or bad" for you? The idea is laughable were it not pitiful.
That isn't what I'm saying at all. I merely meant that I am a slave to my own perception. To be so aware of beauty is a curse all of its own and that I, like many, can so easily be swayed if the one doing the swaying has a pretty face.
Compasses can so easily be manipulated with nothing but a magnet - did you know this?
Oh, true, old-fashioned magnets do have that vulnerability.
But the tech from where and when I am from has no such weakness.
Furthermore, the human eye is also capable of making at least semi-accurate judgements of the poles with the sun's position in reference to time of day. Crescent moons and whether they rise before or after sunset can also determine such matters.
Oh, but of course you're right! Humans are capable of this kind of judgement, and so much more. With the aid of context clues, it's a wonder they need compasses at all.
And yet, the things still exist. Why do you think that is? A lack of knowledge, a need for control?
I think if a human wants to believe he is heading in the right direction, for any reason, then he will believe it wholeheartedly regardless of where the crescent moon happened to place itself in the sky or in which direction his compass might point.
[ Incapable of admitting wrong, huh. That one gives him a laugh. ]
I would not say my compass ignores the facts, mon ami. More that by now I often know exactly what I want when I want it, and that I will do anything to get it. No matter who warns me against it or might tell me no. If anything, that word makes me more determined.
Hmm. I think sometimes the need for restraint is confused with the fear of what we truly are. If you were alone, no other creatures around to see you without the restraint you covet, would you be so afraid to be without control?
Either way, If there is one thing I have learned in my very long life, it is that one should never miss an opportunity to relax.
I can never do that again. I must not. I know first hand what a lack of control does. I must always conduct myself with even a little restraint, lest any of that repeat again.
I know exactly what I am. Without restraint, it is terrifying. Even if I behave unrestrained, the room I linger in must act as those restraints for me. Fortunately, my ship is perfect for that, and I use it as such.
I already behave more or less as I please outside of that one aspect. It is enough.
And what are the results from your lack of control, exactly? Do people get hurt, cities levelled, feelings hurt? There are so many outcomes nowadays for any kind of inhuman creature that it truly could be anything.
Come to think of it - what are you?
What if.. How do they say it. Ah! I'll show you mine if you show me yours.
Using a genitalia reference for something like this? Interesting.
When my power was in its infancy, it caused over a hundred deaths as a result of mass drowning. My beloved was among one of the casualties. One of two people I ever cared about. The second, my mother, has long since passed of old age.
Now, I could probably level the world if I left everything unchecked. It took me a great deal of time to handle even hardy things like metal without breaking them into particles finer than sand.
My cells could also infect anyone who breathes them in, turning them into what I am. They swarm any cells not their own like a plague, altering them down to their roots and rapidly spreading throughout the body. With that many meat-devouring predators, the balance of the world would doubtlessly be tipped beyond its ability to return to equilibrium.
I am a half-alien, obligate carnivore, who requires specific proteins in my diet, easily gathered from large animals during a hunt. But there was a time where I thought to devour my own kind, that hunger was so great.
Shapeshifting consumes a great amount of energy, after all.
Given what you've told me, I see that I am right. Your restraint comes from the same fear of a loss of control as every other monster on the planet - all your inhibitions are fuelled by the concern that you might hurt an innocent with what you truly are.
So tell me how it was that you came to be, mon ami. Were you born, or made?
I was born this way in an artificial womb, after people decided they wanted to play god with matter that they did not understand. They injected the fertilized egg I was borne from with those cells. And were disappointed with the outcome, fortunately for me.
My state hid itself like a chameleon until I was older, dormant. Had they not, I would have been forged into a living weapon for the government, or worse.
Ah, humans do so love to play with things beyond their scope. It's one of the things I find so interesting about them. Surely they considered the idea that they might be dissatisfied with you, and yet there was no plan for what to do with you - their little failed passion project. And they call us monsters.
It seems to me, though, that you make no conscious decisions to be a monster. Every mishap you have told me about has been a ripple in the water from your actions, not by your hand itself. I would hardly call you a monster for that. Merely quite unlucky.
Now that you mention it... there was a phone that could take a real beating! Waterproof, too, some of them!
You're being very unkind today, by the way. But, as my life is devoted to making you happy, I will selflessly release you from the torment of the unknown.
Did it seem unkind? Tone is so difficult! I was attempting to be playful. I know how you enjoy it when I'm a little bit cruel. Let me try again, since you're in such a saintly mood tonight:
Oh, sweet torture! I do so love it when you remind me how sharp your teeth can be.. you say such things that could wound were I a softer soul.
[ Who's complaining, definitely not him. Louis goading him is almost as delicious as Louis complimenting him. ]
Is it really being playful if what you say is the truth, Louis? I feel you don't know the rules of this game. Yet, to take you at your word, I am very pleased you think so! I shall remember that for a rainy day.
I am thinking about the sound your mouth makes when you open it and run your tongue along the veins at my wrist. Such tiny sounds that anyone would miss, but I can hear them perfectly.
Of course. That must be why I can't hear myself. Nothing else exists when I'm so close to you. Just the sound of your heart beating, and my own racing to keep up.
Truly under my spell, aren't you? I hear it all, like a drum in my head. I hear your mouth water for me, my blood flushing your cheeks. Sometimes I'm certain I can hear how badly you want me.
Oh, you have never had issue with being eloquent, my love. Merely trouble when it comes to actually getting your words out. That I will take the blame for.
I will not take the blame for starting this, though! It is you who gave me cruel words and the flash of your teeth when you know damn well how distracting I find you.
( The wait is terrible for his nerves; did he ruin the moment? Sexting is so complicated. )
Your sincerity isn't in question, Lestat. It isn't your fault that it's difficult for me to accept. You know how I am... forever wondering the reason why things are the way they are.
[ He didn't mean to send that, he was trying to type it out in a different way that didn't seem quite so short, but these goddamn phones with their send buttons being right next to the backspace button and his nails being slightly too long when he first wakes up-- ]
You do not need to explain yourself. I mean it, I am glad to hear it. It wasn't a slight, I wasn't teasing you. Half the game is chasing you, capturing you like a butterfly in my net... but the other half of that joy is letting you go again, papillon. I like to watch you struggle and think, I like to watch your mind work, even if I don't always like where it ends up. I love the wonder in you, and the doubt, in equal measure.
Besides, we both know how easily I could charm someone into loving me blindly.
Ah, so there are embellishments involved. I should have known. ( A considering little hum, so that Lestat knows he's giving it the proper consideration. ) I think bronze appeals to me this evening.
[ He lets out a laugh at the little noise of thought, he can't help it. ]
Ah, as for that.. Well, that depends on your answer to my final question. I can tell you now, or I can show you later tonight. Which one would you like?
You know how I am with surprises... but I know how well you enjoy them.
( Louis can't believe how invested he is in a mystery he found out about less than a minute ago. Lestat's good moods can be catching when Louis has no reason to resist. )
[ Sheer, loud delight in that voice. The faint background noise dies down a little, a telltale sign of Lestat losing sight of his human facade in his excitement. ]
A hint, hmm, let me think. I love it when you play along, such a martyr for me, aren't you? Withstanding all this for the sake of my happiness. [ He's practically singing his words are so warm. ] Ah, that's it. It's something you have absolutely no need for!
Oh yes, not fair at all, I'm so cruel to you.. Let me think. From what I already told you, you should have picked up that this surprise is for you, non? Well, at the same time as being something you have no need for, I believe you might spend a lot of time using it. Though it doesn't require much energy, you'll be glad to hear.
I believe that was technically three clues, though the first one I had already surmised. Something that doesn't require much energy, but I will get a lot of use from... "Velvet or leather" makes me think of clothing, though not necessarily, of course...
( Can you hear him thinking, Lestat? He's so pleased to have a mystery, it's a gift all on its own. )
You really needn't buy me things so often, you know. I have far more than I need, you've seen to that.
( Just so Lestat remembers that he is Lofty and Poetic and Above Material Things. He'll still use them, though, obviously. )
You should consider yourself thoroughly spoilt then, shouldn't you?
[ Lestat is thoroughly enjoying that tone in Louis voice. He sounds so smart, Lestat feels so proud. That and the chase for the answer is a delightful game of cat and mouse. ]
If it were clothing you would get plenty of use from it; you know how I enjoy dressing you up when you let me.
....Hah, and as for you having plenty of gifts.. you definitely don't have anything quite like this. I can assure you of that.
[ The extended pause of indecision. Then a muffled sound that is almost definitely Lestat slamming (probably a little too hard, that incredibly expensive glass back might have a crack in it... again) his phone down on the counter and then leaning over it to talk animatedly to the staff about.. something. ]
They're almost finished! The service here is excellent, you know, apparently this job is the priority.
[ He's talking very fast, faster than usual. Weird, huh. ]
An hour, mon cheri, alright? You can wait that long, can't you?
I have eternity, so yes, I suppose I can wait that long. For you.
( Louis's voice is low and warm with amusement. He can picture Lestat's animated face perfectly, and it's easier to be charmed by his theatrics when he isn't directly in the line of fire. )
[ One of the greatest inventions of the twentieth century, in his opinion, has to be the karaoke machine. He's seen a lot of fads come and go over the years - pet rocks and mood rings, really, who would have thought - but nothing quite swept him up like the rage of the karaoke machine. It started small and modest, as most things do; a little network show with a man named Mitch and lyrics on screen you could sing along to with your family, and steadily blossomed into something households across the globe were desperate to have for their entertainment and in the palm of their very hands. At one time, dinner party entertainment had been down to the quality of conversation of those attending and perhaps a game or two if you were lucky, and now groups crowded around a tinny little microphone with heady dreams of being the next Jackson 5.
The modern era had only worked in the favour of the humble karaoke machine. Far from the hulking box of black plastic with endless cords of microphones, now the people sitting at the bars could access thousands upon thousands of songs on a system connected to the internet. Fascinating stuff. No idea how it worked. Fascinating nonetheless.
Countless tables full of people flicking through the plasticy sheets of songs available for request, and he chooses this one to sit down at, a tumbler in his hand of something dark with ice in it. He peers at the sheet with shining eyes that seem to reflect the gaudy spinning lights from the disco ball hanging above. He taps a finely manicured nail at a song about half way down the page -- Primal Scream's I'm Losing More Than I'll Ever Have. ]
[ The lumbering dead scrape their feet along the ground, groaning and grunting in apparent distaste and honestly? He can't blame them. To be as mindless as this with only the innate instinct for food to guide you... Well, that particular similarity between them doesn't bear thinking about. Is this what Louis had seen in Europe, he wonders. Horrible stuff.
Even at this strange reduced capacity his powers still give him a leg up - though he's sure an infant could outrun the clumsy ambling of these creatures - but there inevitably comes a time when he senses vaguely through the haze that is the state of his Mind Gift in this place someone who is not quite as lucky.
A heavy thwak and the animated corpse hits the wall, congealed and blackened blood spraying as the skull cracks like a rotted fruit. He upturns his nose more at the disgusting state of that once so coveted substance than the actual killing itself, then looks at the figure the creatures were advancing on. ]
You ought not to turn down alleyways too often. So many of them have gates at the end nowadays, and unless you can fly, I don't think it would end terribly well for you.
02. ride in the sky on our ship fantasy (space/reincarnation au)
[ Space travel. What a ridiculous idea. He's seen plenty of films detailing the venture, even read a few novels set in space -- hell, when he woke from The Sleep he read up obsessively on America's great achievement in putting man on the moon -- but he can't help but feel entirely disenchanted by the whole affair. What is up there, after all? According to the photos of Armstrong's small step, there isn't much to be found other than dust and rocks. ]
[ Well, that's how he thought before arriving here. A space station, fitted to the rafters (or, metal roof as the case may be) with everything a person could want on Earth and an extraordinary array of alien wares too, designed for those who have died to have a second shot at life by helping to save neighbouring planets from peril. The only problem is that Lestat is not dead - well, not dead in the sense that everyone else here apparently is - and he has no interest in playing the hero. ]
We're to be a team. [ He announces with no shortage of distaste in his voice. ] For the next mission in a few days. I hope you're strong.
03. and the truth shall set you free (survival/fantasy au [truth serum])
[ The worries of eating poisoned berries and nuts in a place such as this is not a concern that Lestat needs to worry about. While the people around him pick and prod at their bounty of the forest while others search to find adequate places to build shelter, Lestat watches with mild contentedness and wonders when he might start to feel hungry. It will be difficult, everyone here is already afraid, but it won't be impossible. And he loves a challenge.
A group of them go on a small hike up a nearby patch of hilly planes, and Lestat joins. Less people, more opportunity. He tries to scan their minds, but his powers are muddled here. He'll have to get to the bottom of things the old-fashioned way. So later, when they sit by a small fire to talk, Lestat begins his assault to determine which of them might be an ideal meal. However, when someone throws herbs onto the fire, a sickly sweet smell attacks his senses, making him cough up air he doesn't need, and suddenly something painfully true bubbles out of him: ]
a. I have killed everyone I have ever loved.
b. I can't decide which of you to eat first.
c. I am so lonely my heart might break.
04. who will you become when the day is done (transformation/fantasy au)
[ Lestat is vain enough that even a small forced change in his appearance might be enough to end his world. He hasn't seen his handsome face change in over 200 years, so it's understandable he's a little attached to it; right down to the length of his hair, the fine lines near his mouth, the bristle of his sharp eyebrows, the strength in his hands...
Having wings is not that bad. To a point, he understands why his power might have presented in this way, though he wishes it could have been any other of his vast array of abilities that decided to physically manifest. The tail is interesting, a long white and gray thing, incredibly fluffy and seeming to move of it's own will. He watches it with careful eyes now, before he glances at the person standing beside him at this gathering for new arrivals. ]
[Everyone is confused, afraid, and on edge. Who wouldn't be, waking up in some Light-forsaken wilderness that may as well have never have been discovered by civilization? No matter how tall the trees they climb, nobody can see even the slightest hint of humanity. No buildings, no smoke, no roads..... It really is just them out here. Them, the forest, and a big fat lot of nothing.
It's hard to get organized wen nobody is in charge, huh? But the need to survive out here without even the most basic of tools means they've got to divide up the work somehow. Demyx is quick to volunteer for fishing duty--a little too quick, anyone who actually knows him would say. But can you really blame him for wanting the job that involves a whole lot of kicking back and chilling out, rather than the hard manual labor of building shelter or foraging? Besides, he doesn't need a rod and hook to reel in some sweet catches. A subtle bit of magic to control the currents and freeze the fish in place mid-swim, and he can just pluck them out of the water with his bare hands.
Hanging out around the fire is a well-earned rest to cap off the day, in his opinion. And whatever herbs the others found..... well, they kind of remind him of lounging on cushions and passing around a hookah in Agrabah, to be honest. Cloyingly sweet, heady, intoxicating--his head is swimming pleasantly as he breathes deep, something tightly coiled inside him relaxing to flow free. Even the alarming revelation the dandy sitting next to him drops doesn't make him as tense and wary as it should; Demyx just holds a warding hand up, leaning pointedly away from Lestat.]
Woah-ho-ho, I know someone who's not taking a turn standing watch tonight. Seriously, dude, you don't want a piece of this. I'd just give you food poisoning, y'know?
[ The truth leaves his mouth so quickly that for a few moments he isn't sure the words were his own; he could be hearing someone else's desires, or it could simply be that he's so very aware of his own thoughts that at that moment they seemed deafening, perhaps? But as he looks around to the stricken faces of the mortals around him it becomes all too clear that he has, indeed, let the proverbial cat out of the bag. It should have been obvious, really, it's not like eccentric French accents are ten a penny, is it?
He's about to attempt to charm the mortals surrounding him so completely that they will be convinced they heard him wrong - something he can do as easily as a human might breathe in his own world, he can't imagine it being much more difficult here despite the faint cloud to his mind gift - when the one beside him speaks up for the group.
He pauses for a moment, letting the words hang in the air. This one is more confident than the others. His tone is light, airy, as though it were perfectly normal to be preyed upon by one you thought part of your group. He is mortal, isn't he? ]
Poisoning... [ Not to be That Vampire, but he's going to be That Vampire. He can't exactly go rummaging around in Demyx's head, so dumb questions it is. ] What do you mean by this, food poisoning?
[Eccentric French accents may not be ten a penny, but he at least doesn't associate them with potential cannibals--or werewolves, or vampires, or whatever this guy is. He sounds like Lumiere, for Light's sake. What could possibly be intimidating about a singing, dancing candelabra? What's he gonna do, set his coat on fire? He's never actually talked to the little guy, but still--that's because they have to sneak around that Beast's castle, not because he's afraid he's gonna get eaten
No, that fear usually takes hold in Halloweentown. It's perfectly natural to assume you might get eaten whenever you visit a place like that, right? He doesn't usually expect it could happen anywhere else, but..... Well, you never know. The Organization is just a big pack of alarmingly dangerous weirdos who nearly all seem to have it out for him. Who says Saïx wouldn't tear his throat out someday in one of his freaky berserker rages?]
Uh..... Y-y'know, like eating something spoiled or poisonous and getting really sick? Spewing from both ends?
[Demyx clutches his stomach and mimes vomiting. Hell of a Charades prompt, huh? What kind of guy has never gotten food poisoning before, if he routinely eats people? People can be super gross! You never know where they might've been!]
[ Lestat can't help the slightly amused expression that comes across him as he watches this mortal perform for him. So animated, such a vigor even in the wake of his own fear, which Lestat can almost sense, like a shark tasting blood in the water. It's commendable, really. Especially since the others are starting to gather themselves up to try and slip away unnoticed. No matter. ]
I haven't heard of it, though it makes sense.
[ He just wasn't aware they had a word for it. But then humans were always doing this, weren't they; making words for things that could simply be described as what they are. If you're poisoned, you're poisoned. If you're sick, you're sick. As a human, that had been how it was for him, at least. But food was so scarce in that time that if it made you sick you still thanked God for the opportunity. ]
And you believe you will make me, spew from both ends? [ He laughs a little, clearly very pleased with the mental image. What a freak, right? ] That you are poisonous?
[He had better be getting so many brownie points for doing this. These guys had better think he's a big damn hero, distracting this predator so they can sneak away! Seriously, he's putting his whole entire ass on the line here. There's no telling what Lestat is, or how fast he can run; for all they know, he could warp after them and pounce as long as he's got some kind of line of sight, no matter how far they've already gotten.
If he's lucky, maybe someone will come back with whatever weapons they've managed to slap together for hunting and rescue him. Or maybe he'll be able to slip away through a quick Dark Corridor before Lestat can follow him; hopefully, the guy can't track him even through one of those. For now, though, he'll just be glad he doesn't have to figure out how to pantomime or explain explosive diarrhea for Lestat, too.]
W-well..... I guess? Probably? Maybe? You've seriously never eaten something that went off before?
[Demyx laughs nervously, even as he's mentally kicking himself. Why isn't he being more authoritative about this? Why can't he just say something like "Yes, absolutely, you'll definitely collapse in a pool of your own bodily fluids praying for mercy if you eat me!"? Somehow, though, it just doesn't feel like he's allowed to say that unless he's super-duper sure.....
He really wishes his eyes hadn't glazed over every time Vexen had tried to explain all this complicated science-y Nobody stuff. It's not his fault that it's so complicated and Vexen doesn't know how to talk like a normal person, right? He just remembers that exposing people to the Darkness was supposed to be really bad for them.]
[ Lestat watches and oh, it's so tempting to dip into his mind and know how those cogs and gears are turning. This mortal is unlike anything he's ever seen - probably because Lestat hardly ever has conversations with those who know what he is, there isn't often much time for it before they bleed out - and not for the first time in his long life he finds himself enraptured by his sheer energy, despite how much of it might be nervous. His powers aren't as strong here, something is definitely dulling them somehow, but nevertheless he focuses in on what thoughts may be at the forefront of this human's mind as he distracts himself with talking.
He sees a jumble of strings at first; then, it's like looking into a deep pool with no bottom. Fear pushes through the rippling waves of his mind, and an unmistakable kind of darkness lingering at the edges. Interesting. He figures there's only one way to get to the bottom of this - his masquerading as an ethereal human will have to go by the wayside for now. ]
I drink blood, mon ami. If it is your body that is tainted, I won't feel any effects unless that infection is in your blood, too.
[ He gives him a long look, as though sizing him up, even despite the almost warm smile on his face. He uncrosses his legs, then recrosses them the other way and sits back casually. ]
But you needn't be so afraid. If I were going to feed on you, I would have done so already. [ A little shrug. But then he catches his chin with his hand and considers. ] I still might, but you won't feel it. Tell me more about this blackness inside you.
[He..... doesn't know.....? Vexen must be complaining about how stupid he is all the way back at the Castle right now, and not even knowing why. But look, not all of them can be scientists! Not everyone has a good head for understanding this kind of thing. Maybe his blood is perfectly normal and refreshing. Maybe it's all..... gross and sludgy from the Darkness. Maybe he doesn't even have it anymore; he can't actually remember the last time he bled, now that he thinks about it. For all his complaining, the black coat is actually pretty protective.
There's a momentary flicker of hope, hearing that he might be getting out of this scot-free after all--only for Lestat to dash it seconds later. He looks a little like a deer in the headlights, with Lestat suddenly holding his face and gaze alike like this; quite abruptly, the only thought in his mind is Saix is going to kill me if I ever make it back.
Something tells him he can't just offer a glib excuse the way he'd like to. How does this guy even know? He's not supposed to say anything, but if he can't just explain it away, or change the subject, or something.....]
Wh-what do you mean, I won't feel it? Wouldn't that hurt?
[ It's too perfect, the way he seems to freeze under his hold and his attention. It's like it is with every human that Lestat enchants in this manner; whether the mortal be searching for romance or for such a simple thing as someone to hold them close and tell them it will be alright, to make them feel safe… it is always this way. He wonders which one Demyx is. Does he crave comfort, is he afraid and clinging to what little control he has of his own life, or is he - like so many of his kind - secretly craving the kiss of death? ]
I have extraordinary vampiric prowess. I could feed from you now and be gone so fast that you would believe it all a dream. There wouldn't be so much as a mark on your throat as proof I were even here.
[ His voice has gone low, almost a whisper, his thumb slowly stroking over the chin of this interesting little mortal, feeling the heat of his skin from such a slight touch. ]
Now. Tell me of this darkness. I won't repeat myself a third time.
That's what everyone in the Organization keeps telling him, anyway. How can you feel fear with no heart, after all? It's just cowardice, just an excuse, just laziness, just an act he puts on for his own benefit, just willful stubbornness, just self-preservation instincts that he associates with the memory of fear..... Anything they can call it, so long as they can blame him for it, instead of actually addressing the issue at hand. As if any normal, sane person wouldn't be terrified of the sort of things they demand that he does! Even if he apparently can't be scared, that doesn't mean he shouldn't be.
He feels much the same way now, unable to tear his eyes away from Lestat's gaze. This is..... bad, isn't it? He doesn't feel like this vampire is going to suddenly start joyfully singing about Halloween and how much he loves scaring people. He feels like this one is more likely to leave him dead in a ditch somewhere before anyone else even could come back to help him, instead. How does that compare to whatever punishment Saïx (or maybe even Xemnas, Light forbid it) might bring down on him, for violating their rules about secrecy?
He's heard rumors that Xemnas could bust them down into Dusks if they displease him. Dusks! Awful as it sounds, getting drained dry before he can so much as blink and left to die of blood loss might actually be the preferable option, here. Would he really do that just for talking about Nobodies, though? Wouldn't that sort of thing be saved for real traitors?
He..... doesn't feel like he could run. Even if he could trust his legs to hold him, that "extraordinary vampiric prowess" probably means he'd barely get to his feet before he'd get recaptured. It's weird how much of a relief it is to start speaking, in spite of how dire the situation is; with that strange, sweet smoke filling every breath, even dragging his heels on explaining feels like an impossible weight settled over him.]
I-I guess it's..... inside me? Maybe? L-like..... filling up all the empty space that got left behind? Even though nothing can really fill it anymore. Or maybe it's a part of me, now? Um. I..... never really understood the explanations, myself. It's all way too complicated for a guy like me, haha. You know what I mean, right?
[No, actually, he probably doesn't. Lestat seems powerful, cunning, confident, commanding, in control--nothing like a guy like him. Demyx laughs, awkward and nervous.]
[ Lestat can feel such an interesting mix of feeling from this one. Humans are so typically loud in their thoughts that it's quite easy for Lestat to encourage their pages to unfurl and read them as plainly as though they were a book, but this human in particular is strangely... guarded? No, that isn't the word. It's more that he has a vagueness to him, or a blankness; one that Lestat hasn't ever come across in any kind of mortal he's met before. It's fascinating, and it's why Lestat is having a very hard time putting this one down. ]
I understand what you mean. Or rather, I understand the feeling you are explaining. You speak of this darkness as though it were a sentient thing, rather than just a metaphor for something. Is this true? Hmmm..
[ He tilts Demyx's head this way, and then that, trying to look for any difference in him that might make it clear how this aforementioned darkness came to be within him. ]
And when you say.. empty space -- what exactly left you to make it so empty, hm? Your soul?
Yyyyyyyyyes? Maybe? Is it sentient? I guess maybe X-Face and the boss man must think it is, I don't know.....
[Saïx and Xemnas actually talk to Kingdom Hearts like it can really understand them, can answer their prayers. It's kind of weird, to be honest. Creepy, to think this phenomenal cosmic power and force of nature in general might truly be alive and aware in its own right. He gets how individual hearts are sentient, so how does that translate to all hearts, and by extension, all Light, being sentient as part of a greater whole?
More relevantly right now, what does that also mean for Darkness itself? For the Realm of Darkness, and for the Heartless that spawn from and are consumed by it? Are they sentient? Does it matter if they're actually born of people's hearts or not? Does that sentience get snuffed out by the process of being overwhelmed by Darkness, and becoming a slave to their instincts and hunger? Where is his Heartless right now? What is it doing? How is it feeling? Does it miss him? Miss being a part of him? Does it know him at all, or even understand its own situation?
Damn, his head hurts. This sort of high-flying philosophy stuff is so not his forte. Why's Lestat gotta ask him such hard questions? Why couldn't Vexen or Zexion or Xemnas be here instead? They'd probably love talking the guy's ear off over it for hours, right down to every last excruciating detail. They'd probably be powerful enough to not get bitten, even! Yet again, he's the wrong guy for the job..... At least he knows the answer to that last one. That's something he'd wondered himself, right from the start.]
I still got my soul! It's just my heart that's gone, that's all.
[ Holding onto his chin like this, close enough to be able to feel the warmth from his breath as he speaks, Lestat finds it all too easy to slip into his mind once more while he deliberates his answers.. What he sees there, strangely enough, is almost familiar. There's a mixed up feeling, a feeling that it would be so much easier if he could just willingly believe like everyone around him could, that things would be simple were he just a little more patient, a little less resistant, a little more ignorant.
More than that, there's the poignant sense of inadequacy. Self-doubt is something, perhaps surprisingly, that Lestat is all too familiar with. It's a delicious haze that tints everything else in this sprawling mind -- a mind that has potential, yes, that could be great, perhaps not in learned might but in resourcefulness, in instinct.. He seems twisted up, somehow, torn apart by expectation of what he should be and who he is. Like this, Demyx almost reminds him of Louis when he was a human; desperate for someone to pick him up and take control, tell him what to do, take the difficult choices from his hands entirely. ]
Your heart? [ He laughs, slipping away from rummaging around in his mortal consciousness for a second so he can resume their conversation. He's not rude, after all. ] How do you walk and talk and live without a heart?
[It feels like Lestat is staring straight through him, somehow, searching for something he doesn't know how to offer. Creepy. He's not used to getting this much focused attention, honestly--not used to anyone really paying him much attention at all these days, unless it's to either demand things from him, or get mad at him over not doing those things well enough. Why do they even bother giving him such rotten missions, if they already know they'll get mad that he's no good at them?
He's not sure what's so funny about it, but Demyx laughs along anyway, tense and uncertain. In spite of the precarious position he's in though, there's no racing pulse under Lestat's fingers, should he try to find it--nor even a pounding heartbeat, more to the point. And yet, he's just as warm and animated as any prey the man could hope to find, isn't he? Give him a minute to try and remember the lecture he'd gotten all those years ago, back when he'd freshly woken up incomplete--back when the gaping, empty spiritual wound inside him was still raw and bleeding, when he'd been so numb with shock and bewilderment that he'd only barely started feeling the depths of his loss.]
Uh, well..... Vexen said you gotta have a lot of strength of heart and willpower to survive? As long as you hang onto your soul tight enough, I guess you can use the power of Darkness to hold yourself together and keep going, or..... something. Or maybe it was your sense of self, or your memo--wait, no. That doesn't make sense. Then there wouldn't be any Dusks, right?
[ Lestat listens to that explanation, and gives him a few befuddled blinks in return. He finally lets go of his chin, retracting his hands and instead folding them almost politely on his crossed legs. He looks the picture of a gentleman, which is kind of what he is if you ignore the whole.. feeds on human blood part of his whole operation. ]
I don't know what you mean by this dusks, but the other thing you speak of is something I can relate to in some way.
[ He supposes it's story time. And why not -- they're in a strange place, away from most things that are familiar, sitting around a slowly dying campfire, with nothing better to do. And Lestat does love to talk about himself. ]
When given the dark gift in order to become a vampire a soul must be strong enough not to give in to the swoon and die themselves. They must want immortality enough, have a strong enough sense of self, to be able to hover at the precipice before death in order to become what I am.
[ He talks about it with a strangely enchanted look on his face, like an actual weirdo, then turns his intense and bright-eyed attention on Demyx once more. ]
This must mean you are strong of soul in the same way you would need to be to become a vampire. You are one of these things without a heart, yet you are strong. This Darkness must be a very powerful ability, indeed.
[ He glances at Demyx's throat and the jugular vein there. Just, y'know, browsing. ]
They, uh..... they're all empty? Like, sure, they lived--but none of what made them themselves lived. Does that make sense? We can boss 'em around and stuff.
[This is a weird conversation, to be honest. He's gone from a potential dinner entree, to being interrogated about aspects of his soul that this guy should have no way of knowing just by looking at him, to being an audience for..... what? Singing the praises of the metaphysics of turning someone into a vampire? He looks..... really happy about it, for some reason. Why? Had he been happy to become a vampire, back when he'd first gotten turned into one? Does he like turning other people into one, like..... like some kind of undead version of becoming a dad?
He's not sure he likes the implications of that possibility. Just because Lestat let go of him doesn't mean the guy is going to let him go. Demyx hunches his shoulders under the focused gaze as he listens, an awkward counterpoint to Lestat's elegant poise. So what exactly is this "swoon" thing, anyway? Fainting? Falling into some kind of abyss? Falling in love? Whatever it is, it obviously kills you, if you can't handle it. Does he really want to know? Would keeping Lestat talking be useful somehow? It would probably keep the guy in a good mood, at least.....]
W-well, maybe..... I dunno if I want to find out, though. Swooning sounds..... bad.
I guess it is pretty powerful, but the guys say it's nothing compared to the power of the heart.
[Who knows? Maybe you need a heart to be able to resist swooning, and then he'd just be a body without a heart or a soul--that'd just be a corpse, right? He wonders if someone who's already a vampire could actually learn to manipulate the Darkness without losing theirs, though. Spooky thought, huh? Lestat must be powerful enough already, but if he could add that on top of his vampiric powers..... he'd be like Maleficent tier dangerous, wouldn't he? You don't want to fuck with a fairy that commands fae magic, the powers of Hell, and the Darkness.]
The swoon is the best part, mon ami. It's euphoria, utter and complete pleasure, contentedness in a way your mortal brain cannot comprehend. It forces anything you've ever felt before to pale completely; it's an extreme you cannot imagine until you have experienced it.
[ He watches Demyx closely, watching for the tick of his pulse to increase as he feels the fear of a vampire with intention... but as he sits and listens, he hears nothing. No flex of blood, of muscle being flooded from the heart -- ah yes, that makes sense, doesn't it? No pulse because there's no heart to beat in his chest. Lestat suddenly wants to press his hands to his chest and his throat to be sure for himself. He holds off though. For now. ]
You are right to be afraid, but not of me making you as I am. There are conditions to such a thing; I have to want to do it, and I must have your permission.
[ A pause, then he laughs a little, very low, almost like he's telling an inside joke. ]
But you know, there are ways to feel the swoon without becoming like I am. Just a taste, that's all.
[Says the man who's not sure he gets it at all. When Lestat puts it that way, it sounds..... nice? He guesses? And maybe even weirder than he'd thought before. If you fail to become a vampire, it's because you got happied to death? How does that make any sense? Is he even capable of feeling the swoon at all, given his..... condition? You aren't supposed to have emotions at all without a heart, but nobody had ever told him about emotions imposed by an outside force. (That he remembers, anyway. His eyes might have glazed over while Vexen was explaining, if they had made note of it before.)
That gaze on him intensifies, and Demyx is suddenly acutely aware that his coat doesn't have a high collar. Even if he's not considering turning him, it seems as though he may be back on the menu after all. Shit. Isn't there anything he can do?]
I dunno..... I'm still not sure either of us would be happy with the results.
[ Lestat may not be able to sense a pulse in Demyx that might give him any indication of his current state - excited, nervous, scared, intrigued, can he even feel anything without his heart? - but he does notice the body language getting a little tighter. So Demyx isn't an idiot then; he can at least pick up on Lestat's intention like this. That's good, it always makes the bite more interesting when mortals know it's coming. ]
Well, there is only one way to truly find out.
[ Ultimately, the combination of this strange and dark power in him and the fact that Demyx clearly has many things he isn't telling Lestat about his history, whether through omission or pure lack of understanding or memory, proves much too enticing for him to resist. Just a little drink. Just a sip.
So fast his body seems to flicker, Lestat has one hand on the back of Demyx's head, and with extreme strength that doesn't seem to match up with his slender frame, he pushes Demyx's head to the side to give himself a little more room when he sinks his fangs into his throat.
As the blood fills his mouth and they are connected as one being for a brief moment, Lestat can see any of Demyx's memories that he likes, in brief little flashes -- perhaps Demyx being created as this Nobody, perhaps him half asleep during an important conversation, or perhaps something softer and more tender -- and in return, Lestat assumes, Demyx will feel the very swoon he previously described. ]
[Demyx doesn't even get a chance to protest before Lestat pounces, let alone try to defend himself, eyes unable to even follow such fast movement. It's not quite blood that fills Lestat's mouth--cool, smoke-like Darkness billows out instead, brimming with a strange power ripe for the taking. (If Lestat can stomach it, if he dares drink deeply and seize it.) It's at once unspeakably bitter yet intoxicating, burning like the most potent liquor as it goes down; no doubt an acquired taste, if one is determined to acclimate themselves to it.
(The sun makes the water shine like pure jade, the foam spraying around him glitter like diamonds. He's weightless as the waves launch him up-up-up, high enough it feels like he could almost touch the clouds, laughing in pure joy as he reaches for the sky.)
(The bonfire's flames burn bright in the cool night air, the cocktails are flowing freely, and tonight's tipsy tourist crowd is feeling the festive luau atmosphere. Demyx struts and preens on their little beachside stage, smile dazzling as he strums his guitar. Soon, he's coaxed the entire party to start singing along; a few people even dance, once he starts taking requests.)
(Nani and David managing to squeeze out enough time for a date almost always means he's gonna get tapped for babysitting duty. Good thing he's one of the cool babysitters, right? He even has his own secret handshake with Lilo--and with Stitch, though that one's especially difficult. Having four arms gives you an unfair advantage with stuff like this, doesn't it?)
(He's never felt pure terror like this before in his life. Everywhere he looks, people are screaming, fighting futilely for their lives, dying, changing around him..... It's no use hiding behind locked doors when these things can melt into the shadows and simply slip right through the cracks. All he can think to do is snatch his surfboard up and swim out as far as he can, pray they can't follow him--only to realize with growing horror, that even completely adrift, he's not alone. One Sea Sprite clamps onto his leg with razor sharp fangs, then another, and another, and another.....
Cold seawater fills his lungs as he tries to scream, dragged beneath the waves by innumerable writhing creatures. He struggles in vain as the swarm (school?) converges on him, but even the pain of being ripped apart like this is merely a pale shadow of the incomprehensible agony of something indescribable being torn from him.)
('Look deep inside yourself, and reach for the power the Darkness has granted you. What did the echoes of your heart leave behind?' is easier said than done, but he tries his best. He focuses on that hollowness inside him, that void, that inescapable yearning for what was lost..... and when he opens his eyes, a sitar rests in his hands. He starts to play, with nothing to guide his melody but instinct; soon enough, plumes of water manifest to leap and dance around him, twirling and shaping themselves as naturally as breathing. This..... is what was in his heart? It feels..... He thinks he should say it feels right? Like he knows it's a part of him, right down to his bones.
But to be honest, he feels nothing at all. No rightness or belonging, no elation, no satisfaction. Instead, he just keeps playing, waiting for a sentiment that simply never comes. What else can he do?)
("The time has arrived. Look to the skies!" Xemnas raises his hands high, reaching for the heart-shaped moon overhead. "There hangs the heart of all hearts--Kingdom Hearts--shining down on us at last. See the countless hearts that have gathered? Hearts full of rage... hate... sadness... and bliss. There, in the sky, hangs the promise of a new world."
Xemnas turns to face them all. "My friends! Remember why we have organized--all the things we hope to achieve. The strength of the human heart is vast. Soon, though... we will have gained power over it! Never again will it... have power over us."
He watches the latest speech with thinly veiled disinterest, gaze distant, only barely paying attention to the Superior's words. Is it really the promise of a new world? The promise of being recompleted, of regaining all they had lost, of being human again? They've been working for this for so many years, slaving away for a goal that felt both impossibly unreachable and ridiculously improbable. And now just because they have the power of the Keyblade on their side, suddenly the end is drawing near? He doesn't even understand how exactly they're supposed to use Kingdom Hearts, once they've completed it. How is it going to give them back their hearts, when it's made out of everyone else's hearts? Can something like that really just be made out of whole cloth? Can they really accept a new heart, if it's not their own?
What a joke. This is never going to work, is it? He's going to be stuck like this, in this Light-forsaken place, with these Light-forsaken people, doing this Light-forsaken job, for the rest of his life. What he'd give to get out of here.....)
The connection is intense, Demyx will give him that. He expects being bitten to hurt, not..... not feel like this. It's thrilling in all the best ways, more intense than any orgasm he's had in his life, sets all his nerves aflame, leaves him achingly hard as he moans and clutches at Lestat's shirt..... But he doesn't feel content or euphoric? There's nothing to lose himself in, the way he'd expected there might be, just the catharsis of climax.]
[ Immediately Lestat recognises that the blood on his tongue is wrong, and as instinct forces him to swallow around the taste he starts to doubt whether the substance is actually blood at all. It feels viscose but without any weight to it, no body and no texture, it's almost like a fog, like a cloud. Lestat makes some strange noise of distaste against Demyx's throat, but like a wild animal that has latched on to its prey he finds it hard to dislodge himself now, and harder still when the visions come.
The warmness of the sun is blinding, and Lestat is enraptured by the sight he hasn't seen in over 200 years as he feels Demyx experience a poignant moment with those he cares for. Only, like most times of joy, it's cut terribly short by something violent and - quite literally - heart wrenching. Lestat had thought him some strange Frankenstein's monster, or some kind of creature in the guise of a human like himself... Lestat hadn't realised that Demyx was just a boy taken against his will and forced to become this thing, this slave to Darkness, this nobody. As the group in Demyx's memory look up at the heart and fruitless questions race through him, Lestat realises something that makes him feel a drop of horror somewhere deep in his chest.
It's so similar in theme to what he has experienced that it's off-putting. Lestat was taken against his will, turned into this monster and expected to embrace every part of it without being told the truth of what he is or given any real reason for it. He's supposed to relinquish his hold on humanity, be the apex predator he was created to be, and to not ask questions about the why and the how because they aren't his place to know.
He forces himself backward. There's no pulse to warn him of danger, there's no blood to sate him. He has only an acrid taste on his tongue and the recoil of so many thoughts hammering through his mind all at once.
He puts a hand to his head, fingertips pressing into his temple, trying to reground his senses. He can smell arousal, he can feel Demyx's fingers twisted in his shirt, but he can feel no desperate want from this human as is usually the case. He's been taken by the swoon, that much is certain from how his body has reacted, but that is the only part of it.
Lestat studies him for a long moment, then raises his hand to wipe at his mouth as though he can remove the bad taste that way. He can't, and instead he just tightens his expression into something sour. ]
I saw your creation into what you are. [ He looks Demyx up and down, then. Such a bright mortal to say that there is no joy in him, no wonder and no hope. ] What a terrible thing.
[It's almost a let down, in a way, that the swoon doesn't fully claim him. It would have been..... nice, riding that sort of high again. Even if it wasn't really him feeling that euphoria naturally, it still would have been worth the break from the constant emptiness. Unless the come down would be even worse, having what he wanted for only a moment before it was snatched away again? Not that he's meant to feel disappointment or relief these days, is he.....
Oh well, at least it's better than being eaten alive, or bleeding out alone. He should have expected as much, really. A deep, shaky breath to settle his rattled nerves again, and Demyx lets go of Lestat to feel his neck with a gloved hand. Does he really not leave any wounds behind at all? That's not unsettling at all, is it? It seems like a more pressing issue than his arousal, at any rate.]
Y-yeah, uh..... it-it really sucks, huh? I told you I wouldn't be good eating.
[Lestat looks like he'd just bitten into a lemon, honestly; that immediate karma might actually be funny, as long as, y'know, he wasn't the lemon in question. But isn't there something more important to think about than reminiscing about his transformation?]
Sooooo..... what does biting have to do with seeing the past, anyway?
[He can't help but think of Naminé biting someone to do her thing, now. That'd make for a lot scarier memory witch, huh? Though he guesses her not even needing to be there for her art to work its magic is actually pretty scary in its own way.....]
[ Lestat watches Demyx feel at his neck, and realises only then that in his haste he didn't seal the wound with his vampire blood before pulling back... It's so strange to see tiny whisps of that black smoke spiralling from the two little fang marks instead of the dark scarlet blood he's so used to seeing.
He's momentarily distracted by staring at it, and by mourning the lack of close contact. He didn't realise how nice it felt to have hands clinging to him like that. Usually his victims fell away into death and any loss of contact would quickly go cold as Lestat ran from the product of his feed... but this one is still moving, still enticing despite his lack of everything that Lestat thinks makes a human what they are.
Lestat licks his lips, trying to find where the taste still lingers there and get rid of it. If only there were some critters around he could drain to wash the terrible taste away. ]
We become one in the moment of the drink. He explains like it's so obvious. Our heartbeats join in time -- or they would, if you had one. We connect body and spirit and mind. I can see anything in your mind that I want to at that moment. You could see mine too, if you had any kind of mental prowess.
[ He looks a little troubled still, a little weirded out by the taste and the lack of blood and what he'd seen. He hadn't been kidding when he called it terrible. His heart kind of hurts. ]
[He expects dark blood shining slick against leather. He expects pain, dizziness, weakness--like the inescapably bitter aftertaste of medicine, no matter how many spoonfuls of sugar you add. Even prodding at delicate torn skin barely stings at all; for a moment, Demyx simply looks from Lestat, to the twisting tendrils of darkness, and back. The guy really does seem to be taking this hard.....
Weirdly hard, actually. Why is Lestat so shaken up by this? Sure, his blood might be bizarre and undrinkable, but he can't say he's used to people having anything like empathy or compassion. All of the Organization would have just told him to walk it off and stop being a whiny bitch about it.]
Haaa..... yeah, nobody's ever accused me of being smart before. I..... guess that means your secrets are safe with me! Pretty good, huh?
Oh, uh! S-sorry if it..... I dunno, hurt or anything? You're not supposed to expose yourself to that stuff unprotected.
[Demyx makes a broad, sweeping gesture to indicate his uniform. A little too late for that now that the calls are apparently coming from inside the house, so speak. Too bad it doesn't protect against the swoon's..... time mind magic stuff, too. Should he be worried, having everything exposed so effortlessly like that? He feels like he should probably be worried. Seriously, dude, he's taking "you are what you eat" waaaaaay too literally.]
[ Lestat's eyes fall to that wound again while Demyx speaks. How would it heal without blood to clot? Would it seal over with that darkness until the flesh formed back into place? He itches to know, fascinated and horrified in equal amounts by how this strange substance has changed this sweet hearted human into something so powerfully different.
When Demyx apologises, Lestat lets out a bark of incredulous laughter. He can still smell that arousal in the air - how does that work without blood, he wonders? - and he just attacked Demyx, and yet he's apologising for hurting him? The fact that he thinks he could is funny enough already, but this idiot's priorities are what really makes him laugh. ]
Don't say such things. You aren't an idiot. And I'm not hurt.
[ But is that true, he wonders. His heart feels like it's being stabbed, tight and mournful in the wake of what he'd seen. He wants to do something, but what can be done about this strange situation that the both of them know so little about. That's the harm with being taken as they had, often times you're alone even if you have someone who wants to help you.
The least he can do is heal the wound, so he lifts a hand to his mouth and nicks his thumb with a sharp eye-tooth until hot scarlet blood spills over his hand. Then, he presses it to the wound on Demyx's neck, and holds it there for a few seconds until withdrawing and inspecting the fully healed wound. ]
[He can't really imagine that's wholly true, somehow. A vampire still has a heart, right? Just..... not a soul, if he remembers what Lestat said right? And Darkness is dangerous to anyone who has a heart, no matter how powerful. Or..... are vampires creatures of Darkness to begin with, instead of just creatures of the night? It seems doubtful, with how Lestat had recoiled in disgust, but it's probably still possible.
The whole idiot thing, though--that isn't even worth consideration. Of course he is. Even if everyone didn't say so, if he wasn't, wouldn't he understand more about..... well, everything? What he is, what they're working towards, the whole ridiculous situation he's found himself in?
As much as Lestat's questioning how anything about his body works, Demyx finds himself doing much the same. He tilts his head as he watches, eyeing Lestat as he works.]
I thought vampires didn't have blood? That's why you guys need other people's, right?
[Did. Did you think it just goes straight through the stomach lining to reach their veins, Demyx? Really?]
[ Lestat waits for the blood to work, then nods his satisfaction and retreats. His thumb has also fully healed, the skin almost resetting as though nothing had ever happened. Despite the fact that Lestat is no longer all up in Demyx's space, he finds it's difficult to fully retract his contact. Where they sit, Lestat's outer thigh is pressed to Demyx's, and when he inhales he can still smell the taste of his skin and the scent of his momentary arousal lingering in the air. It's a heady and intoxicating combination of experiences, and one Lestat can't resist the urge to bask in for just a little longer. ]
Don't have--?
[ He quirks his eyebrow, then his sullen expression breaks into a helpless laugh. ]
Of course we have blood. I am undead, yes, but despite what I can no longer do, I can still cry, bleed, sweat. I still have a pulse, which is more than can be said for you, mon ami.
[ He levels a look at Demyx, studying him again for a moment or two. It's still mind-boggling that he's so vibrant, seemingly without any of that powerful emotion Lestat adores. ]
I do not know why we drink blood, only that we have since the first of our kind. We are blessed with our powers in return for taking human life.
[If nothing else, Demyx doesn't seem inclined to shrink away from Lestat's touch anymore? The worst already seems to have happened, after all--and even that wasn't bad at all, was it? It was actually..... surprisingly nice, somehow? As long as he doesn't seriously piss the guy off, it's looking less and less likely that he'll be mauled.
Demyx laughs sheepishly instead, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. Ask stupid questions, win stupid prizes, huh? Look, he's not from Halloweentown, or a necromancer, or whatever! This is all new territory for him. He can't reasonably be expected to know about undead biology, right? .....Right?]
I guess you're right..... Hahaha, maybe I'm actually even deader than you. Who'd ever think? Weird.
[And yet, Hades most decidedly is not the boss of him, hah. (Even if that actually might be preferable.) Demyx reaches for one of the fish on a stick abandoned by the fire; after a brush with death like this, he deserves a second helping. And whoever's dinner he's stealing, they deserve it too, for ditching him like this instead of hanging together as a group.]
Sounds like a fairy curse, if you ask me. What can't you do anymore, anyway?
[ At that comment, Lestat gives him a different kind of look, one that says You might be onto something there. Even though Lestat talks a big game with all his fancy words, he is no genius and is nowhere near so set in his ways that he can't appreciate a good theory even if he has no way of moulding it into something that can be easily explained. Louis was always so much better at theorising than him. ]
A fairy curse? [ He quirks his eyebrow again, a bemused smile lingering at his lips. ] The little creatures in storybooks for children? You do say some strange things.
[ Vampires, totally normal. But fairies? Get outta here. ]
As for what I cannot do, let me think.. [ He taps a finger to his mouth, stretching out his legs as if getting comfortable for a long story. ] I cannot eat human food. It tastes awful and bland and makes me feel ill. I cannot go out in the day time, the light from the sun burns my skin. I cannot have sex in the mortal manner any more. I can't ever age, die of natural causes, or change the way I look. If I cut my hair, it will be the same again after I wake the next night. The same with my nails; you know, they were a little too long when I died, and now I file them every night before I go out? It was maddening at first, now it's something like muscle memory.
[Did he actually say something right for a change? Now there's a shocker. Maybe he's got a point, after all; it had certainly felt as though he'd died, at the time. Or at least..... the part of him that had made him truly him had.]
What? Fairies are bad news, man. You don't want to mess with that. Giving people power at a terrible price sounds like exactly the sort of thing Maleficent would do..... or Ursula, I guess? She's not a fairy, though.....
Whatever. Anyway, even if it wasn't, it still kinda sounds like you guys got ripped off.
[Kind of like how he did, to be honest. Controlling the Darkness has tempted plenty of mortals. Losing your heart is certainly an effective way of ensuring that power is at your fingertips, but in exchange.....]
I suppose we did. There are plenty of upsides to the Dark Gift -- our preternatural senses, our mind abilities, the ability to fly or cast fire with just our thoughts... the ability to see beauty in the mundane, in things we previously had no time for.. But its downsides are just as numerous. You won't find a single vampire who doesn't crave the human existence like a wound in their side.
[ Lestat's mouth twists like he's trying to keep a laugh bottled up. This is the first time he's ever divulged what he is to a human and had a negative reaction to it, and it's as bemusing as it is strange. Normally mortals are begging to be turned; he can think of at least two he's witnessed himself even if he didn't do the turning. ]
I don't know these names, but I suppose you're right. The fairies in Shakespeare are all quite tricky. La Belle Dame Sans Merci springs to mind more than all.
[ But then he looks at Demyx and leans in, almost conspiratorially. ]
Do you mean to tell me you know of fairies personally?
Sounds great..... except for the part where you lose all the other stuff that made you happy before you got the cool powers, y'know? It'd take a pretty miserable life not to miss what you can't have anymore.
[Everyone thinks they can have their cake and eat it, too, don't they? But seeing the beauty in the mundane probably makes them realize the beauty in everything they gave up. Flying probably makes them realize they'll never be able to watch the sunrise from those dizzying heights. Those potent senses and mind reading powers probably reminds them that they'll never taste food the way it's meant to be tasted again, never share a lover's touch again. Food and sex are awesome.
It's not hard to imagine that longing, that craving Lestat describes--he feels it himself every day, after all. As much as he knows he'd have been thrilled by the magic he has now as a human, none of it was worth losing his heart. Not even close.]
Oh! Uh, Ursula is a sea witch. She grants wishes for a steep price, but you're pretty screwed if you can't pay up when she comes to collect. She's not too much to worry about, as long as you don't sign any fishy contracts. Maleficent, though..... she's a Dark fairy queen. I've never actually met her, but we keep tabs on her, just in case. I don't know why the other guys aren't scared of her.
[Is he babbling? He kind of feels like he's babbling. But just recognizing the influence over him doesn't mean he can stop. If anything, he looks about as intimidated now just thinking about her as he had when the sheer force of Lestat's presence had been bearing down on him.]
I mean, come on! The Darkness doesn't even seem to touch her. She can control basically everything about it without any ill effect, even lesser Nobodies and Heartless--I heard she even commands demons and hellfire, and her curses are basically unbreakable unless you're playing by her rules. She's destroyed hundreds of worlds. She even totally reshaped one just to suit her. The Keybearer managed to like Capital K Kill her, somehow, and you know what it took for her to come back? A few people remembering her. That's it! How isn't that terrifying?
[ Lestat listens as attentively as he can, but it's very difficult to be an engaged and responsive conversation partner when you are distracted so thoroughly by your companion's ability to just... speak, to ramble, to let everything he's feeling out to the point where Lestat wonders if there's really any need to try and get into his mind and fish out the finer details. Thinking of it brings him back to what he'd seen when he'd bitten Demyx, the torment and the heart-wrenching scene of something precious to him being stolen.
Demyx is right, it is impressively like his own situation in some ways, but he can't help but wonder if it isn't reversible for him. A vampire can never be reborn as a human - to his knowledge - but someone without a heart can surely regain it through the right set of circumstances, right? Is it foolish to have hope that such a thing might be possible? Is it strange that Lestat feels strangely protective of the idea, this dream?
He tilts his head in consideration at what he caught of the description of this dark fairy queen, and makes a soft sound of thought. ]
I can see why you might feel that way, it's quite an impressive roster of achievements, but I don't make a habit of feeling fear very often. I should like to meet her some day.
[He would probably laugh it off, if Lestat brought the thought up. They've been working towards the idea for a decade now, after all--and to what end? Now that Roxas and Xion are with them, it should in theory be possible. But it hasn't happened yet, has it? If Kingdom Hearts is completed now, then what are they even waiting for? Why haven't they already started executing the finale of this grand master plan Xemnas is so enamored by?
He bets Xemnas doesn't even know how to do what he's been planning for so long, or just doesn't want to admit that it didn't work when he tried. Lestat may have hope for him, but he doesn't--wouldn't even if he was capable of it, in fact. It's one of the few things he doesn't so readily prattle on about, in fact; nobody expects a guy like him to be cynical, do they? It just doesn't fit his image. Besides, more importantly, he doesn't want to harsh anyone's vibe. Just because he could make it rain doesn't mean he wants to rain on people's parades!]
I don't know..... You probably don't if you want your world to stay intact. There's no way you'd be able to miss her if you ever do meet her, though. Green skin, yellow eyes, black robes, horns.....
[She doesn't exactly sound like the little fairies in children's stories, does she? Swirls of smoky darkness curl around his hands, and Demyx's sitar materializes. For a moment, the air feels heavy and humid around them as he starts strumming, the tune soft and menacing. The drops hanging in the air gather to give shape to a water clone; soon enough, Maleficent's figure is looming over them where they sit, regal and imposing, sceptre in hand and raven perched on her shoulder. She (it?) smiles down at Lestat, sinister and smugly superior.]
[ Lestat listens to the warning with a slightly tilted head, caught in consideration for a long, long moment while Demyx continues to speak. She certainly doesn't sound like a typical fairy - green skin, whoever heard of a fairy with green skin? - but the description of her prowess and the fact that whole worlds aren't safe with her around... It reminds him all too much of Akasha, and with a slight uptake in his pulse due to either fear or exhilaration or both, he wonders what kind of presence she might command.
He doesn't have to wonder for much longer, as soon enough Demyx is conjuring up an instrument Lestat doesn't recognise and begins plucking some foreboding sound from it, producing an image of her lit faintly by the light of their fire.
Lestat raises to his feet as though in a trance, his eyes wide and drinking in her horrifying beauty and wicked smile. She's much taller than even his impressive height, and he finds it entirely impossible to even consider looking away.
He understands that this is magic, some sort of apparition from Demyx's power, but even so he still reaches out a reverent hand to touch her. ]
[Enchanting, isn't she? And this figure he's called forth with his song is merely a pale shadow of her beauty, of the sheer, overwhelming power of her presence. A fairy queen is beyond such things as good and evil, as awe-inspiring and implacable as a force of nature; she even seems to be beyond such a simple dichotomy as life and death. He can't help but wonder what Maleficent would think of meeting a vampire like Lestat, another creature who transcends death. Would they be peers? Would she find him a worthy servant, like Pete? (How the hell did a guy like Pete ever manage to keep company with Maleficent, of all people, anyway?) Would he be a rival to be crushed?
The figure inclines her head graciously and extends a hand to Lestat in return, a queen ready to receive her due devotion. A rippling cascade of notes, and water bubbles around Lestat's feet, glistening tendrils shaping themselves into a facsimile of thorned vines to climb and twine around him. Were they actually Maleficent's, perhaps he might be ensnared and rooted in place, plunged into a cursed magical slumber from the very first prick. She had reshaped the whole of Hollow Bastion with them, after all, hadn't she?
But Demyx's imitations have always been fragile, as easily dispersed as they are created. Lestat hardly needs to move to shake off the vines' cool embrace; even Maleficent's figure would disintegrate after being dealt a few blows, no matter how imposing she may look.]
[ He takes her hand, lifts it to his mouth to kiss the back of it, and the chill of the water seems to make sense - how could such a foreboding and powerful otherworldly creature be anything but cold as the grave, as marble?
This interaction, perhaps more than anything else, makes it all too clear how easily swept up Lestat's soul can be by the might of a powerful being, by a creature that commands respect, by someone looking at him like they know what kind of things he is capable of and not being afraid of it.
Akasha had stolen him away at night, kept him as her own, her prince, made of him her accomplice in the ending of his world and the rebirth of her own. She might have been successful too, if Lestat had stayed caught up in her thrall. How lucky he is that it dissipated when it did, that her disdain for innocent life bucked so violently against his own desperation to make something good of his evil existence.
It's that thought that has him staggering backwards suddenly, the vines he hadn't even noticed splashing around his feet, his hand lashing out as if intending to push her away from him, or push himself away from her-- but she falls in a cascade of water around his feet, and Lestat stares at the place she had been with a strange amount of sadness considering he always knew she wasn't real. ]
[It's a good question, isn't it? Would her touch be as cold and inhuman it seems it should be? Passionate and alive as the blazing hellfire she commands? Tingling and otherworldly like the strange green lightning that so often accompanies her power? He's never approached her closely enough to find out, and with any luck, he never will. Where Lestat is enthralled, he's more liable to simply cower--not unlike he had in the face of Lestat's superior vampiric might. Someone who carries themselves with such utter confidence, like they have the entire world at their command..... odds are good they have the strength to back up their bravado. Far smarter to retreat before they ensnare you, if there's any opportunity. Better a living coward than a cocky corpse who gambled with their life and lost, yeah?]
.....Uh. Are you okay, dude? You seem kinda..... y'know.
[Out of it? Weird? Off? Freaking out? Tripping balls? Lestat is clearly having some kind of Capital-M-Moment over this little puppet of his, at any rate. Maleficent's figure dissolves into a floating music note, then breaks apart entirely under the force of his shove. The music stops abruptly, leaving the puddles to lay where they fall; the idea that he should probably be concerned about Lestat feels kind of..... backwards, to be honest? But to be fair, it is kiiiiiind of his fault, too. Sort of. Maybe.
Too bad he's no more sure about what he did wrong than how to help fix it. Nobody could possibly mistake a water clone for the real thing, right? So what's even the problem? Lestat has no possible reason to be upset over just a little visual aid. They may as well have been listening to a CD while playing pretend with dolls, for Light's sake.]
[ He thinks of the sight of the Queen falling to dust, her head severed, her thick blood running out across the marble floor. He thinks about the look in her eyes when she'd approached him with the intent to kill him for disobeying her. He thinks about the taste of her blood on his tongue, the fact that he could taste the undeniable proof that she thought he could be useful, that she had in her hands the purpose that he'd always been looking for... that she loved him.
Looking at the pools of water, it's very difficult to mistake them for blood, and so he slips easily from his reverie and back to the present. Back to this strange world that neither of them can call home, and back to the fire that forces them to be honest. ]
... It brought back.. memories. Of a time when I met the Goddess of the Vampires, the Queen of the Damned.
[ He doesn't think he has it in him to say her name, so instead he takes a step back and then another, until he can sit himself back down beside Demyx and push out a long, hollow exhalation from lungs that no longer need breath. ]
I didn't expect it to feel that way. For my heart to... ache, this much.
You met a goddess? It sounds like you two were..... close?
[That's..... kind of impressive, actually. In his admittedly limited experience, the gods tend to be dicks, to be honest. They're hardly ever interested in mortals unless it directly involves their own self-interest, or they could use them as pawns in whatever divine game of chess they're playing with each other..... Yes, he's looking at you, Hades. He's probably also considered the ruler of the damned, and when has he ever inspired that kind of devotion?
He can't imagine anyone staring at Hades with the same sort of mournful yearning Lestat had stared at the water with. What kind of person was this goddess-queen? And what had happened to her, to make Lestat so sad? Is an entity like that really able to die? Have an awkward arm pat, Lestat; even if he did have a heart, he probably still wouldn't be sure how to be comforting, here. This is waaaaay above his paygrade. Read as: he doesn't get paid at all. Help. Hell, it probably still would be even if he was allowed to spout some falsely comforting nonsense.]
[ Lestat can't help but let out a snort at Demyx's comment, but also at his own ridiculous behaviour; he's acting like some pitiful and heartbroken fool in front of him, and isn't that just embarrassing? He isn't even certain how he feels about her in retrospect, given everything that happened to him when he was at her side, and yet here he is looking miserable at being reminded of her?
What happened to the unflappable Vampire Lestat - the one who had lured Demyx into a sense of security so perfect that he could feed from him, the one handsome and confident enough to be an appealing consort to that Goddess in the first place?
We were lovers, is what he means to say, but what comes out is: ] She stole me away in the middle of the night to be her Prince in a new world of her own making.
[ He can feel himself saying the wrong thing, but somehow he can't stop; all he can do is inhale the scent of the fire. Cursed thing. He groans as though frustrated with himself, running a hand back and through his hair. ]
She is gone now, either way. No use mourning what is no more.
[Bro, what the fuck. That. That's just called kidnapping, Lestat. Kidnapping and Stockholm Syndrome. It doesn't matter what kind of crazy romantic promises she made you to try and keep you complacent, Demyx is pretty sure that's just straight up a hostage situation. He's gonna go out on a limb here and say Lestat definitely isn't okay? Yikes.
At least it explains how weirdly compelled Lestat seems by the idea of Maleficent, someone on nearly the same level, able to all but make a world of her own. Were he a year or two older, Demyx might even actually be able to sympathize, to a degree--when Xehanort puts his final plan into motion, and revives him to become one of his vessels in his bid to remake the multiverse to his own liking..... Well, it isn't as though he'll exactly be able to say no, when the time comes. But that's a lifetime away, and hardly so romanticized as it sounds like Lestat's gilded cage must have been.
He may feel compelled to tell the truth, but that doesn't mean he can't tactfully keep his mouth shut so he doesn't cram his foot in there. Even he can manage a little restraint, sometimes. But what else can you even say about something like that? "Sorry for your loss"? He's really not, though. If anything, that was probably a lucky break for Lestat. "Bummer, dude"? Tell Lestat something he doesn't already know. How much worse would this be if he could actually feel how awkward it is?]
I..... guess not? You'll always have the memories, though.
[Unless Lestat's world has a Naminé equivalent of their own, of course. Then it's probably possible to break that chain, for better or worse. Whether those memories are actually worth having or not, though, that's on Lestat to decide.]
[ Lestat's sigh is a weirdly forced sounding thing, as though he's forcing all bad energy from his body with such an exhalation. Demyx isn't wrong in his first impression, that it's kidnapping and that Lestat is deluding himself if he tries to say that his position at Akasha's side was anything other than a power play on her part as she'd used him to connect to the modern world. He's sure he loved her once, but that love soon turned to revulsion as he realised she was everything he was so deathly afraid of becoming.
The last shred of goodness in him had sung out like a dying star, and for his troubles all he got was her looking at him with disappointment and fury, ready to destroy him just for denying her what she decided was rightfully hers.
But admitting to all that makes him a victim, doesn't it? And a victim is the last thing Lestat will ever allow himself to be. He settles on the log a little more, his eyes pinched and focusing in on the fire. He deliberates his answer for a long while, and then the fire seems to pick it for him. ]
Yes, mon ami, her memory will always haunt me.
Edited 2023-10-18 19:04 (UTC)
I couldn't resist >.> /dumps a bucket of Disney over his head
[Silence is fine, if Lestat needs it after his little..... episode. Remembering all that has obviously shaken him up; they don't have to talk, if he's not up for it. But Demyx's fingers do move in the space left by Lestat's musing, improvising a meandering melody that builds on itself as it goes. Gotta do something with himself while the guy has his war flashbacks, huh?
In the end, he only really has one piece of advice to give. How's he coped with his own situation? Denial. It's not just a river in Egypt!]
Yeah, I bet. But hey, hakuna matata, right? She's gone, now; try not to let her get to you too much.
[ Lestat listens to the melody and lets it take him away from here for a moment, to let Demyx's words sink in and to follow the instruction wilfully. As if it's that easy.
Yes, she is gone, and yes Lestat no longer has to worry about the haunted Queen scooping him out of his resting place and spiriting him away to some unknown location to trick him into committing genocide at her side. But she is still with him every day; her blood has changed him so much that sometimes he doesn't recognise himself, and that is something he can't simply forget about.
Akasha had been the first of their kind, the Queen of their race, and her closed mind and cold heart is all that awaits those of his kind who live to reach her age. His soft and diffused beauty will one day fade into something hardened and sharpened by time, and his mind will lose its wonder to the ennui of immortality. It's inevitable, it's inescapable, it's--
Lestat pauses, opening eyes he doesn't remember closing, and frowning slightly. He turns that frown on Demyx. ]
Hakuna matata! It's a little something I picked up on one of my scouting trips.
[Spying trips. Reconnaissance trips. Whatever. It's not specifically spying if he's supposed to just look around and learn whatever he can however he can, right? "Infiltrating" an entire world is a pretty grandiose way to put it, really--just a plausibly deniable way of saying that he's expendable enough to lose in unknown territory, if it comes to that. At least it doesn't have to involve fighting, if he's good enough at it.
The melody turns lighter and brighter, almost bouncy. Now that he thinks about it, this place and the Pridelands are both beautiful, untouched expanses of wilderness, aren't they? The Pridelands just..... didn't prevent him from escaping like this one does. Weird, huh? He wonders what's causing it. Too bad he's not smart enough to figure this sort of thing out on his own.]
It means no worries! The past is in the past, the future is in the future. Let 'em stay where they belong. You can only live right now, dude. That's where you belong.
[ Lestat hasn't heard the phrase before, and he doesn't recognise it in any language he's familiar with - but then his experience is predominantly European languages, and he's pretty certain by now that the lands that make up the world he comes from and the ones that exist in Demyx's world have very little cross over. ]
No worries... [ Lestat muses, tilting his head a little in consideration, easily letting this more light-hearted song wash over him. ] Is that so...
[ He is always so easily taken by music, being an almost rock star himself and having been very recently summoned from death sleep by music it's no surprise that he feels like it speaks to him in a way, so he closes his eyes in the midst of this one. He can feel the notes soothing his twisted soul, reinforcing Demyx's words somewhat, and even if Lestat can't fully let go of what troubles him enough to believe them completely.. he does feel comforted. That much is undeniably true.
He looks to the fire, the flames reflecting back in his eyes, the scent of its strange power still thick in his senses but.. strangely familiar now. He smiles, just a bit. ]
[ Blue, velvet and bronze. Matching his eyes, indeed. Lestat can't resist a grin when he thinks of that comment. Louis certainly is getting free with his compliments and Lestat can hardly say he minds. Some might even call his behaviour romantic, and isn't that just marvellous.
Lestat greets the concierge of the extravagant London building where he's bought rooms, rises to the top in the elevator, and opens the door with little to no effort in restraining his volume. He wants Louis to hear his arrival without sensing it, feel that strange human trepidation morph to excitement, for him to fully give in to being surprised and loving every moment of it.... Perhaps it's wishful thinking, perhaps he's muddling Louis love for him with a love for being at his whim.. it doesn't matter. Louis complaints every time he does this only make him want to petulantly do it more.
He can hear Louis sitting silently somewhere through the long rooms of the penthouse, and he smiles as he approaches with a brown paper package and a few magazines tucked under his arm. ]
Louis? [ He calls without much need. He just likes saying his name. ]
( Louis answers his call for the same reason — just for the pleasure of being able to do it, and because he knows it makes Lestat happy when he does. Louis is in the sitting room, which they've gradually and inadvertently been transforming into a library with their various literary acquisitions. He'd tried to distract himself with poetry, but the promised hour seemed to last an eternity, and by the time Lestat arrives home, Louis is quite frankly embarrassed of his own impatience. Well, at least Lestat will be pleased by that.
He marks his place in his book with a ribbon and sets it aside on the small table next to the sofa, and stands to greet Lestat just as he steps through the threshold of the door. As if he hadn't been listening for his steps this entire time, his heart leaping at every little sound. He's sure Lestat knows, no matter how serene Louis tries to appear, particularly when his eyes flit toward the package under Lestat's arm.
Louis presses a soft kiss to Lestat's cheek in greeting. )
[ Louis looks a sight, as always. When Lestat is away Louis of course lingers in his mind like a beautiful, haunting spectre; elegant, ethereal, something like a dream. When he sees him before him with his very own eyes, the world seems to burst into unimaginable colour. The magnetism he has over Lestat draws him in like a gravitational pull. In moments like this Lestat wonders if he has ever truly appreciated how expertly crafted Louis is. But, in honesty, he does this every time. Always with the same answer.
There is a wonderful little burst of energy to Louis' movements when he enters. Excitement, Lestat thinks. Eagerness. Some of his favourite words. And the small kiss he presses to his cheek that Lestat so easily returns - will this rapture ever cease to amaze him? Circling one another like planets naturally progressing to these touches here and there. It drives him wild. He almost forgets about the package. Almost.]
I did. The air is so different here, I still can't quite believe how so.
[ He lays the package down on a nearby vanity, the magazines on top, and puts his hands to his hips as he looks around at the room. ]
Have you been reading all this time? Really, Louis, there are more things to life, you know.
[ He teases. There is a glitter to his eyes. He knows exactly what he's doing. ]
( Oh, is this how it's going to be? Louis raises his eyebrows slightly, his features pinching into the expression he gets when he's attempting to figure out the rules to one of Lestat's games. Asking aloud would mean conceding, of course, and so Louis pivots to turn half away from the package and toward Lestat. )
Not all this time. I had a telephone call. It seemed like a matter of some urgency.
( Ah, but at least it isn't a hardship to look at Lestat, handsome and charming creature that he is. Unfortunately for both of them, self-satisfaction is a good look on him. )
[ That shift in Louis' expression is like a whiff of victory, and Lestat becomes Achillean in his determination for another taste. It really is so enticing to have Louis play along regardless of the fuss he makes or the weak willed resistence he pure puts up... but then Lestat enjoys both, that scowl just as addictive as this one of focus is.
Lestat would be rude if he didn't give him a good show. ]
Ha! [ He laughs, hand falling to Louis' chest like it belongs there. ] So funny. I'm flattered your curiosity about my musings was enough to drag you from your pages, in that case. It's an honor you even picked up.
[ He fixes Louis with a look then, cheekiness playing around in his features, before it falls and he instead begins to look him up and down. ]
( The question catches Louis by surprise, and his stomach swoops with a brief sensation not unlike stepping out onto a missing stair. He blinks, hesitating as he wonders at Lestat's reason for asking— or does he have a reason at all? It's still reflexive for Louis, trying to puzzle out his motives, though most of the old apprehension is gone. Still, the subject is a distasteful one. )
No, not yet.
( His heart flutters beneath Lestat's hand, and he leans toward him with a barely audible sigh. He'd been letting his thirst build, waiting for the pull to become too strong to ignore. Easier to give himself over to instinct. But the drumbeat of Lestat's pulse is all the louder and more alluring for it, and all of his resistance seems rather foolish in the face of this temptation. He tries to distract himself by playing with Lestat's buttons, but that only brings him closer to Lestat's body, which has entirely the opposite effect. )
I thought I would wait. I hope that doesn't spoil your plans?
[ He's watching him closely, and if he were human he might have given him a compassionate look for bringing up a subject so sensitive. As it is, the look Lestat does level at him is a little closer to the ones of admonishment Louis sometimes gives him. It's very weak, though. Yet again Lestat finds himself struggling to set a preference when it comes to Louis - fed, plump with blood, glowing with the warmth of it beneath thin layers of polished skin, or hungry and full of the nervous energy that comes with the need for it, meandering ever closer to desperate, his eyes wide and all too aware of how loud a pulse can be in a quiet room... It really is true that he loves this beautiful thing before him in whatever form he might take. ]
It spoils nothing.
[ He says, at least having the good manner to sound a little reassuring. It might have been... easier, if Louis had fed, but he doesn't mind.
Louis toying with his buttons like that is thoroughly distracting, though. Or perhaps it's the line of his slender frame against his own. He drops his voice to a murmur, eyes lazily dropping to the collar line of Louis' sweater, to the shirt beneath, then to the skin at his jaw. ]
I only asked so I could know how long I have you all to myself. Impatient thing that you are.
( If Louis were freshly fed, that look and the low purr of Lestat's voice might have inspired a blush in him. His skin seems to hum with a thrilling sort of nervousness, and he can't make up his mind what to do about it. Likely it's obvious that he's thinking hungry thoughts, if only for how pointed and unwavering he is in keeping his eyes fixed on Lestat's face rather than letting them wander, the way Lestat is.
He lets out a small, indignant huff of breath when Lestat calls him impatient, and hooks a long finger in the V of his shirt, tugging once in mild correction. )
You have me for as long as you want me.
( He lets the words hang between them for a moment, heavy with multiple meanings… then clucks his tongue once, with a small shake of his head. )
Unless you're going to call me names. Does a spider mock the butterfly entangled in its web, or does it content itself with knowing that it's such a clever weaver?
[ Lestat's grin is as fast as a whip-crack. All these idle touches and this lingering pressure halts as Lestat gets his arms instead around Louis' waist and takes a small step forward into his stance. They're already so close together, but the strength in Lestat's simple movement is insistent as it forces their bodies together.
Louis is practically vibrating beneath him, Lestat can hear the tightness in his frame, poised to snap like a rat trap; he inhales as if to take that in to himself, too. How can Louis bare that hunger without acting? Lestat never had that kind of self-control. ]
Wasn't it you, papillon, who told me to hurry home? [ With Louis hand crushed between them, Lestat feels a thrill of power flicker through him as he looks into those vibrant eyes, holding him tight. Their lips are moments apart. Lestat's eyes glance at Louis' as he licks his own. ] I came as fast as I could, to chase that breath I knocked from you and to ask why the suggestion made your pulse skip.
[ Louis surely must know what he's talking about - that little hitch of breath as Lestat had described watching him use his as yet unnamed gift. And surely Louis must know Lestat had heard it. ]
( Louis groans softly, almost inaudibly, halfway between exasperation and arousal, a state which is unique to such close proximity with Lestat. He's losing the game without ever having figured out the rules. His fingers twitch, pinned between them, and his other hand comes to rest at Lestat's waist, thumb slipping through one of his belt loops.
His heart speeds up again, unable to keep from glancing at that brief flash of tongue against Lestat's lips, and there's no good reason why he isn't just kissing him, is there? Except that he's being like this.
Louis licks his own lips without meaning to (damn it), and one fang presses into his lower lip as he tries to respond. )
You don't miss anything, do you? And so you must know how you sounded when you said it, that you would enjoy watching me…
( Each word winds him tighter until he's coiled like a spring, his skin tingling with an attempted blush, blood rushing under his skin. )
[ The groan is exactly what he was looking for, followed by the mirror of Louis' hand at his waist; like the crucial steps to a waltz, Lestat easily uses them to springboard into his next move. In the time it takes to blink he's moved a hand to touch Louis' chin, thumb tipping his face upwards the smallest amount, all pale and gleaming even in the relative dim of their apartment in evening light. ]
Is it?
[ He says, voice barely there but deep in what could be consideration, or something else. Watching Louis' body respond almost unbidden feels like winning and though Lestat is used to this dance by now, he relishes it all the same. Lestat moves, Louis responds as though following in action, as if given permission, as though without Lestat to set the mark Louis wouldn't know what to do with himself.
It's ridiculously alluring, and the fact Louis has no idea makes it even more so. ]
I am always watching you, Louis. Every chance I get. You are captivating, sensual.. How do you expect me to draw my eyes away from you?
( The gentle fingers on Louis's chin make his heart thud harder still in his chest, and with that feeling comes the resignation that he's played right into Lestat's hands, quite literally. His eyelashes lower almost demurely, his face tipping toward Lestat until the sides of their noses are just atoms from brushing. It's so very nearly a kiss, but Louis doesn't know whether the anticipation is more torturous for Lestat or for himself. )
Your attention can be like a spotlight… You have such singular focus, I can't help but be conscious of myself.
( If there's a word for the wild mingling of emotions that it stirs in him, Louis doesn't know it in any language. Lestat is a natural performer; Louis is anything but. A little tremor runs through him, and his fingers twitch at Lestat's hip. )
[ That final comment is the nail in the coffin. His consideration earlier of whether he prefers Louis hungry or fed seems an easy one to answer like this, when Louis looks at him as though he might shake apart if Lestat were to break their hold; hungry for his attention, though lost at what to do with it. It's delicious and fuels Lestat's passion to idolise him even more. His mouth-watering modesty, his humanity quarrelling endlessly with his dark instincts. ]
Will my worship of you ever be enough... [ He says, eyes blazing a trail from Louis' own and down, to his lips. ] I hope not.
[ Thoughts of his plan, of the gift and of all his intentions before this moment have dissipated. His heart beats so fast in his chest it might as well be a vibration. His blood quakes at the anticipation of the kiss, and it would be so painfully easy to press forward and bully himself into Louis' space - a small sound escapes the back of his throat thinking of it - but he resists. His eyes flick upwards again. A challenge. He may still win this game yet. ]
( Louis whispers his name like a plea, though what he's asking for, even he doesn't honestly know. He's the one whose resistance cracks first; he trembles for the briefest of moments, like wind passing through the boughs of a tree, and leans in to kiss Lestat. The point of one fang brushes Lestat's lower lip, testing his own restraint, though in truth he wants to swallow that sound Lestat had just made. )
I don't want your worship. ( Doesn't deserve it, either, though he knows better than to spoil the moment by protesting that point. ) Just you... just this.
[ And, just like that, the vibration of his pulse stops. It freezes as though time had stopped with it, as though Lestat has willed the clock of the world to cease its tick for one moment, perhaps two, so he can stay here with Louis' pushing his lips against his own and holding him close.
Forever; an impossibly long time, but it doesn't seem like such a bad thing now.
His heart starts back up with a roar so loud he barely hears Louis speak. That sharp point. Like baiting a wild animal, like dipping your foot into dark bayou water and hoping a crocodile won't be waiting for you under the pier. A noise comes from him unbidden; almost a sob, of frustration or desire, it isn't clear. His mouth hangs open against Louis' and it is all he can do to take that hand from his chin, slide it to his neck, thumb on his jaw and fingers below his ear, pry his mouth open and kiss him in return with all the passion of a man starved. His tongue wastes no time finding Louis' own, catching his blunt teeth with wide strokes, drinking him in despite not a drop of blood between them.
To hell with it, Lestat thinks, you don't want this worship? Tough! ]
( Lestat's blood is like thunder in Louis's ears, and he can feel his own pulse speeding up alongside it — thirst, arousal, anticipation, and his body's own irresistible instinct to latch onto that beating heart, to bite and drink and feed until his own pulse beats to match it, two heartbeats joined as one.
It's too much, surely, for anyone to bear. Certainly too much for Louis, who has spent too many years denying himself what he wants. He presses himself against Lestat with an echoing sound of pure need, hand sliding up his back to finally tangle in his lovely mass of golden curls. With a shiver, he parts his lips, giving Lestat permission to devour him as he pleases, and allowing himself the surrender that he's yearned for this entire time. He sucks at Lestat's tongue with a quiet, obscene little sound, clutching at him reactively as he tries to resist simply pulling him onto the couch. )
[ Being a predator himself, Lestat is more than capable of sensing when someone intends to make him prey; he feels it so rarely but it is such a distinct feeling, and he feels it now with every pass of Louis' tongue against his. Louis wants him in a way no amount of careful avoidance or stubborn resistance can disguise. And good God, does Lestat want him, too. He has half a mind to give in right away; tear his collar open, let Louis pierce his flesh, let him drink and listen to him slowly fill with his blood.. but oh, he can't let this end so quickly, can he? No, he wants to revel in this feeling just a little longer. Just a little more.
With Louis' hands clutching at his clothes and in his hair - yes, he wants to say, grab on - he takes another brutish step forward into where there is no space for him. Louis' long legs tangle with his but when they fall backwards it's oddly graceful; even though the angle wouldn't have deposited them on the couch, somehow Louis' back hits the comfortable seat of the nearby chaise longue with Lestat's body over him. He laughs against Louis' mouth, he can't help it, and fervently resumes his desperate bid for more contact with this beautiful creature. Their bodies pressed together tight like this, it's intoxicating, and he can feel every fibre of Louis' being pulled toward him as he catches his tongue between his jaws and threatens the nick of a sharp fang. ]
( That laugh, that laugh, like cathedral bells echoing inside his soul. Louis wraps around Lestat, clutching at his silk-soft mane of hair, their legs a tangle; his thigh comes up alongside Lestat's hip, somehow yielding and possessive at once, and he feels a pang of thirst and the hum of what would be a flush in his cheeks.
All the air leaves Louis in a rush at the sharp, sweet sting of Lestat's fangs on his tongue, and he shivers, pinned beneath Lestat. He wants to say something — wasn't there a gift, wasn't that what all this was about? — but too much of him is occupied by the delicious weight of Lestat atop him, the strength in those deft hands caressing his body. Lestat won't let him hear the end of this, will he? But that stopped mattering when his back hit the chaise. Louis lets out a sound, a near-silent whimper of pleasure so sweet that it's nearly pain, and slits his tongue on Lestat's fang, letting his thoughts go hazy and soft in the swoon. )
[ This all dimly feels like instinct, but an instinct entirely apart from the one that leads him to the kill. This instinct has him painfully aware of every point where his body touches Louis', the way his thigh creates a friction like a match on a strike strip as it moves, and the delectable pressure pulling at his scalp.
Lestat wants to crack the ribs and crawl inside.
And then, oh, and then.. The taste of Louis blood on his tongue; sharp, powerful with sin and strong in tenderness, overwhelming, addictive. He remembers this, he savours this. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows Louis hasn't fed. Were he capable he might admonish him and bask in the moment of Louis caught by his own helpless need for him.. but he can't form a single thought beyond his own howling greed.
He growls, a hand finding the angle of Louis' hip and pressing down; a butterfly pinned under glass. And he drinks. He pulls roughly on Louis' tongue, delving his own into the cut to keep it open just a little longer as the blood tries to heal it over. It's drips, it's hardly enough, like a tease and it's so good. ]
( Louis bucks against Lestat, pushing toward the sudden pressure at his hip, pain and pleasure throbbing through him as Lestat sucks greedily at his tongue. But the wound is already healing, even with Louis weakened from hunger, and it's over far too quickly, leaving him shuddering and insensible. Louis gasps against Lestat's mouth, heart racing as he takes in shallow breaths he doesn't need.
His eyelashes flutter, and he lets out a whine, torn between his fierce desire and the remnants of his self-control. Nothing seems to matter but the two of them, and the entire world might as well be the press of Lestat's body against his. Instinct has him wanting to bite, to sink his fangs into the swell of Lestat's pulse and drink until the thirst is no longer pulling at his veins, until Lestat's heartbeat is locked with his and they become one being. But somehow, with the last of his restraint, he makes himself be still.
Well, not entirely still. He can't seem to stop squirming, fingers kneading little circles against Lestat's scalp. )
Oh, you are a wicked creature...
( It's barely a whisper, low and soft and overwhelmed and only the very slightest bit resentful. )
[ The feeling of Louis' hips straining against his hold drops a white-hot shiver down Lestat's spine. His hands flex with the sudden need to dig in and rake through, to claim, but then the blood dries up all too fast and for a brief moment he petulantly considers chasing his tongue and biting it himself - deep, something that will at least bleed a little more before healing. He can smell Louis' blood between their mouths as he gasps, and Lestat is all too aware of how it strains against the flesh at his throat, begging for him. It doesn't matter that he's already fed. Lestat would still crave him just the same if he were completely sated, because every taste of Louis' skin takes him back to the first time; when the first drop of his blood hit his tongue and he knew in no uncertain terms that he would never be able to leave this beautiful thing alone.
Louis has always been better at resistance than he has, and he feels it now in the way his senses hone in on every sound and twitch of muscle from the body beneath him and leave him poised as if he's about to strike... but he can see in the way those glossy emerald eyes seem to quiver as they look at him, that Louis is struggling with control in just the same way. Well, not struggling. It can't be called struggling if you want it, can it?
He uses the pause as an opportunity to cover Louis better with his body, assuring him without words that Lestat has no intention to retract any time soon. One leg between the longer ones of his lover, the other planted firmly on the floor, he shifts up till he can prop himself over Louis with his free arm beside his head. Like a cage. When Louis speaks, a sound rattles from Lestat's throat that he barely registers, and his pupils blow wide. It's like he's said something depraved and sinful. ]
Tease. [ He says on an exhale, the corners of his mouth twitching. It's biting, but it's oddly desperate, too. As is the faint trace of a plea in his voice when he continues. ] Say it again.
( It's strangely comforting being pinned like this, held down and caged in like one of their helpless mortal victims — only in this case, Louis is fully aware and entirely willing. It isn't that Louis wants to resist; it's only that it's almost too much for him, an overwhelming amount of sensation, so good that he doesn't know what to do with himself. Intimacy is still such a foreign thing, for so many years only ever stolen in brief, petty moments that Louis despised himself for.
How wonderful, then, to love and be loved by a heart that would never stop beating. )
Wicked. Devious. Insatiable.
( Louis exhales sharply, a brief laugh of amazement. It's a strange, giddy rush of power, hearing that rough, pleading note in Lestat's voice — knowing how terribly easy it would be to be cruel to him, and feeling all the more protective for it. A shiver runs through him, all the way down to his curled toes. He tightens his grip on Lestat, tipping his head up to brush their lips together as he whispers: )
[ Lestat feels like a greyhound with its eyes on the rabbit, waiting on the klaxon of a horn to be released, poised and strangely vulnerable in the handful of seconds it takes for Louis to speak again.
When he does, something grips at Lestat's core and shakes it, the power shift doing something to him he hadn't expected it to. Of course, he no longer basks in the vastness of their differences in might, but Louis has always deferred to him in some ways, so these moments where he holds the reins willingly are enticing in more ways than mere erotic value; it says a lot about their level of trust, now. That, more than anything, is what has his heart in a vice. Though the brush of Louis' lips doesn't hurt. Another sound leaves him unbidden, a soft noise of desperate encouragement, like he might die were this to stop. ]
Am I? [ He murmurs, voice gone slightly hoarse. He kisses that sweet mouth again, wasting no time getting his tongue inside and tasting the trace of iron scent left behind... and then, in an extreme show of astounding resistance, parting just before it gets good. ] Then you should do it more.
( Louis sighs his name, a frustrated, hungry whine twisting the second syllable until it's mostly a breath ghosting its way across Lestat's lips. His fingers bunch in the hair at the nape of Lestat's neck, and he angles his chin up instinctively to try to chase those sweet lips. But it doesn't work — or perhaps he doesn't truly want it to work, and the wanting is part of the point.
He tips his head to one side instead, jaw upturned just enough to show a white flash of throat. Torment for torment, at least. His eyelashes flutter, and he kneads restlessly at Lestat, thirst turning his green eyes sharp and bright. )
Why is it that you only practice restraint when you're trying to utterly destroy my own, hm?
( He tries to sound chiding, but his lips curl into a fond, thirst-hazy smile that shows more of his fangs than usual. Like this, pinned down and deeply aware of his body's need for blood, Louis can hardly sort out whether he wants to bite or be bitten. )
[ The sound of his name being said like that transports Lestat back to the many times he's heard it said similarly; scolding, resentful, heated, indifferent, wanting. Like this is definitely his favourite, and he can't deny the grin that curls his lips as he watches Louis' body practically vibrate with need beneath him. As the author of that need, Lestat feels almost entitled to the sliver of flesh Louis graces him with, and the heavy exhale that rattles from him at the sight is his gift to Louis in return.
He dips his head down, swooping as if to take the bite they both so desperately desire, and instead runs the flat of his tongue from the line of Louis' jugular and up to the angle of his jaw, just below his ear. He murmurs into it, his voice heavy with the very resistance Louis is willing him to relinquish. ]
But your restraint is so much more powerful than mine, amour. [ He catches the lobe with not even the slightest threat of his fangs, just a blunt scrape of flat teeth. The hand on Louis' hip slides down, the heavy pressure moving along Louis' thigh, mapping out where firm muscle gives way to softness and then Lestat hikes it up, boxing himself in with Louis' legs, his hands practically needling into the fabric as if to wordlessly convey just how much effort this kind of restraint is asking of him. He lets out another helpless sigh of frustration or affection, or both. ] It tastes so much better when you make me wait.
( A short sound escapes his throat as Lestat's teeth catch his earlobe, a wordless syllable of pleasure. His thigh muscles tense beneath Lestat's strong grip, and Louis groans; he knows how much stronger that grip could be if only Lestat weren't so careful with him. Distantly, Louis wonders if it's something Lestat even knows he's doing, or if it's instinctive. Proof of his love, no matter which.
His fingers slip down to the nape of Lestat's neck, nails teasing beneath the collar of his shirt. Louis wants to coax more of those sounds from him, those uncontrolled exhales that prove Lestat is just as overwhelmed by this as he is.
And then, since Lestat is apparently so keen on being tortured: )
Mm, if that's true, perhaps I ought to make you wait until after I've opened my gift…
[ It's all going so perfectly his way. Louis is like clay beneath him, responding so sweet and obedient to every one of Lestat's ministrations against him. The gasp, the groan, the cold fingers against his warmed flesh; it's all enough to have Lestat feeling drunk in the midst of it, and as he presses his forehead to the inky pool of Louis' hair against the pillow of the couch, he's a few moments from opening his mouth to taste his skin again--
And then Louis says that.
Lestat shoots upward so fast it's like he's been electrocuted, and the look he gives Louis is practically tortured. His love of gift giving is so strong in might that it meets his gluttony head on, and he looks helpless to resist the pull of either as he stares at Louis.
Then, he groans, and his head falls down to doof softly against Louis' chest. ]
Who is the wicked creature now!
[ He practically wails it, full of petulance enough that it wouldn't be hard to imagine him hammering his fists on the chaise in frustration. The wrapped gift is, somehow, in his hands in a matter of seconds after that, and after he deposits it on Louis' chest he retreats from between his legs with an incredibly put upon expression to take his place at the end of the couch. ]
Fine, fine. [ His entire body is on fire and he's doing an absolutely miserable job of looking like he doesn't want to pounce on Louis again. He crosses his legs in a strangely mortal way, his elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm as he eyes the gift. ] Open it.
[ Inside Louis will find that ancient tome of poetry he's always thumbing through, the one that has somehow seemed to avoid every fire and every move, every boat trip and every bout of aimless wandering. It had been falling apart the last Lestat had seen it. The spine had all but disintegrated, the gold leaf on the pages dull and tarnished, the pages themselves starting to curl. It hadn't been easy to slip it away from their reasonable library, its presence surely missed, but it had only been away for a few nights of repair before the final choices were necessary: a silvery blue velvet for the cover, bronze impressions for the title and the decoration and bronze hardware installed in the form of a small lock to keep the pages pressed together tight. The pages restored, the book entirely rebound with a loving and skilful hand; the book looks completely new. ]
( Louis chuckles at Lestat's theatrical reaction as he sits up, holding his gift in one hand and running the other through his rumpled hair. He's aching for that delayed satisfaction nearly as much as Lestat clearly is, but the vexed scowl on his beloved's face is enough to soothe that particular need for the moment. But then, as Lestat said, his restraint is more powerful.
The look on Louis' face is sly and appraising, his gaze traveling from Lestat's feet up his crossed legs and chest, and finally to his silver eyes. )
I must have learned some wickedness from so much time spent in your company. Now let me see what you've been up to.
( Delicately, Louis slits the wrapping with the tip of his thumbnail, careful not to touch whatever lies beneath. He removes the brown paper in a wide spiral, giving the moment the sort of drama that he knows Lestat appreciates. But any attempt at artifice vanishes the moment Louis realizes what he's holding.
Or, nearly realizes. He traces the shapes of the letters with his fingertips, deeply moved and slightly bewildered. )
Oh, Lestat, where on earth did you get this? I thought it was long out of print. It's marvelous, look at it…
( Louis turns it over in his hands, taking in every detail of the spine and practically caressing the soft velvet cover. He's almost there, but already too enthralled and in love to put the complete picture together. He pauses, the pages still closed, and looks back to Lestat. )
[ It is clearly obvious that Lestat, as a more than reasonably attractive man, is used to being considered in this kind of way... but something about the way Louis' precise eye moves across his body has Lestat suddenly feeling as though he is the one pinned in place, and without the slightest physical restraint to speak of. What he wouldn't give to hear of exactly how he's led Louis astray, ruined him, had this kind of lasting effect on him. It almost fizzles out the power in his sulk. Almost.
The whole display of the unwrapping has him tense in bubbling excitement. Where he still rests his chin on his hand, his pointer finger taps impatiently against his own cheek as he watches. Usually he would have basked in the performance of it all, but he's oddly captivated with watching Louis' face for the slightest twitch of a reaction in him.
When he finally speaks, voice full of the expected reverence but unexpectedly missing the mark completely, Lestat lets out a helpless and slightly breathless laugh. ]
It is out of print, mon cher. I think the gentleman in the shop thought I'd stolen it from a museum. I had to spin some great tale about an estate and an old collection passed down through generations of my family.
[ His body has relaxed now, at least. It's clearly regained once more some of its vampiric elegance as he leans a little closer, a hand coming forward to gently squeeze the lock and pop the cover. The edition page is still intact; Lestat made it an imperative request that not a single sliver of the pages were removed, no matter how damaged. This one in particular had been close to falling out, but has been repaired with extreme skill. ]
Though, before you wonder how you will ever thank me for taking your dreary items and dragging them into the current century, I have to admit that I wasn't entirely selfless in choosing this gift for you. It comes with a request. [ Pause. ] Well, a demand, really.
[ His smile turns sharper, he's very clearly enjoying this, and he straightens to regard Louis with an expression that betrays none of the vibrating anxiety clamped around his heart at the thought of admitting this out loud in such an intimate manner. ]
( Louis flips through the pages as Lestat explains, his touch so delicate and loving that Lestat would be well in his rights to be jealous of a book. It's only when Lestat makes his request that Louis finally looks up at him, his eyes wide with wonder, his lips slightly parted in near-confusion, as if he can't quite believe he's heard that right.
It feels as if someone's reached into his chest to squeeze his heart, and it's somehow both painful and comforting at once. To anyone else, it might be such a small thing to ask, but Louis feels as if he's being given something precious, something that he's longed for all his immortal life. Lestat's smile is so brave and confident, but if anyone knows what this moment is costing him in pride, it's Louis.
Words, Louis thinks, would spoil the moment. Action for action, then. Lestat would appreciate that, and besides, Louis would like to pick up where they left off, more or less. And so, heart fluttering in his chest, Louis rests a hand on Lestat's knee as he leans in and kisses him on the lips. )
[ Such a perfect reaction, Lestat thinks, to see him so frozen by feeling and speechless. It would be all too easy to accuse Louis to be a man of few words, definitely not someone who enjoys the sound of his own voice in the same way Lestat himself does, but instead choosing each word with meaning and care. Lestat loves, more than anything else, to be the reason for Louis to search for what to say, and loves it even more when he fails to accurately describe the breadth of his feelings because they're so strong. Emotion in Louis is addictive, and Lestat drinks it up with the same fervour as the blood.
So when Louis kisses him, Lestat raises a hand to rest his fingers between his collar bones, palm strong against his chest. He smiles into the kiss, playfully pushing back with a little more intensity before he uses that hand to hold him away, just for a moment, like a dog away from its dinner. But there's no real power to it, no real intention, and he only holds him centimetres away; Lestat can't possibly resist giving Louis anything he wants for too long. ]
Ah, is that a yes?
[ He laughs, just a soft exhalation of breath against Louis' mouth. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tfln
2. I haven't seen you in years and we have like 16 hours, all I want is cuddles, wine, and some light groping.
3. Don’t get me wrong—I love silver and bracelets—but handcuffs are not a good look on me…
4. I do have a moral compass! I can’t help it if it only points at attractive people!
4
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Or, well, it should be.
Or are you seriously attempting to tell me that one's looks are all that define "good or bad" for you? The idea is laughable were it not pitiful.
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Compasses can so easily be manipulated with nothing but a magnet - did you know this?
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But the tech from where and when I am from has no such weakness.
Furthermore, the human eye is also capable of making at least semi-accurate judgements of the poles with the sun's position in reference to time of day. Crescent moons and whether they rise before or after sunset can also determine such matters.
Those, I find, are oft not tricked by magnets.
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And yet, the things still exist. Why do you think that is? A lack of knowledge, a need for control?
I think if a human wants to believe he is heading in the right direction, for any reason, then he will believe it wholeheartedly regardless of where the crescent moon happened to place itself in the sky or in which direction his compass might point.
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That is also true. There are oft those though yield to more emotional desires in lieu of the truth before them.
The consideration of "gut instinct" is such a thing you reference.
Or someone incapable of admitting wrong.
Are you saying this is how your compass points? Ignoring the facts around you in favor of wants or instinct?
Do note, I ask out of curiosity, not dismissal. Besides, I am not one to be immune to such folly.
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I would not say my compass ignores the facts, mon ami. More that by now I often know exactly what I want when I want it, and that I will do anything to get it. No matter who warns me against it or might tell me no. If anything, that word makes me more determined.
Are we the same in this, too?
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However, I did not get this far by ignoring the need for restraint, however excessively others may see it.
It is a safer alternative to being burned by reaching out - in so far as my experiences dictate.
Though now that I have more self-control in other matters, I could "relax" a little, if I desired to.
But that desire is often elusive for me.
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Either way, If there is one thing I have learned in my very long life, it is that one should never miss an opportunity to relax.
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I can never do that again. I must not. I know first hand what a lack of control does. I must always conduct myself with even a little restraint, lest any of that repeat again.
I know exactly what I am. Without restraint, it is terrifying. Even if I behave unrestrained, the room I linger in must act as those restraints for me. Fortunately, my ship is perfect for that, and I use it as such.
I already behave more or less as I please outside of that one aspect. It is enough.
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Come to think of it - what are you?
What if.. How do they say it. Ah! I'll show you mine if you show me yours.
cw: death, drowning, cannibalism reference
When my power was in its infancy, it caused over a hundred deaths as a result of mass drowning. My beloved was among one of the casualties. One of two people I ever cared about. The second, my mother, has long since passed of old age.
Now, I could probably level the world if I left everything unchecked. It took me a great deal of time to handle even hardy things like metal without breaking them into particles finer than sand.
My cells could also infect anyone who breathes them in, turning them into what I am. They swarm any cells not their own like a plague, altering them down to their roots and rapidly spreading throughout the body. With that many meat-devouring predators, the balance of the world would doubtlessly be tipped beyond its ability to return to equilibrium.
I am a half-alien, obligate carnivore, who requires specific proteins in my diet, easily gathered from large animals during a hunt. But there was a time where I thought to devour my own kind, that hunger was so great.
Shapeshifting consumes a great amount of energy, after all.
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Given what you've told me, I see that I am right. Your restraint comes from the same fear of a loss of control as every other monster on the planet - all your inhibitions are fuelled by the concern that you might hurt an innocent with what you truly are.
So tell me how it was that you came to be, mon ami. Were you born, or made?
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I was born this way in an artificial womb, after people decided they wanted to play god with matter that they did not understand. They injected the fertilized egg I was borne from with those cells. And were disappointed with the outcome, fortunately for me.
My state hid itself like a chameleon until I was older, dormant. Had they not, I would have been forged into a living weapon for the government, or worse.
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It seems to me, though, that you make no conscious decisions to be a monster. Every mishap you have told me about has been a ripple in the water from your actions, not by your hand itself. I would hardly call you a monster for that. Merely quite unlucky.
texting/voice open
1. I lost my phone again. Well, lost isn't exactly true. But either way I have a new one now, so this is my number.
2. I need you to talk me down. I don't need to get in a heated argument about musical adaptations today.
3. I've heard mixed opinions, so I need you to decide for me. Do I buy a Tesla?
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1. Who is this, why have you called the Alexa?
2. Look, I'll be there in a moment, I'm just in a store. What is so urgent?
3. Don't worry, I won't keep you long. I simply need to know.. Blue or gold?
wildcard
open to anything!
text - 1
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Why do you immediately assume it's my own fault, hmm? Answer me that.
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I usually assume things are your fault. That way we're both happy when you actually get to prove me wrong.
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You're being very unkind today, by the way. But, as my life is devoted to making you happy, I will selflessly release you from the torment of the unknown.
It fell. Quite spectacularly.
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Naturally. Everything you do is spectacular.
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[ Who's complaining, definitely not him. Louis goading him is almost as delicious as Louis complimenting him. ]
Is it really being playful if what you say is the truth, Louis? I feel you don't know the rules of this game. Yet, to take you at your word, I am very pleased you think so! I shall remember that for a rainy day.
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But we're getting rather off the subject of your telephone.
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.. I'm reluctant to talk of it now. I find myself thoroughly distracted by thoughts of your sharp teeth.
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What sort of thoughts?
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Fiend.
It's difficult to admonish someone who enjoys it as much as you do.
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When you call me such sweet things, how can I resist tempting your reprimanding?
2/2
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I don't. Do I? Really?
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I wish you could hear it. Surely you feel my pulse speed up?
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You tease. Saying all these things to me here when I am far from you. Does it make you braver, the protection of this little screen?
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I would remind you that you started this.
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I will not take the blame for starting this, though! It is you who gave me cruel words and the flash of your teeth when you know damn well how distracting I find you.
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I suspect that you might actually be in love with me.
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I could attempt to craft a more erotic answer for you, but that one is the truth.
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I'm glad to know you finally believe me.
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Your sincerity isn't in question, Lestat. It isn't your fault that it's difficult for me to accept. You know how I am... forever wondering the reason why things are the way they are.
It feels like a miracle.
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[ He didn't mean to send that, he was trying to type it out in a different way that didn't seem quite so short, but these goddamn phones with their send buttons being right next to the backspace button and his nails being slightly too long when he first wakes up-- ]
You do not need to explain yourself. I mean it, I am glad to hear it. It wasn't a slight, I wasn't teasing you. Half the game is chasing you, capturing you like a butterfly in my net... but the other half of that joy is letting you go again, papillon. I like to watch you struggle and think, I like to watch your mind work, even if I don't always like where it ends up. I love the wonder in you, and the doubt, in equal measure.
Besides, we both know how easily I could charm someone into loving me blindly.
aaand voice - 3
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fine. )
Blue.
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Now, while I have you- [ To be Louis is to suffer. ] Tell me another thing. Velvet or leather.
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( That one is easier. )
Blue makes me think of your eyes.
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[ Oh, wow, what a strange moment of pause there with the sound of a little fumbling, as if someone almost dropped their phone. Weird. ]
... Such a fast decision! You're certain you pick velvet?
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( He sounds rather pleased with himself. )
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[ Babble babble babble. Almost as if he's grateful to focus on anything but that delectable tone in Louis voice. Aaaaanyway-- ]
Moving on. You've done well so far. When thinking of embellishments, should they be silver or bronze, do you think?
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When will I find out what I'm helping you with?
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[ He lets out a laugh at the little noise of thought, he can't help it. ]
Ah, as for that.. Well, that depends on your answer to my final question. I can tell you now, or I can show you later tonight. Which one would you like?
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( Louis can't believe how invested he is in a mystery he found out about less than a minute ago. Lestat's good moods can be catching when Louis has no reason to resist. )
I'll let you show me. But give me a hint.
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[ Sheer, loud delight in that voice. The faint background noise dies down a little, a telltale sign of Lestat losing sight of his human facade in his excitement. ]
A hint, hmm, let me think. I love it when you play along, such a martyr for me, aren't you? Withstanding all this for the sake of my happiness. [ He's practically singing his words are so warm. ] Ah, that's it. It's something you have absolutely no need for!
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Lestat! That could be almost anything!
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[ Hairtoss. He's loving this. ]
Is that more fair a clue?
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( Can you hear him thinking, Lestat? He's so pleased to have a mystery, it's a gift all on its own. )
You really needn't buy me things so often, you know. I have far more than I need, you've seen to that.
( Just so Lestat remembers that he is Lofty and Poetic and Above Material Things. He'll still use them, though, obviously. )
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[ Lestat is thoroughly enjoying that tone in Louis voice. He sounds so smart, Lestat feels so proud. That and the chase for the answer is a delightful game of cat and mouse. ]
If it were clothing you would get plenty of use from it; you know how I enjoy dressing you up when you let me.
....Hah, and as for you having plenty of gifts.. you definitely don't have anything quite like this. I can assure you of that.
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You sound so sly. Is it something you'll enjoy watching me use?
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Ah, now you have me worried...
( Flustered, in spite of trying to maintain their playful tone. )
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[ He does not sound like someone who can be trusted, he's even laughing a little bit. Don't fall for it, Louis, surely you're smarter than that!!!! ]
I know exactly how to please you by now. You don't have to use it for me if you don't wish, but that is what originally inspired me.
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[ The extended pause of indecision. Then a muffled sound that is almost definitely Lestat slamming (probably a little too hard, that incredibly expensive glass back might have a crack in it... again) his phone down on the counter and then leaning over it to talk animatedly to the staff about.. something. ]
They're almost finished! The service here is excellent, you know, apparently this job is the priority.
[ He's talking very fast, faster than usual. Weird, huh. ]
An hour, mon cheri, alright? You can wait that long, can't you?
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( Louis's voice is low and warm with amusement. He can picture Lestat's animated face perfectly, and it's easier to be charmed by his theatrics when he isn't directly in the line of fire. )
general open
karaoke | feel free to approximate the year, i left 'modern' vague!
The modern era had only worked in the favour of the humble karaoke machine. Far from the hulking box of black plastic with endless cords of microphones, now the people sitting at the bars could access thousands upon thousands of songs on a system connected to the internet. Fascinating stuff. No idea how it worked. Fascinating nonetheless.
Countless tables full of people flicking through the plasticy sheets of songs available for request, and he chooses this one to sit down at, a tumbler in his hand of something dark with ice in it. He peers at the sheet with shining eyes that seem to reflect the gaudy spinning lights from the disco ball hanging above. He taps a finely manicured nail at a song about half way down the page -- Primal Scream's I'm Losing More Than I'll Ever Have. ]
That one is good, have you heard it?
tdm esque openers
01. zombies, argh (zombie au)
02. ride in the sky on our ship fantasy (space/reincarnation au)
03. and the truth shall set you free (survival/fantasy au [truth serum])
04. who will you become when the day is done (transformation/fantasy au)
3B
It's hard to get organized wen nobody is in charge, huh? But the need to survive out here without even the most basic of tools means they've got to divide up the work somehow. Demyx is quick to volunteer for fishing duty--a little too quick, anyone who actually knows him would say. But can you really blame him for wanting the job that involves a whole lot of kicking back and chilling out, rather than the hard manual labor of building shelter or foraging? Besides, he doesn't need a rod and hook to reel in some sweet catches. A subtle bit of magic to control the currents and freeze the fish in place mid-swim, and he can just pluck them out of the water with his bare hands.
Hanging out around the fire is a well-earned rest to cap off the day, in his opinion. And whatever herbs the others found..... well, they kind of remind him of lounging on cushions and passing around a hookah in Agrabah, to be honest. Cloyingly sweet, heady, intoxicating--his head is swimming pleasantly as he breathes deep, something tightly coiled inside him relaxing to flow free. Even the alarming revelation the dandy sitting next to him drops doesn't make him as tense and wary as it should; Demyx just holds a warding hand up, leaning pointedly away from Lestat.]
Woah-ho-ho, I know someone who's not taking a turn standing watch tonight. Seriously, dude, you don't want a piece of this. I'd just give you food poisoning, y'know?
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He's about to attempt to charm the mortals surrounding him so completely that they will be convinced they heard him wrong - something he can do as easily as a human might breathe in his own world, he can't imagine it being much more difficult here despite the faint cloud to his mind gift - when the one beside him speaks up for the group.
He pauses for a moment, letting the words hang in the air. This one is more confident than the others. His tone is light, airy, as though it were perfectly normal to be preyed upon by one you thought part of your group. He is mortal, isn't he? ]
Poisoning... [ Not to be That Vampire, but he's going to be That Vampire. He can't exactly go rummaging around in Demyx's head, so dumb questions it is. ] What do you mean by this, food poisoning?
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No, that fear usually takes hold in Halloweentown. It's perfectly natural to assume you might get eaten whenever you visit a place like that, right? He doesn't usually expect it could happen anywhere else, but..... Well, you never know. The Organization is just a big pack of alarmingly dangerous weirdos who nearly all seem to have it out for him. Who says Saïx wouldn't tear his throat out someday in one of his freaky berserker rages?]
Uh..... Y-y'know, like eating something spoiled or poisonous and getting really sick? Spewing from both ends?
[Demyx clutches his stomach and mimes vomiting. Hell of a Charades prompt, huh? What kind of guy has never gotten food poisoning before, if he routinely eats people? People can be super gross! You never know where they might've been!]
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I haven't heard of it, though it makes sense.
[ He just wasn't aware they had a word for it. But then humans were always doing this, weren't they; making words for things that could simply be described as what they are. If you're poisoned, you're poisoned. If you're sick, you're sick. As a human, that had been how it was for him, at least. But food was so scarce in that time that if it made you sick you still thanked God for the opportunity. ]
And you believe you will make me, spew from both ends? [ He laughs a little, clearly very pleased with the mental image. What a freak, right? ] That you are poisonous?
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If he's lucky, maybe someone will come back with whatever weapons they've managed to slap together for hunting and rescue him. Or maybe he'll be able to slip away through a quick Dark Corridor before Lestat can follow him; hopefully, the guy can't track him even through one of those. For now, though, he'll just be glad he doesn't have to figure out how to pantomime or explain explosive diarrhea for Lestat, too.]
W-well..... I guess? Probably? Maybe? You've seriously never eaten something that went off before?
[Demyx laughs nervously, even as he's mentally kicking himself. Why isn't he being more authoritative about this? Why can't he just say something like "Yes, absolutely, you'll definitely collapse in a pool of your own bodily fluids praying for mercy if you eat me!"? Somehow, though, it just doesn't feel like he's allowed to say that unless he's super-duper sure.....
He really wishes his eyes hadn't glazed over every time Vexen had tried to explain all this complicated science-y Nobody stuff. It's not his fault that it's so complicated and Vexen doesn't know how to talk like a normal person, right? He just remembers that exposing people to the Darkness was supposed to be really bad for them.]
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He sees a jumble of strings at first; then, it's like looking into a deep pool with no bottom. Fear pushes through the rippling waves of his mind, and an unmistakable kind of darkness lingering at the edges. Interesting. He figures there's only one way to get to the bottom of this - his masquerading as an ethereal human will have to go by the wayside for now. ]
I drink blood, mon ami. If it is your body that is tainted, I won't feel any effects unless that infection is in your blood, too.
[ He gives him a long look, as though sizing him up, even despite the almost warm smile on his face. He uncrosses his legs, then recrosses them the other way and sits back casually. ]
But you needn't be so afraid. If I were going to feed on you, I would have done so already. [ A little shrug. But then he catches his chin with his hand and considers. ] I still might, but you won't feel it. Tell me more about this blackness inside you.
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[He..... doesn't know.....? Vexen must be complaining about how stupid he is all the way back at the Castle right now, and not even knowing why. But look, not all of them can be scientists! Not everyone has a good head for understanding this kind of thing. Maybe his blood is perfectly normal and refreshing. Maybe it's all..... gross and sludgy from the Darkness. Maybe he doesn't even have it anymore; he can't actually remember the last time he bled, now that he thinks about it. For all his complaining, the black coat is actually pretty protective.
There's a momentary flicker of hope, hearing that he might be getting out of this scot-free after all--only for Lestat to dash it seconds later. He looks a little like a deer in the headlights, with Lestat suddenly holding his face and gaze alike like this; quite abruptly, the only thought in his mind is Saix is going to kill me if I ever make it back.
Something tells him he can't just offer a glib excuse the way he'd like to. How does this guy even know? He's not supposed to say anything, but if he can't just explain it away, or change the subject, or something.....]
Wh-what do you mean, I won't feel it? Wouldn't that hurt?
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I have extraordinary vampiric prowess. I could feed from you now and be gone so fast that you would believe it all a dream. There wouldn't be so much as a mark on your throat as proof I were even here.
[ His voice has gone low, almost a whisper, his thumb slowly stroking over the chin of this interesting little mortal, feeling the heat of his skin from such a slight touch. ]
Now. Tell me of this darkness. I won't repeat myself a third time.
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That's what everyone in the Organization keeps telling him, anyway. How can you feel fear with no heart, after all? It's just cowardice, just an excuse, just laziness, just an act he puts on for his own benefit, just willful stubbornness, just self-preservation instincts that he associates with the memory of fear..... Anything they can call it, so long as they can blame him for it, instead of actually addressing the issue at hand. As if any normal, sane person wouldn't be terrified of the sort of things they demand that he does! Even if he apparently can't be scared, that doesn't mean he shouldn't be.
He feels much the same way now, unable to tear his eyes away from Lestat's gaze. This is..... bad, isn't it? He doesn't feel like this vampire is going to suddenly start joyfully singing about Halloween and how much he loves scaring people. He feels like this one is more likely to leave him dead in a ditch somewhere before anyone else even could come back to help him, instead. How does that compare to whatever punishment Saïx (or maybe even Xemnas, Light forbid it) might bring down on him, for violating their rules about secrecy?
He's heard rumors that Xemnas could bust them down into Dusks if they displease him. Dusks! Awful as it sounds, getting drained dry before he can so much as blink and left to die of blood loss might actually be the preferable option, here. Would he really do that just for talking about Nobodies, though? Wouldn't that sort of thing be saved for real traitors?
He..... doesn't feel like he could run. Even if he could trust his legs to hold him, that "extraordinary vampiric prowess" probably means he'd barely get to his feet before he'd get recaptured. It's weird how much of a relief it is to start speaking, in spite of how dire the situation is; with that strange, sweet smoke filling every breath, even dragging his heels on explaining feels like an impossible weight settled over him.]
I-I guess it's..... inside me? Maybe? L-like..... filling up all the empty space that got left behind? Even though nothing can really fill it anymore. Or maybe it's a part of me, now? Um. I..... never really understood the explanations, myself. It's all way too complicated for a guy like me, haha. You know what I mean, right?
[No, actually, he probably doesn't. Lestat seems powerful, cunning, confident, commanding, in control--nothing like a guy like him. Demyx laughs, awkward and nervous.]
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I understand what you mean. Or rather, I understand the feeling you are explaining. You speak of this darkness as though it were a sentient thing, rather than just a metaphor for something. Is this true? Hmmm..
[ He tilts Demyx's head this way, and then that, trying to look for any difference in him that might make it clear how this aforementioned darkness came to be within him. ]
And when you say.. empty space -- what exactly left you to make it so empty, hm? Your soul?
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[Saïx and Xemnas actually talk to Kingdom Hearts like it can really understand them, can answer their prayers. It's kind of weird, to be honest. Creepy, to think this phenomenal cosmic power and force of nature in general might truly be alive and aware in its own right. He gets how individual hearts are sentient, so how does that translate to all hearts, and by extension, all Light, being sentient as part of a greater whole?
More relevantly right now, what does that also mean for Darkness itself? For the Realm of Darkness, and for the Heartless that spawn from and are consumed by it? Are they sentient? Does it matter if they're actually born of people's hearts or not? Does that sentience get snuffed out by the process of being overwhelmed by Darkness, and becoming a slave to their instincts and hunger? Where is his Heartless right now? What is it doing? How is it feeling? Does it miss him? Miss being a part of him? Does it know him at all, or even understand its own situation?
Damn, his head hurts. This sort of high-flying philosophy stuff is so not his forte. Why's Lestat gotta ask him such hard questions? Why couldn't Vexen or Zexion or Xemnas be here instead? They'd probably love talking the guy's ear off over it for hours, right down to every last excruciating detail. They'd probably be powerful enough to not get bitten, even! Yet again, he's the wrong guy for the job..... At least he knows the answer to that last one. That's something he'd wondered himself, right from the start.]
I still got my soul! It's just my heart that's gone, that's all.
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More than that, there's the poignant sense of inadequacy. Self-doubt is something, perhaps surprisingly, that Lestat is all too familiar with. It's a delicious haze that tints everything else in this sprawling mind -- a mind that has potential, yes, that could be great, perhaps not in learned might but in resourcefulness, in instinct.. He seems twisted up, somehow, torn apart by expectation of what he should be and who he is. Like this, Demyx almost reminds him of Louis when he was a human; desperate for someone to pick him up and take control, tell him what to do, take the difficult choices from his hands entirely. ]
Your heart? [ He laughs, slipping away from rummaging around in his mortal consciousness for a second so he can resume their conversation. He's not rude, after all. ] How do you walk and talk and live without a heart?
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He's not sure what's so funny about it, but Demyx laughs along anyway, tense and uncertain. In spite of the precarious position he's in though, there's no racing pulse under Lestat's fingers, should he try to find it--nor even a pounding heartbeat, more to the point. And yet, he's just as warm and animated as any prey the man could hope to find, isn't he? Give him a minute to try and remember the lecture he'd gotten all those years ago, back when he'd freshly woken up incomplete--back when the gaping, empty spiritual wound inside him was still raw and bleeding, when he'd been so numb with shock and bewilderment that he'd only barely started feeling the depths of his loss.]
Uh, well..... Vexen said you gotta have a lot of strength of heart and willpower to survive? As long as you hang onto your soul tight enough, I guess you can use the power of Darkness to hold yourself together and keep going, or..... something. Or maybe it was your sense of self, or your memo--wait, no. That doesn't make sense. Then there wouldn't be any Dusks, right?
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I don't know what you mean by this dusks, but the other thing you speak of is something I can relate to in some way.
[ He supposes it's story time. And why not -- they're in a strange place, away from most things that are familiar, sitting around a slowly dying campfire, with nothing better to do. And Lestat does love to talk about himself. ]
When given the dark gift in order to become a vampire a soul must be strong enough not to give in to the swoon and die themselves. They must want immortality enough, have a strong enough sense of self, to be able to hover at the precipice before death in order to become what I am.
[ He talks about it with a strangely enchanted look on his face, like an actual weirdo, then turns his intense and bright-eyed attention on Demyx once more. ]
This must mean you are strong of soul in the same way you would need to be to become a vampire. You are one of these things without a heart, yet you are strong. This Darkness must be a very powerful ability, indeed.
[ He glances at Demyx's throat and the jugular vein there. Just, y'know, browsing. ]
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[This is a weird conversation, to be honest. He's gone from a potential dinner entree, to being interrogated about aspects of his soul that this guy should have no way of knowing just by looking at him, to being an audience for..... what? Singing the praises of the metaphysics of turning someone into a vampire? He looks..... really happy about it, for some reason. Why? Had he been happy to become a vampire, back when he'd first gotten turned into one? Does he like turning other people into one, like..... like some kind of undead version of becoming a dad?
He's not sure he likes the implications of that possibility. Just because Lestat let go of him doesn't mean the guy is going to let him go. Demyx hunches his shoulders under the focused gaze as he listens, an awkward counterpoint to Lestat's elegant poise. So what exactly is this "swoon" thing, anyway? Fainting? Falling into some kind of abyss? Falling in love? Whatever it is, it obviously kills you, if you can't handle it. Does he really want to know? Would keeping Lestat talking be useful somehow? It would probably keep the guy in a good mood, at least.....]
W-well, maybe..... I dunno if I want to find out, though. Swooning sounds..... bad.
I guess it is pretty powerful, but the guys say it's nothing compared to the power of the heart.
[Who knows? Maybe you need a heart to be able to resist swooning, and then he'd just be a body without a heart or a soul--that'd just be a corpse, right? He wonders if someone who's already a vampire could actually learn to manipulate the Darkness without losing theirs, though. Spooky thought, huh? Lestat must be powerful enough already, but if he could add that on top of his vampiric powers..... he'd be like Maleficent tier dangerous, wouldn't he? You don't want to fuck with a fairy that commands fae magic, the powers of Hell, and the Darkness.]
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[ He watches Demyx closely, watching for the tick of his pulse to increase as he feels the fear of a vampire with intention... but as he sits and listens, he hears nothing. No flex of blood, of muscle being flooded from the heart -- ah yes, that makes sense, doesn't it? No pulse because there's no heart to beat in his chest. Lestat suddenly wants to press his hands to his chest and his throat to be sure for himself. He holds off though. For now. ]
You are right to be afraid, but not of me making you as I am. There are conditions to such a thing; I have to want to do it, and I must have your permission.
[ A pause, then he laughs a little, very low, almost like he's telling an inside joke. ]
But you know, there are ways to feel the swoon without becoming like I am. Just a taste, that's all.
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[Says the man who's not sure he gets it at all. When Lestat puts it that way, it sounds..... nice? He guesses? And maybe even weirder than he'd thought before. If you fail to become a vampire, it's because you got happied to death? How does that make any sense? Is he even capable of feeling the swoon at all, given his..... condition? You aren't supposed to have emotions at all without a heart, but nobody had ever told him about emotions imposed by an outside force. (That he remembers, anyway. His eyes might have glazed over while Vexen was explaining, if they had made note of it before.)
That gaze on him intensifies, and Demyx is suddenly acutely aware that his coat doesn't have a high collar. Even if he's not considering turning him, it seems as though he may be back on the menu after all. Shit. Isn't there anything he can do?]
I dunno..... I'm still not sure either of us would be happy with the results.
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Well, there is only one way to truly find out.
[ Ultimately, the combination of this strange and dark power in him and the fact that Demyx clearly has many things he isn't telling Lestat about his history, whether through omission or pure lack of understanding or memory, proves much too enticing for him to resist. Just a little drink. Just a sip.
So fast his body seems to flicker, Lestat has one hand on the back of Demyx's head, and with extreme strength that doesn't seem to match up with his slender frame, he pushes Demyx's head to the side to give himself a little more room when he sinks his fangs into his throat.
As the blood fills his mouth and they are connected as one being for a brief moment, Lestat can see any of Demyx's memories that he likes, in brief little flashes -- perhaps Demyx being created as this Nobody, perhaps him half asleep during an important conversation, or perhaps something softer and more tender -- and in return, Lestat assumes, Demyx will feel the very swoon he previously described. ]
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[Demyx doesn't even get a chance to protest before Lestat pounces, let alone try to defend himself, eyes unable to even follow such fast movement. It's not quite blood that fills Lestat's mouth--cool, smoke-like Darkness billows out instead, brimming with a strange power ripe for the taking. (If Lestat can stomach it, if he dares drink deeply and seize it.) It's at once unspeakably bitter yet intoxicating, burning like the most potent liquor as it goes down; no doubt an acquired taste, if one is determined to acclimate themselves to it.
(The sun makes the water shine like pure jade, the foam spraying around him glitter like diamonds. He's weightless as the waves launch him up-up-up, high enough it feels like he could almost touch the clouds, laughing in pure joy as he reaches for the sky.)
(The bonfire's flames burn bright in the cool night air, the cocktails are flowing freely, and tonight's tipsy tourist crowd is feeling the festive luau atmosphere. Demyx struts and preens on their little beachside stage, smile dazzling as he strums his guitar. Soon, he's coaxed the entire party to start singing along; a few people even dance, once he starts taking requests.)
(Nani and David managing to squeeze out enough time for a date almost always means he's gonna get tapped for babysitting duty. Good thing he's one of the cool babysitters, right? He even has his own secret handshake with Lilo--and with Stitch, though that one's especially difficult. Having four arms gives you an unfair advantage with stuff like this, doesn't it?)
(He's never felt pure terror like this before in his life. Everywhere he looks, people are screaming, fighting futilely for their lives, dying, changing around him..... It's no use hiding behind locked doors when these things can melt into the shadows and simply slip right through the cracks. All he can think to do is snatch his surfboard up and swim out as far as he can, pray they can't follow him--only to realize with growing horror, that even completely adrift, he's not alone. One Sea Sprite clamps onto his leg with razor sharp fangs, then another, and another, and another.....
Cold seawater fills his lungs as he tries to scream, dragged beneath the waves by innumerable writhing creatures. He struggles in vain as the swarm (school?) converges on him, but even the pain of being ripped apart like this is merely a pale shadow of the incomprehensible agony of something indescribable being torn from him.)
('Look deep inside yourself, and reach for the power the Darkness has granted you. What did the echoes of your heart leave behind?' is easier said than done, but he tries his best. He focuses on that hollowness inside him, that void, that inescapable yearning for what was lost..... and when he opens his eyes, a sitar rests in his hands. He starts to play, with nothing to guide his melody but instinct; soon enough, plumes of water manifest to leap and dance around him, twirling and shaping themselves as naturally as breathing. This..... is what was in his heart? It feels..... He thinks he should say it feels right? Like he knows it's a part of him, right down to his bones.
But to be honest, he feels nothing at all. No rightness or belonging, no elation, no satisfaction. Instead, he just keeps playing, waiting for a sentiment that simply never comes. What else can he do?)
("The time has arrived. Look to the skies!" Xemnas raises his hands high, reaching for the heart-shaped moon overhead. "There hangs the heart of all hearts--Kingdom Hearts--shining down on us at last. See the countless hearts that have gathered? Hearts full of rage... hate... sadness... and bliss. There, in the sky, hangs the promise of a new world."
Xemnas turns to face them all. "My friends! Remember why we have organized--all the things we hope to achieve. The strength of the human heart is vast. Soon, though... we will have gained power over it! Never again will it... have power over us."
He watches the latest speech with thinly veiled disinterest, gaze distant, only barely paying attention to the Superior's words. Is it really the promise of a new world? The promise of being recompleted, of regaining all they had lost, of being human again? They've been working for this for so many years, slaving away for a goal that felt both impossibly unreachable and ridiculously improbable. And now just because they have the power of the Keyblade on their side, suddenly the end is drawing near? He doesn't even understand how exactly they're supposed to use Kingdom Hearts, once they've completed it. How is it going to give them back their hearts, when it's made out of everyone else's hearts? Can something like that really just be made out of whole cloth? Can they really accept a new heart, if it's not their own?
What a joke. This is never going to work, is it? He's going to be stuck like this, in this Light-forsaken place, with these Light-forsaken people, doing this Light-forsaken job, for the rest of his life. What he'd give to get out of here.....)
The connection is intense, Demyx will give him that. He expects being bitten to hurt, not..... not feel like this. It's thrilling in all the best ways, more intense than any orgasm he's had in his life, sets all his nerves aflame, leaves him achingly hard as he moans and clutches at Lestat's shirt..... But he doesn't feel content or euphoric? There's nothing to lose himself in, the way he'd expected there might be, just the catharsis of climax.]
Y-you weren't kidding, huh?
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The warmness of the sun is blinding, and Lestat is enraptured by the sight he hasn't seen in over 200 years as he feels Demyx experience a poignant moment with those he cares for. Only, like most times of joy, it's cut terribly short by something violent and - quite literally - heart wrenching. Lestat had thought him some strange Frankenstein's monster, or some kind of creature in the guise of a human like himself... Lestat hadn't realised that Demyx was just a boy taken against his will and forced to become this thing, this slave to Darkness, this nobody. As the group in Demyx's memory look up at the heart and fruitless questions race through him, Lestat realises something that makes him feel a drop of horror somewhere deep in his chest.
It's so similar in theme to what he has experienced that it's off-putting. Lestat was taken against his will, turned into this monster and expected to embrace every part of it without being told the truth of what he is or given any real reason for it. He's supposed to relinquish his hold on humanity, be the apex predator he was created to be, and to not ask questions about the why and the how because they aren't his place to know.
He forces himself backward. There's no pulse to warn him of danger, there's no blood to sate him. He has only an acrid taste on his tongue and the recoil of so many thoughts hammering through his mind all at once.
He puts a hand to his head, fingertips pressing into his temple, trying to reground his senses. He can smell arousal, he can feel Demyx's fingers twisted in his shirt, but he can feel no desperate want from this human as is usually the case. He's been taken by the swoon, that much is certain from how his body has reacted, but that is the only part of it.
Lestat studies him for a long moment, then raises his hand to wipe at his mouth as though he can remove the bad taste that way. He can't, and instead he just tightens his expression into something sour. ]
I saw your creation into what you are. [ He looks Demyx up and down, then. Such a bright mortal to say that there is no joy in him, no wonder and no hope. ] What a terrible thing.
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Oh well, at least it's better than being eaten alive, or bleeding out alone. He should have expected as much, really. A deep, shaky breath to settle his rattled nerves again, and Demyx lets go of Lestat to feel his neck with a gloved hand. Does he really not leave any wounds behind at all? That's not unsettling at all, is it? It seems like a more pressing issue than his arousal, at any rate.]
Y-yeah, uh..... it-it really sucks, huh? I told you I wouldn't be good eating.
[Lestat looks like he'd just bitten into a lemon, honestly; that immediate karma might actually be funny, as long as, y'know, he wasn't the lemon in question. But isn't there something more important to think about than reminiscing about his transformation?]
Sooooo..... what does biting have to do with seeing the past, anyway?
[He can't help but think of Naminé biting someone to do her thing, now. That'd make for a lot scarier memory witch, huh? Though he guesses her not even needing to be there for her art to work its magic is actually pretty scary in its own way.....]
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He's momentarily distracted by staring at it, and by mourning the lack of close contact. He didn't realise how nice it felt to have hands clinging to him like that. Usually his victims fell away into death and any loss of contact would quickly go cold as Lestat ran from the product of his feed... but this one is still moving, still enticing despite his lack of everything that Lestat thinks makes a human what they are.
Lestat licks his lips, trying to find where the taste still lingers there and get rid of it. If only there were some critters around he could drain to wash the terrible taste away. ]
We become one in the moment of the drink. He explains like it's so obvious. Our heartbeats join in time -- or they would, if you had one. We connect body and spirit and mind. I can see anything in your mind that I want to at that moment. You could see mine too, if you had any kind of mental prowess.
[ He looks a little troubled still, a little weirded out by the taste and the lack of blood and what he'd seen. He hadn't been kidding when he called it terrible. His heart kind of hurts. ]
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Weirdly hard, actually. Why is Lestat so shaken up by this? Sure, his blood might be bizarre and undrinkable, but he can't say he's used to people having anything like empathy or compassion. All of the Organization would have just told him to walk it off and stop being a whiny bitch about it.]
Haaa..... yeah, nobody's ever accused me of being smart before. I..... guess that means your secrets are safe with me! Pretty good, huh?
Oh, uh! S-sorry if it..... I dunno, hurt or anything? You're not supposed to expose yourself to that stuff unprotected.
[Demyx makes a broad, sweeping gesture to indicate his uniform. A little too late for that now that the calls are apparently coming from inside the house, so speak. Too bad it doesn't protect against the swoon's..... time mind magic stuff, too. Should he be worried, having everything exposed so effortlessly like that? He feels like he should probably be worried. Seriously, dude, he's taking "you are what you eat" waaaaaay too literally.]
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When Demyx apologises, Lestat lets out a bark of incredulous laughter. He can still smell that arousal in the air - how does that work without blood, he wonders? - and he just attacked Demyx, and yet he's apologising for hurting him? The fact that he thinks he could is funny enough already, but this idiot's priorities are what really makes him laugh. ]
Don't say such things. You aren't an idiot. And I'm not hurt.
[ But is that true, he wonders. His heart feels like it's being stabbed, tight and mournful in the wake of what he'd seen. He wants to do something, but what can be done about this strange situation that the both of them know so little about. That's the harm with being taken as they had, often times you're alone even if you have someone who wants to help you.
The least he can do is heal the wound, so he lifts a hand to his mouth and nicks his thumb with a sharp eye-tooth until hot scarlet blood spills over his hand. Then, he presses it to the wound on Demyx's neck, and holds it there for a few seconds until withdrawing and inspecting the fully healed wound. ]
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[He can't really imagine that's wholly true, somehow. A vampire still has a heart, right? Just..... not a soul, if he remembers what Lestat said right? And Darkness is dangerous to anyone who has a heart, no matter how powerful. Or..... are vampires creatures of Darkness to begin with, instead of just creatures of the night? It seems doubtful, with how Lestat had recoiled in disgust, but it's probably still possible.
The whole idiot thing, though--that isn't even worth consideration. Of course he is. Even if everyone didn't say so, if he wasn't, wouldn't he understand more about..... well, everything? What he is, what they're working towards, the whole ridiculous situation he's found himself in?
As much as Lestat's questioning how anything about his body works, Demyx finds himself doing much the same. He tilts his head as he watches, eyeing Lestat as he works.]
I thought vampires didn't have blood? That's why you guys need other people's, right?
[Did. Did you think it just goes straight through the stomach lining to reach their veins, Demyx? Really?]
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Don't have--?
[ He quirks his eyebrow, then his sullen expression breaks into a helpless laugh. ]
Of course we have blood. I am undead, yes, but despite what I can no longer do, I can still cry, bleed, sweat. I still have a pulse, which is more than can be said for you, mon ami.
[ He levels a look at Demyx, studying him again for a moment or two. It's still mind-boggling that he's so vibrant, seemingly without any of that powerful emotion Lestat adores. ]
I do not know why we drink blood, only that we have since the first of our kind. We are blessed with our powers in return for taking human life.
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Demyx laughs sheepishly instead, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. Ask stupid questions, win stupid prizes, huh? Look, he's not from Halloweentown, or a necromancer, or whatever! This is all new territory for him. He can't reasonably be expected to know about undead biology, right? .....Right?]
I guess you're right..... Hahaha, maybe I'm actually even deader than you. Who'd ever think? Weird.
[And yet, Hades most decidedly is not the boss of him, hah. (Even if that actually might be preferable.) Demyx reaches for one of the fish on a stick abandoned by the fire; after a brush with death like this, he deserves a second helping. And whoever's dinner he's stealing, they deserve it too, for ditching him like this instead of hanging together as a group.]
Sounds like a fairy curse, if you ask me. What can't you do anymore, anyway?
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A fairy curse? [ He quirks his eyebrow again, a bemused smile lingering at his lips. ] The little creatures in storybooks for children? You do say some strange things.
[ Vampires, totally normal. But fairies? Get outta here. ]
As for what I cannot do, let me think.. [ He taps a finger to his mouth, stretching out his legs as if getting comfortable for a long story. ] I cannot eat human food. It tastes awful and bland and makes me feel ill. I cannot go out in the day time, the light from the sun burns my skin. I cannot have sex in the mortal manner any more. I can't ever age, die of natural causes, or change the way I look. If I cut my hair, it will be the same again after I wake the next night. The same with my nails; you know, they were a little too long when I died, and now I file them every night before I go out? It was maddening at first, now it's something like muscle memory.
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What? Fairies are bad news, man. You don't want to mess with that. Giving people power at a terrible price sounds like exactly the sort of thing Maleficent would do..... or Ursula, I guess? She's not a fairy, though.....
Whatever. Anyway, even if it wasn't, it still kinda sounds like you guys got ripped off.
[Kind of like how he did, to be honest. Controlling the Darkness has tempted plenty of mortals. Losing your heart is certainly an effective way of ensuring that power is at your fingertips, but in exchange.....]
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[ Lestat's mouth twists like he's trying to keep a laugh bottled up. This is the first time he's ever divulged what he is to a human and had a negative reaction to it, and it's as bemusing as it is strange. Normally mortals are begging to be turned; he can think of at least two he's witnessed himself even if he didn't do the turning. ]
I don't know these names, but I suppose you're right. The fairies in Shakespeare are all quite tricky. La Belle Dame Sans Merci springs to mind more than all.
[ But then he looks at Demyx and leans in, almost conspiratorially. ]
Do you mean to tell me you know of fairies personally?
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[Everyone thinks they can have their cake and eat it, too, don't they? But seeing the beauty in the mundane probably makes them realize the beauty in everything they gave up. Flying probably makes them realize they'll never be able to watch the sunrise from those dizzying heights. Those potent senses and mind reading powers probably reminds them that they'll never taste food the way it's meant to be tasted again, never share a lover's touch again. Food and sex are awesome.
It's not hard to imagine that longing, that craving Lestat describes--he feels it himself every day, after all. As much as he knows he'd have been thrilled by the magic he has now as a human, none of it was worth losing his heart. Not even close.]
Oh! Uh, Ursula is a sea witch. She grants wishes for a steep price, but you're pretty screwed if you can't pay up when she comes to collect. She's not too much to worry about, as long as you don't sign any fishy contracts. Maleficent, though..... she's a Dark fairy queen. I've never actually met her, but we keep tabs on her, just in case. I don't know why the other guys aren't scared of her.
[Is he babbling? He kind of feels like he's babbling. But just recognizing the influence over him doesn't mean he can stop. If anything, he looks about as intimidated now just thinking about her as he had when the sheer force of Lestat's presence had been bearing down on him.]
I mean, come on! The Darkness doesn't even seem to touch her. She can control basically everything about it without any ill effect, even lesser Nobodies and Heartless--I heard she even commands demons and hellfire, and her curses are basically unbreakable unless you're playing by her rules. She's destroyed hundreds of worlds. She even totally reshaped one just to suit her. The Keybearer managed to like Capital K Kill her, somehow, and you know what it took for her to come back? A few people remembering her. That's it! How isn't that terrifying?
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Demyx is right, it is impressively like his own situation in some ways, but he can't help but wonder if it isn't reversible for him. A vampire can never be reborn as a human - to his knowledge - but someone without a heart can surely regain it through the right set of circumstances, right? Is it foolish to have hope that such a thing might be possible? Is it strange that Lestat feels strangely protective of the idea, this dream?
He tilts his head in consideration at what he caught of the description of this dark fairy queen, and makes a soft sound of thought. ]
I can see why you might feel that way, it's quite an impressive roster of achievements, but I don't make a habit of feeling fear very often. I should like to meet her some day.
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He bets Xemnas doesn't even know how to do what he's been planning for so long, or just doesn't want to admit that it didn't work when he tried. Lestat may have hope for him, but he doesn't--wouldn't even if he was capable of it, in fact. It's one of the few things he doesn't so readily prattle on about, in fact; nobody expects a guy like him to be cynical, do they? It just doesn't fit his image. Besides, more importantly, he doesn't want to harsh anyone's vibe. Just because he could make it rain doesn't mean he wants to rain on people's parades!]
I don't know..... You probably don't if you want your world to stay intact. There's no way you'd be able to miss her if you ever do meet her, though. Green skin, yellow eyes, black robes, horns.....
[She doesn't exactly sound like the little fairies in children's stories, does she? Swirls of smoky darkness curl around his hands, and Demyx's sitar materializes. For a moment, the air feels heavy and humid around them as he starts strumming, the tune soft and menacing. The drops hanging in the air gather to give shape to a water clone; soon enough, Maleficent's figure is looming over them where they sit, regal and imposing, sceptre in hand and raven perched on her shoulder. She (it?) smiles down at Lestat, sinister and smugly superior.]
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He doesn't have to wonder for much longer, as soon enough Demyx is conjuring up an instrument Lestat doesn't recognise and begins plucking some foreboding sound from it, producing an image of her lit faintly by the light of their fire.
Lestat raises to his feet as though in a trance, his eyes wide and drinking in her horrifying beauty and wicked smile. She's much taller than even his impressive height, and he finds it entirely impossible to even consider looking away.
He understands that this is magic, some sort of apparition from Demyx's power, but even so he still reaches out a reverent hand to touch her. ]
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The figure inclines her head graciously and extends a hand to Lestat in return, a queen ready to receive her due devotion. A rippling cascade of notes, and water bubbles around Lestat's feet, glistening tendrils shaping themselves into a facsimile of thorned vines to climb and twine around him. Were they actually Maleficent's, perhaps he might be ensnared and rooted in place, plunged into a cursed magical slumber from the very first prick. She had reshaped the whole of Hollow Bastion with them, after all, hadn't she?
But Demyx's imitations have always been fragile, as easily dispersed as they are created. Lestat hardly needs to move to shake off the vines' cool embrace; even Maleficent's figure would disintegrate after being dealt a few blows, no matter how imposing she may look.]
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This interaction, perhaps more than anything else, makes it all too clear how easily swept up Lestat's soul can be by the might of a powerful being, by a creature that commands respect, by someone looking at him like they know what kind of things he is capable of and not being afraid of it.
Akasha had stolen him away at night, kept him as her own, her prince, made of him her accomplice in the ending of his world and the rebirth of her own. She might have been successful too, if Lestat had stayed caught up in her thrall. How lucky he is that it dissipated when it did, that her disdain for innocent life bucked so violently against his own desperation to make something good of his evil existence.
It's that thought that has him staggering backwards suddenly, the vines he hadn't even noticed splashing around his feet, his hand lashing out as if intending to push her away from him, or push himself away from her-- but she falls in a cascade of water around his feet, and Lestat stares at the place she had been with a strange amount of sadness considering he always knew she wasn't real. ]
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.....Uh. Are you okay, dude? You seem kinda..... y'know.
[Out of it? Weird? Off? Freaking out?
Tripping balls?Lestat is clearly having some kind of Capital-M-Moment over this little puppet of his, at any rate. Maleficent's figure dissolves into a floating music note, then breaks apart entirely under the force of his shove. The music stops abruptly, leaving the puddles to lay where they fall; the idea that he should probably be concerned about Lestat feels kind of..... backwards, to be honest? But to be fair, it is kiiiiiind of his fault, too. Sort of. Maybe.Too bad he's no more sure about what he did wrong than how to help fix it. Nobody could possibly mistake a water clone for the real thing, right? So what's even the problem? Lestat has no possible reason to be upset over just a little visual aid. They may as well have been listening to a CD while playing pretend with dolls, for Light's sake.]
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Looking at the pools of water, it's very difficult to mistake them for blood, and so he slips easily from his reverie and back to the present. Back to this strange world that neither of them can call home, and back to the fire that forces them to be honest. ]
... It brought back.. memories. Of a time when I met the Goddess of the Vampires, the Queen of the Damned.
[ He doesn't think he has it in him to say her name, so instead he takes a step back and then another, until he can sit himself back down beside Demyx and push out a long, hollow exhalation from lungs that no longer need breath. ]
I didn't expect it to feel that way. For my heart to... ache, this much.
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[That's..... kind of impressive, actually. In his admittedly limited experience, the gods tend to be dicks, to be honest. They're hardly ever interested in mortals unless it directly involves their own self-interest, or they could use them as pawns in whatever divine game of chess they're playing with each other..... Yes, he's looking at you, Hades. He's probably also considered the ruler of the damned, and when has he ever inspired that kind of devotion?
He can't imagine anyone staring at Hades with the same sort of mournful yearning Lestat had stared at the water with. What kind of person was this goddess-queen? And what had happened to her, to make Lestat so sad? Is an entity like that really able to die? Have an awkward arm pat, Lestat; even if he did have a heart, he probably still wouldn't be sure how to be comforting, here. This is waaaaay above his paygrade.
Read as: he doesn't get paid at all. Help.Hell, it probably still would be even if he was allowed to spout some falsely comforting nonsense.]the gifs you posted... i'm dead
What happened to the unflappable Vampire Lestat - the one who had lured Demyx into a sense of security so perfect that he could feed from him, the one handsome and confident enough to be an appealing consort to that Goddess in the first place?
We were lovers, is what he means to say, but what comes out is: ] She stole me away in the middle of the night to be her Prince in a new world of her own making.
[ He can feel himself saying the wrong thing, but somehow he can't stop; all he can do is inhale the scent of the fire. Cursed thing. He groans as though frustrated with himself, running a hand back and through his hair. ]
She is gone now, either way. No use mourning what is no more.
:3c
[
Bro, what the fuck.That. That's just called kidnapping, Lestat. Kidnapping and Stockholm Syndrome. It doesn't matter what kind of crazy romantic promises she made you to try and keep you complacent, Demyx is pretty sure that's just straight up a hostage situation. He's gonna go out on a limb here and say Lestat definitely isn't okay? Yikes.At least it explains how weirdly compelled Lestat seems by the idea of Maleficent, someone on nearly the same level, able to all but make a world of her own. Were he a year or two older, Demyx might even actually be able to sympathize, to a degree--when Xehanort puts his final plan into motion, and revives him to become one of his vessels in his bid to remake the multiverse to his own liking..... Well, it isn't as though he'll exactly be able to say no, when the time comes. But that's a lifetime away, and hardly so romanticized as it sounds like Lestat's gilded cage must have been.
He may feel compelled to tell the truth, but that doesn't mean he can't tactfully keep his mouth shut so he doesn't cram his foot in there. Even he can manage a little restraint, sometimes. But what else can you even say about something like that? "Sorry for your loss"? He's really not, though. If anything, that was probably a lucky break for Lestat. "Bummer, dude"? Tell Lestat something he doesn't already know. How much worse would this be if he could actually feel how awkward it is?]
I..... guess not? You'll always have the memories, though.
[Unless Lestat's world has a Naminé equivalent of their own, of course. Then it's probably possible to break that chain, for better or worse. Whether those memories are actually worth having or not, though, that's on Lestat to decide.]
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The last shred of goodness in him had sung out like a dying star, and for his troubles all he got was her looking at him with disappointment and fury, ready to destroy him just for denying her what she decided was rightfully hers.
But admitting to all that makes him a victim, doesn't it? And a victim is the last thing Lestat will ever allow himself to be. He settles on the log a little more, his eyes pinched and focusing in on the fire. He deliberates his answer for a long while, and then the fire seems to pick it for him. ]
Yes, mon ami, her memory will always haunt me.
I couldn't resist >.> /dumps a bucket of Disney over his head
In the end, he only really has one piece of advice to give. How's he coped with his own situation?
Denial. It's not just a river in Egypt!]Yeah, I bet. But hey, hakuna matata, right? She's gone, now; try not to let her get to you too much.
what a wonderful phrase....
Yes, she is gone, and yes Lestat no longer has to worry about the haunted Queen scooping him out of his resting place and spiriting him away to some unknown location to trick him into committing genocide at her side. But she is still with him every day; her blood has changed him so much that sometimes he doesn't recognise himself, and that is something he can't simply forget about.
Akasha had been the first of their kind, the Queen of their race, and her closed mind and cold heart is all that awaits those of his kind who live to reach her age. His soft and diffused beauty will one day fade into something hardened and sharpened by time, and his mind will lose its wonder to the ennui of immortality. It's inevitable, it's inescapable, it's--
Lestat pauses, opening eyes he doesn't remember closing, and frowning slightly. He turns that frown on Demyx. ]
Haku-- What? What did you just say?
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[Spying trips. Reconnaissance trips. Whatever. It's not specifically spying if he's supposed to just look around and learn whatever he can however he can, right? "Infiltrating" an entire world is a pretty grandiose way to put it, really--just a plausibly deniable way of saying that he's expendable enough to lose in unknown territory, if it comes to that. At least it doesn't have to involve fighting, if he's good enough at it.
The melody turns lighter and brighter, almost bouncy. Now that he thinks about it, this place and the Pridelands are both beautiful, untouched expanses of wilderness, aren't they? The Pridelands just..... didn't prevent him from escaping like this one does. Weird, huh? He wonders what's causing it. Too bad he's not smart enough to figure this sort of thing out on his own.]
It means no worries! The past is in the past, the future is in the future. Let 'em stay where they belong. You can only live right now, dude. That's where you belong.
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No worries... [ Lestat muses, tilting his head a little in consideration, easily letting this more light-hearted song wash over him. ] Is that so...
[ He is always so easily taken by music, being an almost rock star himself and having been very recently summoned from death sleep by music it's no surprise that he feels like it speaks to him in a way, so he closes his eyes in the midst of this one. He can feel the notes soothing his twisted soul, reinforcing Demyx's words somewhat, and even if Lestat can't fully let go of what troubles him enough to believe them completely.. he does feel comforted. That much is undeniably true.
He looks to the fire, the flames reflecting back in his eyes, the scent of its strange power still thick in his senses but.. strangely familiar now. He smiles, just a bit. ]
Maybe you're right.
bakerstreet memes
manhandling
if you'd rather not write a starter let me know & i can rustle something up!
♥ for deathoftheauthor
[ Blue, velvet and bronze. Matching his eyes, indeed. Lestat can't resist a grin when he thinks of that comment. Louis certainly is getting free with his compliments and Lestat can hardly say he minds. Some might even call his behaviour romantic, and isn't that just marvellous.
Lestat greets the concierge of the extravagant London building where he's bought rooms, rises to the top in the elevator, and opens the door with little to no effort in restraining his volume. He wants Louis to hear his arrival without sensing it, feel that strange human trepidation morph to excitement, for him to fully give in to being surprised and loving every moment of it.... Perhaps it's wishful thinking, perhaps he's muddling Louis love for him with a love for being at his whim.. it doesn't matter. Louis complaints every time he does this only make him want to petulantly do it more.
He can hear Louis sitting silently somewhere through the long rooms of the penthouse, and he smiles as he approaches with a brown paper package and a few magazines tucked under his arm. ]
Louis? [ He calls without much need. He just likes saying his name. ]
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( Louis answers his call for the same reason — just for the pleasure of being able to do it, and because he knows it makes Lestat happy when he does. Louis is in the sitting room, which they've gradually and inadvertently been transforming into a library with their various literary acquisitions. He'd tried to distract himself with poetry, but the promised hour seemed to last an eternity, and by the time Lestat arrives home, Louis is quite frankly embarrassed of his own impatience. Well, at least Lestat will be pleased by that.
He marks his place in his book with a ribbon and sets it aside on the small table next to the sofa, and stands to greet Lestat just as he steps through the threshold of the door. As if he hadn't been listening for his steps this entire time, his heart leaping at every little sound. He's sure Lestat knows, no matter how serene Louis tries to appear, particularly when his eyes flit toward the package under Lestat's arm.
Louis presses a soft kiss to Lestat's cheek in greeting. )
Welcome home. Did you have a good outing?
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There is a wonderful little burst of energy to Louis' movements when he enters. Excitement, Lestat thinks. Eagerness. Some of his favourite words. And the small kiss he presses to his cheek that Lestat so easily returns - will this rapture ever cease to amaze him? Circling one another like planets naturally progressing to these touches here and there. It drives him wild. He almost forgets about the package. Almost.]
I did. The air is so different here, I still can't quite believe how so.
[ He lays the package down on a nearby vanity, the magazines on top, and puts his hands to his hips as he looks around at the room. ]
Have you been reading all this time? Really, Louis, there are more things to life, you know.
[ He teases. There is a glitter to his eyes. He knows exactly what he's doing. ]
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Not all this time. I had a telephone call. It seemed like a matter of some urgency.
( Ah, but at least it isn't a hardship to look at Lestat, handsome and charming creature that he is. Unfortunately for both of them, self-satisfaction is a good look on him. )
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Lestat would be rude if he didn't give him a good show. ]
Ha! [ He laughs, hand falling to Louis' chest like it belongs there. ] So funny. I'm flattered your curiosity about my musings was enough to drag you from your pages, in that case. It's an honor you even picked up.
[ He fixes Louis with a look then, cheekiness playing around in his features, before it falls and he instead begins to look him up and down. ]
Have you fed?
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No, not yet.
( His heart flutters beneath Lestat's hand, and he leans toward him with a barely audible sigh. He'd been letting his thirst build, waiting for the pull to become too strong to ignore. Easier to give himself over to instinct. But the drumbeat of Lestat's pulse is all the louder and more alluring for it, and all of his resistance seems rather foolish in the face of this temptation. He tries to distract himself by playing with Lestat's buttons, but that only brings him closer to Lestat's body, which has entirely the opposite effect. )
I thought I would wait. I hope that doesn't spoil your plans?
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It spoils nothing.
[ He says, at least having the good manner to sound a little reassuring. It might have been... easier, if Louis had fed, but he doesn't mind.
Louis toying with his buttons like that is thoroughly distracting, though. Or perhaps it's the line of his slender frame against his own. He drops his voice to a murmur, eyes lazily dropping to the collar line of Louis' sweater, to the shirt beneath, then to the skin at his jaw. ]
I only asked so I could know how long I have you all to myself. Impatient thing that you are.
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He lets out a small, indignant huff of breath when Lestat calls him impatient, and hooks a long finger in the V of his shirt, tugging once in mild correction. )
You have me for as long as you want me.
( He lets the words hang between them for a moment, heavy with multiple meanings… then clucks his tongue once, with a small shake of his head. )
Unless you're going to call me names. Does a spider mock the butterfly entangled in its web, or does it content itself with knowing that it's such a clever weaver?
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[ Lestat's grin is as fast as a whip-crack. All these idle touches and this lingering pressure halts as Lestat gets his arms instead around Louis' waist and takes a small step forward into his stance. They're already so close together, but the strength in Lestat's simple movement is insistent as it forces their bodies together.
Louis is practically vibrating beneath him, Lestat can hear the tightness in his frame, poised to snap like a rat trap; he inhales as if to take that in to himself, too. How can Louis bare that hunger without acting? Lestat never had that kind of self-control. ]
Wasn't it you, papillon, who told me to hurry home? [ With Louis hand crushed between them, Lestat feels a thrill of power flicker through him as he looks into those vibrant eyes, holding him tight. Their lips are moments apart. Lestat's eyes glance at Louis' as he licks his own. ] I came as fast as I could, to chase that breath I knocked from you and to ask why the suggestion made your pulse skip.
[ Louis surely must know what he's talking about - that little hitch of breath as Lestat had described watching him use his as yet unnamed gift. And surely Louis must know Lestat had heard it. ]
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His heart speeds up again, unable to keep from glancing at that brief flash of tongue against Lestat's lips, and there's no good reason why he isn't just kissing him, is there? Except that he's being like this.
Louis licks his own lips without meaning to (damn it), and one fang presses into his lower lip as he tries to respond. )
You don't miss anything, do you? And so you must know how you sounded when you said it, that you would enjoy watching me…
( Each word winds him tighter until he's coiled like a spring, his skin tingling with an attempted blush, blood rushing under his skin. )
It's the same way you sound now.
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Is it?
[ He says, voice barely there but deep in what could be consideration, or something else. Watching Louis' body respond almost unbidden feels like winning and though Lestat is used to this dance by now, he relishes it all the same. Lestat moves, Louis responds as though following in action, as if given permission, as though without Lestat to set the mark Louis wouldn't know what to do with himself.
It's ridiculously alluring, and the fact Louis has no idea makes it even more so. ]
I am always watching you, Louis. Every chance I get. You are captivating, sensual.. How do you expect me to draw my eyes away from you?
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Your attention can be like a spotlight… You have such singular focus, I can't help but be conscious of myself.
( If there's a word for the wild mingling of emotions that it stirs in him, Louis doesn't know it in any language. Lestat is a natural performer; Louis is anything but. A little tremor runs through him, and his fingers twitch at Lestat's hip. )
And yet I don't want you to look away.
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Will my worship of you ever be enough... [ He says, eyes blazing a trail from Louis' own and down, to his lips. ] I hope not.
[ Thoughts of his plan, of the gift and of all his intentions before this moment have dissipated. His heart beats so fast in his chest it might as well be a vibration. His blood quakes at the anticipation of the kiss, and it would be so painfully easy to press forward and bully himself into Louis' space - a small sound escapes the back of his throat thinking of it - but he resists. His eyes flick upwards again. A challenge. He may still win this game yet. ]
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( Louis whispers his name like a plea, though what he's asking for, even he doesn't honestly know. He's the one whose resistance cracks first; he trembles for the briefest of moments, like wind passing through the boughs of a tree, and leans in to kiss Lestat. The point of one fang brushes Lestat's lower lip, testing his own restraint, though in truth he wants to swallow that sound Lestat had just made. )
I don't want your worship. ( Doesn't deserve it, either, though he knows better than to spoil the moment by protesting that point. ) Just you... just this.
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Forever; an impossibly long time, but it doesn't seem like such a bad thing now.
His heart starts back up with a roar so loud he barely hears Louis speak. That sharp point. Like baiting a wild animal, like dipping your foot into dark bayou water and hoping a crocodile won't be waiting for you under the pier. A noise comes from him unbidden; almost a sob, of frustration or desire, it isn't clear. His mouth hangs open against Louis' and it is all he can do to take that hand from his chin, slide it to his neck, thumb on his jaw and fingers below his ear, pry his mouth open and kiss him in return with all the passion of a man starved. His tongue wastes no time finding Louis' own, catching his blunt teeth with wide strokes, drinking him in despite not a drop of blood between them.
To hell with it, Lestat thinks, you don't want this worship? Tough! ]
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It's too much, surely, for anyone to bear. Certainly too much for Louis, who has spent too many years denying himself what he wants. He presses himself against Lestat with an echoing sound of pure need, hand sliding up his back to finally tangle in his lovely mass of golden curls. With a shiver, he parts his lips, giving Lestat permission to devour him as he pleases, and allowing himself the surrender that he's yearned for this entire time. He sucks at Lestat's tongue with a quiet, obscene little sound, clutching at him reactively as he tries to resist simply pulling him onto the couch. )
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With Louis' hands clutching at his clothes and in his hair - yes, he wants to say, grab on - he takes another brutish step forward into where there is no space for him. Louis' long legs tangle with his but when they fall backwards it's oddly graceful; even though the angle wouldn't have deposited them on the couch, somehow Louis' back hits the comfortable seat of the nearby chaise longue with Lestat's body over him. He laughs against Louis' mouth, he can't help it, and fervently resumes his desperate bid for more contact with this beautiful creature. Their bodies pressed together tight like this, it's intoxicating, and he can feel every fibre of Louis' being pulled toward him as he catches his tongue between his jaws and threatens the nick of a sharp fang. ]
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All the air leaves Louis in a rush at the sharp, sweet sting of Lestat's fangs on his tongue, and he shivers, pinned beneath Lestat. He wants to say something — wasn't there a gift, wasn't that what all this was about? — but too much of him is occupied by the delicious weight of Lestat atop him, the strength in those deft hands caressing his body. Lestat won't let him hear the end of this, will he? But that stopped mattering when his back hit the chaise. Louis lets out a sound, a near-silent whimper of pleasure so sweet that it's nearly pain, and slits his tongue on Lestat's fang, letting his thoughts go hazy and soft in the swoon. )
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Lestat wants to crack the ribs and crawl inside.
And then, oh, and then.. The taste of Louis blood on his tongue; sharp, powerful with sin and strong in tenderness, overwhelming, addictive. He remembers this, he savours this. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows Louis hasn't fed. Were he capable he might admonish him and bask in the moment of Louis caught by his own helpless need for him.. but he can't form a single thought beyond his own howling greed.
He growls, a hand finding the angle of Louis' hip and pressing down; a butterfly pinned under glass. And he drinks. He pulls roughly on Louis' tongue, delving his own into the cut to keep it open just a little longer as the blood tries to heal it over. It's drips, it's hardly enough, like a tease and it's so good. ]
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His eyelashes flutter, and he lets out a whine, torn between his fierce desire and the remnants of his self-control. Nothing seems to matter but the two of them, and the entire world might as well be the press of Lestat's body against his. Instinct has him wanting to bite, to sink his fangs into the swell of Lestat's pulse and drink until the thirst is no longer pulling at his veins, until Lestat's heartbeat is locked with his and they become one being. But somehow, with the last of his restraint, he makes himself be still.
Well, not entirely still. He can't seem to stop squirming, fingers kneading little circles against Lestat's scalp. )
Oh, you are a wicked creature...
( It's barely a whisper, low and soft and overwhelmed and only the very slightest bit resentful. )
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Louis has always been better at resistance than he has, and he feels it now in the way his senses hone in on every sound and twitch of muscle from the body beneath him and leave him poised as if he's about to strike... but he can see in the way those glossy emerald eyes seem to quiver as they look at him, that Louis is struggling with control in just the same way. Well, not struggling. It can't be called struggling if you want it, can it?
He uses the pause as an opportunity to cover Louis better with his body, assuring him without words that Lestat has no intention to retract any time soon. One leg between the longer ones of his lover, the other planted firmly on the floor, he shifts up till he can prop himself over Louis with his free arm beside his head. Like a cage. When Louis speaks, a sound rattles from Lestat's throat that he barely registers, and his pupils blow wide. It's like he's said something depraved and sinful. ]
Tease. [ He says on an exhale, the corners of his mouth twitching. It's biting, but it's oddly desperate, too. As is the faint trace of a plea in his voice when he continues. ] Say it again.
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How wonderful, then, to love and be loved by a heart that would never stop beating. )
Wicked. Devious. Insatiable.
( Louis exhales sharply, a brief laugh of amazement. It's a strange, giddy rush of power, hearing that rough, pleading note in Lestat's voice — knowing how terribly easy it would be to be cruel to him, and feeling all the more protective for it. A shiver runs through him, all the way down to his curled toes. He tightens his grip on Lestat, tipping his head up to brush their lips together as he whispers: )
You're very easy to compliment.
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When he does, something grips at Lestat's core and shakes it, the power shift doing something to him he hadn't expected it to. Of course, he no longer basks in the vastness of their differences in might, but Louis has always deferred to him in some ways, so these moments where he holds the reins willingly are enticing in more ways than mere erotic value; it says a lot about their level of trust, now. That, more than anything, is what has his heart in a vice. Though the brush of Louis' lips doesn't hurt. Another sound leaves him unbidden, a soft noise of desperate encouragement, like he might die were this to stop. ]
Am I? [ He murmurs, voice gone slightly hoarse. He kisses that sweet mouth again, wasting no time getting his tongue inside and tasting the trace of iron scent left behind... and then, in an extreme show of astounding resistance, parting just before it gets good. ] Then you should do it more.
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( Louis sighs his name, a frustrated, hungry whine twisting the second syllable until it's mostly a breath ghosting its way across Lestat's lips. His fingers bunch in the hair at the nape of Lestat's neck, and he angles his chin up instinctively to try to chase those sweet lips. But it doesn't work — or perhaps he doesn't truly want it to work, and the wanting is part of the point.
He tips his head to one side instead, jaw upturned just enough to show a white flash of throat. Torment for torment, at least. His eyelashes flutter, and he kneads restlessly at Lestat, thirst turning his green eyes sharp and bright. )
Why is it that you only practice restraint when you're trying to utterly destroy my own, hm?
( He tries to sound chiding, but his lips curl into a fond, thirst-hazy smile that shows more of his fangs than usual. Like this, pinned down and deeply aware of his body's need for blood, Louis can hardly sort out whether he wants to bite or be bitten. )
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He dips his head down, swooping as if to take the bite they both so desperately desire, and instead runs the flat of his tongue from the line of Louis' jugular and up to the angle of his jaw, just below his ear. He murmurs into it, his voice heavy with the very resistance Louis is willing him to relinquish. ]
But your restraint is so much more powerful than mine, amour. [ He catches the lobe with not even the slightest threat of his fangs, just a blunt scrape of flat teeth. The hand on Louis' hip slides down, the heavy pressure moving along Louis' thigh, mapping out where firm muscle gives way to softness and then Lestat hikes it up, boxing himself in with Louis' legs, his hands practically needling into the fabric as if to wordlessly convey just how much effort this kind of restraint is asking of him. He lets out another helpless sigh of frustration or affection, or both. ] It tastes so much better when you make me wait.
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His fingers slip down to the nape of Lestat's neck, nails teasing beneath the collar of his shirt. Louis wants to coax more of those sounds from him, those uncontrolled exhales that prove Lestat is just as overwhelmed by this as he is.
And then, since Lestat is apparently so keen on being tortured: )
Mm, if that's true, perhaps I ought to make you wait until after I've opened my gift…
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And then Louis says that.
Lestat shoots upward so fast it's like he's been electrocuted, and the look he gives Louis is practically tortured. His love of gift giving is so strong in might that it meets his gluttony head on, and he looks helpless to resist the pull of either as he stares at Louis.
Then, he groans, and his head falls down to doof softly against Louis' chest. ]
Who is the wicked creature now!
[ He practically wails it, full of petulance enough that it wouldn't be hard to imagine him hammering his fists on the chaise in frustration. The wrapped gift is, somehow, in his hands in a matter of seconds after that, and after he deposits it on Louis' chest he retreats from between his legs with an incredibly put upon expression to take his place at the end of the couch. ]
Fine, fine. [ His entire body is on fire and he's doing an absolutely miserable job of looking like he doesn't want to pounce on Louis again. He crosses his legs in a strangely mortal way, his elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm as he eyes the gift. ] Open it.
[ Inside Louis will find that ancient tome of poetry he's always thumbing through, the one that has somehow seemed to avoid every fire and every move, every boat trip and every bout of aimless wandering. It had been falling apart the last Lestat had seen it. The spine had all but disintegrated, the gold leaf on the pages dull and tarnished, the pages themselves starting to curl. It hadn't been easy to slip it away from their reasonable library, its presence surely missed, but it had only been away for a few nights of repair before the final choices were necessary: a silvery blue velvet for the cover, bronze impressions for the title and the decoration and bronze hardware installed in the form of a small lock to keep the pages pressed together tight. The pages restored, the book entirely rebound with a loving and skilful hand; the book looks completely new. ]
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The look on Louis' face is sly and appraising, his gaze traveling from Lestat's feet up his crossed legs and chest, and finally to his silver eyes. )
I must have learned some wickedness from so much time spent in your company. Now let me see what you've been up to.
( Delicately, Louis slits the wrapping with the tip of his thumbnail, careful not to touch whatever lies beneath. He removes the brown paper in a wide spiral, giving the moment the sort of drama that he knows Lestat appreciates. But any attempt at artifice vanishes the moment Louis realizes what he's holding.
Or, nearly realizes. He traces the shapes of the letters with his fingertips, deeply moved and slightly bewildered. )
Oh, Lestat, where on earth did you get this? I thought it was long out of print. It's marvelous, look at it…
( Louis turns it over in his hands, taking in every detail of the spine and practically caressing the soft velvet cover. He's almost there, but already too enthralled and in love to put the complete picture together. He pauses, the pages still closed, and looks back to Lestat. )
But how did you know I'd lost my copy?
( ... wait ... )
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The whole display of the unwrapping has him tense in bubbling excitement. Where he still rests his chin on his hand, his pointer finger taps impatiently against his own cheek as he watches. Usually he would have basked in the performance of it all, but he's oddly captivated with watching Louis' face for the slightest twitch of a reaction in him.
When he finally speaks, voice full of the expected reverence but unexpectedly missing the mark completely, Lestat lets out a helpless and slightly breathless laugh. ]
It is out of print, mon cher. I think the gentleman in the shop thought I'd stolen it from a museum. I had to spin some great tale about an estate and an old collection passed down through generations of my family.
[ His body has relaxed now, at least. It's clearly regained once more some of its vampiric elegance as he leans a little closer, a hand coming forward to gently squeeze the lock and pop the cover. The edition page is still intact; Lestat made it an imperative request that not a single sliver of the pages were removed, no matter how damaged. This one in particular had been close to falling out, but has been repaired with extreme skill. ]
Though, before you wonder how you will ever thank me for taking your dreary items and dragging them into the current century, I have to admit that I wasn't entirely selfless in choosing this gift for you. It comes with a request. [ Pause. ] Well, a demand, really.
[ His smile turns sharper, he's very clearly enjoying this, and he straightens to regard Louis with an expression that betrays none of the vibrating anxiety clamped around his heart at the thought of admitting this out loud in such an intimate manner. ]
I would like you to read to me.
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It feels as if someone's reached into his chest to squeeze his heart, and it's somehow both painful and comforting at once. To anyone else, it might be such a small thing to ask, but Louis feels as if he's being given something precious, something that he's longed for all his immortal life. Lestat's smile is so brave and confident, but if anyone knows what this moment is costing him in pride, it's Louis.
Words, Louis thinks, would spoil the moment. Action for action, then. Lestat would appreciate that, and besides, Louis would like to pick up where they left off, more or less. And so, heart fluttering in his chest, Louis rests a hand on Lestat's knee as he leans in and kisses him on the lips. )
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So when Louis kisses him, Lestat raises a hand to rest his fingers between his collar bones, palm strong against his chest. He smiles into the kiss, playfully pushing back with a little more intensity before he uses that hand to hold him away, just for a moment, like a dog away from its dinner. But there's no real power to it, no real intention, and he only holds him centimetres away; Lestat can't possibly resist giving Louis anything he wants for too long. ]
Ah, is that a yes?
[ He laughs, just a soft exhalation of breath against Louis' mouth. ]