𝑹𝑶𝑪𝑲𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹

The moment Cain feels that hand on his sleeve, he halts. Gaze cast to said hand before flitting up to Lestat's face, perplexity carving itself into his own. He didn't expect the vampire to hold him back from leaving, much less to convey any sort of interest in anything else than their usual back and forth laced with mockery. The demon's mien soon returns to one of ease. Contemplating whether Lestat truly means it renders him quiet for another handful seconds, during which his chin inches upward by a little. "Don't worry, I'm good. You are not my therapy." A dry chuckle follows suit, before Cain decides to favor his abandoned chair over the exit door. Where to start? "I'm the very last person walking the face of this earth who deserves forgiveness." He reclines, both arms planted onto the armrests. "Much less a second chance. But, somehow, I received it." The pause he allows to stretch between them is deliberate while he restores eye contact, in case Lestat finds nothing of higher relevance to behold right now.

"When I look at you, I see a piece of myself. The old self I'm lucky enough to call buried at this point, the self who mistook shallow adoration and fear for sources of happiness." Cain could be wrong in his observation, but he recognizes brokenness when he sees it. No matter how shiny and beautiful the vessel. A dismissive wave of one hand he briefly inches up from the armrest. "Fleeting satisfaction that distracts you from one thing."

Then his eyes harden, face blank, the following words wrapped into a tone that might as well herald impending doom: "How much you hate yourself." The vampire's unwilling confession revealed that much; he never asked for this life. Cain grants Lestat a moment of peace from his stare, glances down and then toward the cityscape stretching beyond that patio. "I used to see vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, all those supernatural beings as filth I owe the world to rid it of." Fellow demons are still on his kill list. Most. For personal reasons. "But you..." A glass, its contents clear to every eye familiar with the bitterness it holds— an open book humans tend not to translate well. They don't know the burdens other kinds bear. Cain returns his attention to the vampire, a crooked smile peeking through his beard. It lacks joy. "You showed me how narrow-minded I was. That there can very much be humanity in... well, other beings."

Should he stop there? He means to, before his eyes wander again to land on the piano; a prominent reminder of Lestat's life of choice as a popular figure who isn't exactly celebrated among vampires for his exposure. "We are both traitors of our kinds. And I believe it can't hurt for you to have support in someone who won't break easily." Then he lifts both hands from the armrests to gesture at himself, brows upturned. "Someone who understands, but doesn't care about all that fame."

R☆ckstar☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆: by some miraculous accident, the demon stays after the vampire minutely chases the fabric of his outer garment. There is a beat of doubt; a somewhat biased expectation that Cain may turn around and attempt to erase the vampire from his lengthy existence. After all, it seems that anything the undead says may trigger a collapsing eruption in his counterpart. An irreversible mistake that satisfies one sadist and destroys another. Lestat arches his eyebrow and watches the demon brush by, re-entering the conversation just as easily as he was prepared to abandon it. Lestat presses his lips together in a silent ascent. He meanders, sulking in the silence he created while listening to the demon carry on. And on. And on. Adding layers to this self-invited session that the vampire hasn't requested, and yet was thrust into against his will.

"I got that impression." Lestat peers at Cain as he sits, deciding to lean against the convenient balcony. His hip presses to the granite and his hands rise to capture the billowing tresses that toy with the passing breeze. The night enters its deepest hour, and the city stills, even for a moment. For one second, there are no sirens, no booming parties, no barking dogs shredding chicken cartilage, and no vampire chasing Lestat up the walls of skyscrapers. He crosses his arms and stares at the shape of the cracks on the ground. Someone is going to need to restore this before the foundation collapses. Might in five years, maybe in just three months.

Lestat glances up at Cain and smiles. Oh, Lestat, how far you have fallen to have the Devil see his visage reflected in you. The vampire drills his vibrant glare into a pair of matching, light eyes, and yet as things become crystal clear, Lestat notices the muddying feelings in his chest. He wants to lash out at Cain, to laugh at his face, and remind him that they are nothing like.

Similarity? What do I share with you that makes you feel compelled to sit here, chin raised, stroking your beard like a wise sage with an alcoholism problem? Oh, boohoo, you are reminiscing in my misery, watching my debut in the world with a bated breath of regret. Do you miss it, then? Being a piece of shit that I am now? Is this what you are implying, oh, High and Mighty Ancient? You should have kept walking and minding your business. I don't care what you have to say about my indulgences, because they are mine, and they are enough to distract me. Maybe you are just jealous because I have succeeded somewhere where you haven't. Don't start sobbing now over spilt milk. You are pathetic. The state of you. The sight of you.

But instead, Lestat looks away with a hardened jaw and upturned lip. His eyes outline the landscape, and there, just before a peaceful melody reaches his ears, someone requests a loud EMS. Its siren pierces the air as it sails through the vacant streets, searching for the victim of health inconvenience to make money off. Lestat's chest deflates as he bursts out into a loud chuckle.

"I've converted you and saved my kind," he says, shaking his head with a stretched smile. "Sadly, they're not going to thank me for it." The rockstar dips his head to look at Cain over his shoulder. Hate myself. Oh, that's rich, you conniving bi-

"So, that's it then?" The vampire twists his body to face Cain while draping his arms over the balcony edge. "You offer me what? A therapist to come to when I want to talk about the overwhelming feelings of being a black sheep?" A lopsided smile triumphs over his features, and yet there is a sadness in his eyes. Of all people on this earth, after centuries in the ground, a demon submits a voluntary application to be the one to listen? To listen, or to demean and simply speak? Lestat tilts his head. "I still fail to capture your angle." It's not accusatory; rather, it is a preliminary surrender offered with a sigh. Lestat droops his head, watching his right ankle cross over his left. He sways a little, as if testing his balance.

"A company of a demon as a safe haven, a bit ironic, don't you think?" Lestat speaks softly, rotating his head from one side to another as if bobbing to a silent melody in his head. "Nearly three hundred years I've walked and crawled among the humans. And all this time, I've only had myself." Another smile, a scolding backhand of his reflection. His shoulders twitch; he wants to laugh, but something is stuck in his chest. "And now," his damp eyes flicker to Cain, coating the demon's face with lethal scrutiny.

"What are you going to do? Save me? I think it's too late for that." Lestat licks his lips to distract himself from the sinking feeling in his gut. "I am kind of," he motions with his head a little by rotating it. "Used to figuring it all out on my own. I can't afford a mentor, at the moment."He clears his throat and uncrosses his ankles, sauntering forward aimlessly. "Also, you," he motions at Cain with his hand. "Aren't the last person owed consideration for forgiveness, albeit delayed." Lestat's palm connects to his chest. "That would be me. You," a nod toward Cain. "Are second to last. Mhm."