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Post by Magda on Aug 12, 2007 17:26:28 GMT -5
"It is delicious..." Magda sighed. "But no, I mussn't."
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Post by Micaela on Aug 12, 2007 17:30:27 GMT -5
*Micaela shuddered.*
"I can't really imagine drinking human blood--gives me the shivers. But when I'm around them, it's practically all I want to do. Ignoring my conflicted feelings--" *She continued, shaking her head,* "You say you're dating a human?"
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Post by Magda on Aug 12, 2007 17:32:47 GMT -5
"Hyes, vhy?"
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Post by Micaela on Aug 12, 2007 17:34:38 GMT -5
*She shrugged.* "Just wondering... DAMMIT I'm rambling again!" *She berated herself.* "I always do that!" *She said, shaking her head.* "Anyhow. It was nice meeting you--I gotta get to work. Bye!" *She said, turning to go.*
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Mar 31, 2009 7:55:02 GMT -5
**NEW NIGHT**
Nicolas could not quite persuade himself that he was going to commit himself once again to his earlier activities - the murders, namely, that had plagued the city for a space no longer than a week when he had been trying to get Armand's attention - but for the time being, it was easy to pretend. Armand would deserve it if that were the case, wouldn't he, thought Nicolas bitterly, if it had so pained his coven master sensibilities before. Wouldn't it be fitting, if Nicolas found a young man who looked like Vincent one night, and left him with his intestines strewn out, and then rather sweetly left an auburn-haired creature lying in an alley the next with a broken neck...? Of course, Nicolas was not doing this, and it was, as a matter of fact, a handsome blond-haired thief whom he eventually ended up following down the streets, and he was bound to dispose of the body anyway, wasn't he?
There was nothing to do now but to get lost in the pleasure and oblivion of the kill. He already knew he couldn't go to Aurel - that much he was certain of - and he couldn't go back to Armand. Even the thought of either one brought an awful throbbing to his temple. Wasn't this what they were supposed to be, lone predators, just that, the damned haunting the steps of the doomed, without love or companionship to tide them through? Was it mortal weakness on his part, that it hurt to think of being alone? It didn't matter. It was no weak mortal who followed the pickpocket into a back alley, watched him, for a moment, count his coins in the same way Nicolas had not long before sat on the Opera's staircase and counted rings, and then pulled him up against a wall and sank his teeth into his throat.
((Set shortly after Nicolas leaves Lestat's tower - in possession of Armand - which has not actually happened yet, but will. Tag Lestat!))
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Post by Lestat Lioncourt on Apr 1, 2009 22:42:04 GMT -5
Lestat had caught his scent about a block before finally catching up with it, he couldn't really believe what he was smelling. When Daniel had spoke of Nicolas being alive, he ignored it, it wasn't possible that the boy had survived, he had died in that fire and there was where he stayed. But the nights wind had been strong and the familiar scent caught his nostrils, and no matter what plans he had once had for the night, was halted by the smell.
At the end of the alley stood Lestat, watching as what seemed to him, to be the ghost of the world that died, feed so viciously upon a young man. He wanted so dearly to say something, but time had hardened him and his emotions, so he stay quiet, sure that Nicolas would smell him, if not see him soon enough.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Apr 2, 2009 13:04:30 GMT -5
Nicolas' senses were completely caught up in the kill, all of them. He abandoned himself to it as one might expect from someone who had nothing else left, and who needed to be lost in something capable of containing the human conscience. Not that Nicolas had a human conscience. Not that he felt a literal tension in his chest, a pain, at the thought of having nowhere to go, at having been too lowly prized by someone who had managed to completely dominate him without so much as twisting one languid wrist...
Nicolas would have normally been quite upset to the point of irrationality to find he'd been followed and observed, not because he minded being watched while he killed, but because he did not wish to be seen without his knowing it. He had been too unconscious in that murder, running his hand over the man's hair and his face and his body like a lover, pulling him closer, moaning against his throat at each spurt of hot blood. It was the greatest indulgence, the greatest intoxication - the best distraction from too-mortal pain he could think of, and so he hadn't at all been thinking.
But this was not at all normal, and as Nicolas stepped away from the body, the thief sliding down to the ground against the wall of the alleyway, he became aware of a presence, of a long and tall silhouette at the mouth of the alley, and turned - even though he knew, he couldn't have not know, he couldn't have ever forgotten...
He wasn't a ghost, he knew that. He wasn't a hallucination. Why did he know this now when he had been so careless and foolish earlier that same month about Armand, disturbed in the middle of the kill then by the angelic-seeming vampire in the alleyway? But what a simple question. Armand had never been Lestat.
Nicolas had never wanted it. The moment he realized the implications of this - that it was Lestat there, that he had finally been confronted by Lestat in Paris, and at a time when Nicolas had nowhere to go to avoid him - he took a step back sharply, as though he'd been struck in the chest.
((You know what. I'm just going to let that body stay there so Armand can bitch at him over it later. ^_^ It's not like he's going to remember little things like hiding the body when Lestat's around.))
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Post by Lestat Lioncourt on Apr 2, 2009 13:24:56 GMT -5
Lestat could not help but smile, the way he had dispatched of the young theif caused something inside him to stir, something terrible. He had been so comfortable living a cautious life with Louis, so comfortable to live quietly, without everything he had once loved. What he saw before him, so alarmed, was the adventure he had lost by turning Louis. His infatuation with Louis he knew now, stemmed from passion he had once felt for the dark creature that stood so close to him now.
He slowly began moving toward Nicolas, his hands laying almost limp at his side, although his stride remained one of confidence and class, his eyes said something else.
"Nicolas...?"
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Apr 2, 2009 13:34:00 GMT -5
Nicolas could never have imagined this - which was just another reason why he knew he was not hallucinating, provoking images that he wanted to see. He didn't want to see Lestat, did he? He couldn't possibly have wanted to see Lestat. Just the nickname Lestat had once had for him, falling carelessly from Armand's lips, had been enough to send him into mania. So why wasn't he leaving? Why hadn't he pushed him aside and stormed off, quite proudly, done nothing but sneer at him and behave as though Lestat meant nothing?
And this was all too dreadfully familiar, and yet almost frighteningly strange, because he knew Lestat far better than he had ever known Armand, and yet had always known Armand as a vampire. Nicki had left him very shortly after that, to form the theater of the vampires, and the cool vampire skin and unnatural pallor, the abnormal grace which only heightened that Lestat had had while alive, was all alien to him. Deja vu, to see this figure again, and yet not.
Hanging back was torture in and of itself. He couldn't just let Lestat approach him while he did nothing... and yet he couldn't make himself leave. Just as Lestat was nearing him he stepped forward impulsively to close the distance between them.
His face was carefully composed, his eyes bright nonetheless. He tilted his head for a moment before he parted his lips and spoke.
"Who else."
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Post by Lestat Lioncourt on Apr 2, 2009 13:43:25 GMT -5
Lestat stopped about five feet from him, a cold wind whipping his tied hair behind him out of the loose ribbon he had tied. How could Nicolas be here? It still seemed so surreal, so impossible, that Lestat found it hard for him to close the gap between them. They had parted on such a note, that Lestat knew that Nicolas would probably not accept him running up and holding him.
So he held his gaze, his hands moving slowly to his back "I thought you were dead."
((Can anyone else hear western standoff music?))
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Apr 2, 2009 13:50:00 GMT -5
((... thanks a lot. Now I do.
...played on a violin, no less.))
Nicolas folded his arms very fastidiously, head still tilted. Unreal, this conversation. The words themselves were not particularly unexpected, from either side, but simply the fact that they were being asked seemed positively impossible. How could they not be raging at each other?
Or, conversely, how could they not be...?
No. He would never do that. He would never...
"By all means, I ought to be." His voice was cold, but it wasn't a coldness that was characteristic of him, betraying his nervousness, his vulnerability. He glanced at the ground a moment as he continued talking, and said, "I can't remember the last hundred years. I didn't not come to you out of avoidance - "
He cut himself off very quickly and looked up at Lestat again, almost defying him to speak, to call him out on that. Why would he feel the need to explain that to Lestat? Why not just let him suppose he'd not spoken to him for a century simply out of disdain?
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Post by Armand on Apr 2, 2009 16:05:51 GMT -5
((You know what. I'm just going to let that body stay there so Armand can bitch at him over it later. ^_^ It's not like he's going to remember little things like hiding the body when Lestat's around.)) (( Like Armand doesn't have other things to do than to keep up with Nicolas! >_> )) |
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Apr 2, 2009 17:58:04 GMT -5
((Maggie. You know that he doesn't. <3))
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Post by Erin Harper on Apr 2, 2009 18:50:26 GMT -5
(( *gracefully deigns not to respond* ))
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Post by Lestat Lioncourt on Apr 3, 2009 2:24:02 GMT -5
((LOL))
Than it was true! It was true and he wasn't dreaming, although Lestat couldn't remember the last time he dreamt, he knew he was not. All memories of the books, of Daniel... of Louis seemed to fade as Nicholas spoke the softest words he had heard in many a year. But he had caught himself off, he had stopped himself from finishing and Lestat understood, that although it had been more time that even he could count, Nicholas still held on...
And Lestat had let go, or at least... he thought he had.
"Nicholas... I do not doubt that you have avoided me" he began "our paths simply have not crossed until now."
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Dec 7, 2015 17:42:32 GMT -5
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