C U R A T O R . . .

there are many things kit will never get used too, and one of them is the dizzying, neon soaked opulence of lestat’s life. stepping into the penthouse, everywhere he looks, there is polished marble, velvet that practically glows under dramatic lightning, and an overwhelming luxury that makes him feel out of place. he doesn’t know what to do with his shoes or jacket, so he simply stands near the door, fingers twitching as he tries to keep himself from fidgeting further. ‘lestat, it’s . . . tu casa es hermosa, muy incredible,’ kit tries and fails not to look self conscious as he meets lestat’s stare. ‘very . . . big. thank you for inviting me,’ @tueurloup.

the quiet hum of the cafe is exactly the kind of atmosphere kit seeks out when the world outside gets too loud. nestled away from the street outside, the small shop holds the decadent smell of coffee beans, ground and brewed that morning, he was sure. kit sits at a wooden table near the back, frame hunched over a mug of black tea. he’s focused on the vintage pocket watch he carries around with him, checking the time several times without fully registering it. shoulders pinch slightly at the gentle scrape of a chair on the other side of the table, looking up to find ada just sitting down. ‘oh, hello - i’m sorry, i was - a million miles away, just now,’ it’s a confession given with a small smile, clearing space for her to set her own drink. ‘did you find the place alright? it’s a bit hidden, but it’s worth it,’ @maledictione.

to a man who spends his entire life trying to blend into the background, being asked to lay himself bare like this leaves him feeling exposed, pages of his book threatening to fall wide open. ‘every part might not be entirely possible,’ he answers after a quiet moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. he takes another moment to look down at the floorboards, tracing the wood grain as he tries to calculate how to even begin summarizing a life that feels far too messy, too fragile, too heavy to burden someone else with. when he finally gathers the courage to look up at elsbeth, he doesn’t quite meet her eyes. ‘it’s not a very exciting story. it’s mostly . . . a lot of broken things i tried too hard to fix and an awful lot of time spent worrying about making mistakes, and making them, anyway,’ he isn’t telling the full truth, that much is clear, but she doesn’t really know what she’s asking him for, does she? taking a breath, he rests his hands on his hips to keep from biting his nails. ‘i wouldn’t even know where to start,' @mindfcked.

instead of browsing the showroom’s main floor, the woman who entered alegría’s oddities maybe ten minutes prior is tucked deep into the back corner, focused on the locked glass cabinet where he keeps his most delicate pieces. adjusting his glasses, the shop owner moves that way, watching the genuine admiration on her face before he approaches, clearing his throat as not to startle her. ‘beautiful, isn’t it?’ he finds himself looking inside of the case, as well, eyes crinkling some as he grins. ‘i keep it under lock and key. mostly because the main spring is incredibly temperamental,’ the explanation is soft, tilting his chin down to meet her gaze with an easy warmth. ‘one wrong touch and the whole mechanism can unwind itself, but . . . if you’re curious about it, i can always take it out and show you. the craftsmanship is even more impressive up close,’ @grote5querie.

a soft rustle of grass nearby breaks the silence. kit quickly wipes his face, though it doesn’t quite clear his skin of its wetness. hyper vigilant as always, his head snaps up, frantically searching the gloom around him - only to soften as his gaze lands on cynthia. if she were anyone else, kit might feel embarrassed for sobbing. he doesn’t much enjoy crying in front of others, always hiding his breakdowns away where no one can witness his fragility. but cynthia is different. she’s never made him feel weird or wrong for his emotions, and so he has no reason to hide them from her. glancing over her features, he doesn’t know what spirits she might be seeing drifting between the headstones, but cynthia’s presence is the only thing he cares about, right now. ‘what are you doing here so late?’ it’s murmured her way, as if she couldn’t ask him the same question. but she knows he’s here for his mother, and he knows she’s here because he is. which, somehow, makes him feel worse. after a brief pause, he shrugs off his jacket and starts forward to drape it over her shoulders. ‘it’s freezing out here, take my coat,’ @runeread.

y.ellowjackets, h.annibal, the p.itt, s.upernatural, fantasy / d.nd, m.arvel.