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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 25, 2009 19:52:12 GMT -5
Nicolas liked the intimate touch, having George grab his arm, because it seemed quite unexpected and quaint, almost made his head spin, almost make him grin wildly and with no point. He could have outrun George in an instant, of course, which was why the concept of someone taking his arm and pulling him along behind them was so charming. It helped that it was George, of course.
They sped down two streets over before stopping. Nicolas wondered vaguely if they looked suspicious until an old woman with a shawl draped on her peered out a window and asked if they'd heard those bells, sounding incredulous and rather shocked.
Nicki nodded, and she glanced down the street they'd come from as though expecting to see the cathedral go up in flames or somesuch from the blasphemy. Nicolas glanced over at George and smiled, eyelids lazily half-lowered, sharing the secret as though he were perfectly innocent.
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Post by Mercutio on May 25, 2009 20:07:20 GMT -5
George was of course perfectly charming with her, so reassuring, so believable, as he told her very seriously that he thought it was because of the date, as that day was the feast day of St. Aldhelm as well as of the martyr St. Urban. And as he talked, with one accommodating arm sweep outward, he glanced over at Nicolas and the corner of his mouth quirked up- obviously George was not buying his act.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 25, 2009 20:13:18 GMT -5
George was not supposed to buy it. He'd heard the bells firsthand, and had apparently liked them well enough to pull him over for a kiss. Nicolas was not upset about this.
"Still want to go drinking?" asked Nicolas quietly, watching George, paying no attention to the old woman who'd gone inside to nag at her husband. "I'd never take advantage of you when drunk. You know that."
Words he could have spoken to Lestat once; probably had. They chilled him momentarily.
((Sometimes, especially when you POST AS MERCUTIO, I think I am reading something Mercutio is saying and get confused. They're so similar when George is in a playful mood.))
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Post by George Boleyn on May 25, 2009 20:23:15 GMT -5
George began to back away as soon as the woman had disappeared from the doorway; now he gave Nicolas a distracted smile, eyes still on the door before flicking back to the violinist. "Oh, you tell me, are you any thirstier than before for our adventure?" As if he was at all worried that Nicolas would take advantage of him. He'd have to be unwilling for that, wouldn't he?
(( Sorry. ^_^ ))
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 25, 2009 20:27:26 GMT -5
Nicolas licked his lips unthinkingly. Distracted by George, distracted, as when distracted George was most easily watched. He moved his eyes away from his neck, though, before George could catch him at staring. "Mm-hm."
Indeed, wasn't that the problem? He suddenly thought - go to the bar, buy him a drink, talk a while, and then excuse himself to... to piss or some mortal inconvenience, and then... Yes. It would be easy. Just a little time, one simple murder, and he wouldn't be nearly so dangerous to George.
Or so physically cold, so white under scrutiny, so that, if, perhaps, George wanted to be close enough to tell, he wouldn't be able to...
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Post by George Boleyn on May 25, 2009 20:30:20 GMT -5
"Then a pub it is."
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 25, 2009 20:35:18 GMT -5
Nicolas waved over another carriage quite lazily and pulled George in with surprising strength although certainly not with supernatural strength. He very much wanted to pull him closer and kiss him again, and it seemed, for a moment, as he sat back and looked back at George, that he might, but he only poked his head out the window and told the man the name of the drinking spot they had originally intended to go to.
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Post by George Boleyn on May 25, 2009 20:41:19 GMT -5
George settled back against the cushions, very content now that he'd had an adventure, a kiss, and now a drink (and perhaps more kisses, if the look Nicolas just gave him was any indication). He was at ease now that he'd decided this would be a fling- they would be subtle, and quick, and he could see no harm in it if it was only for a little while. Perhaps he could forget and be happy again, and until he began to make his way in Parisian society he could see little danger in some fun.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 25, 2009 20:43:47 GMT -5
If George thought that Nicolas, who had been obsessed with a certain red-haired, deceptive-eyed immortal beauty for no less than one hundred years now, was going to be his for a week of pleasure and then brushed off like graveyard dust from a velvet coat, he had no idea what was coming. None. Whatsoever.
Nicolas leaned back against the cushions himself, afterwards, and crossed his legs rather smartly.
"Impressed with my skills as a musician, yet?"
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Post by George Boleyn on May 25, 2009 20:51:46 GMT -5
(( *cackles* ))
"Highly."
The carriage passed through a long stretch without light, two laterns on the street being out. In the darkness, Nicolas' hands and face almost seemed to glow, like his skin was collecting the little light to be had and gathering it to itself. It was startling for a moment, when George turned his head towards him; he looked like the ghost of their conversations. It made George concentrate to remember Nicolas next to the pale stone of the cathedral, whether he was as bleached as the marble, but he hadn't been paying attention to things like that at the time. The only thing that brought it to his mind now was the violinist's stark whiteness against the dark of the inside of the coach.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 26, 2009 14:58:30 GMT -5
((100 George posts exactly!))
Nicolas didn't notice what he might have looked like to George in the dark; he was merely too preoccupied gazing at George in the dark. If he had, he would only have strengthened his resolution to feed at the bar. He wanted to be able to touch him and taste him and look at him without causing harm or alarm in him; watching him now and telling himself that soon perhaps he would was momentarily enough to keep him from leaning in. It was hard to control his own impulses; somehow, he managed anyway.
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Post by George Boleyn on May 26, 2009 17:31:10 GMT -5
George glanced away from him, and then back; they finally passed underneath another streetlamp that lent Nicolas a less startling, golden glow.
"I am surprised you haven't been coaxed into service somewhere, for a talent like that."
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 26, 2009 18:14:17 GMT -5
"Service, you mean at the court?"
A grim memory, one that made him brood: telling Lestat, oh, this must have been the last time he'd seen him alive, that if he had picked up the violin, he'd have been playing for the court by that point. He wondered if George would be attracted to mortal Nicki, and thought not. He was silent for a moment, looking away, distant.
"No one's heard me play but you." The faintest smile returned to his lips. "And a roomful at the Quartered Highwayman, and, now, most of Paris."
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Post by George Boleyn on May 26, 2009 21:44:25 GMT -5
George waved a hand. "Court, or into the household of a rich man." And, "Oh, don't I feel special! Didn't you say you were once in a theatre pit? Do not your patrons count?"
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 27, 2009 14:28:00 GMT -5
Nicolas looked momentarily very serious, almost grave. He hadn't meant to, but it had just struck him, the incongruity of what George said and the truth - which was that those men and women, those foolish, subdued men and women who did not know what manner of theater they really attended, were long since dead.
"No. They don't."
His manner changed again very suddenly, another relishing smile on his lips. "I was not merely in the pit. I wrote the plays, too. It was very posh. You would have liked it."
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