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@fiveofswcrds
five of swords (reversed) — after a period of conflict, you are ready to move forward with your life and create positive change.
a multimuse dependant blog for hidden washington. written by ursie.
𝕄𝕌𝕊𝔼𝕊
eccarius (preacher) :: intro, tag // freddie lounds (hannibal) :: intro, tag // louis de pointe du lac (the vampire chronicles) :: intro, tag
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For a split second, the recorder caught his attention—it was not the disappointing kind of surprise. If anything, it relieved him. Cletus knew he was being taken seriously. Whether or not he deserved to be... that was something that could be parsed out later on. Clearing his throat, he answered, "Now I wish it was some xenomorph shit. That would'a been right up my alley. Instead it was just some... blob. I don't know how else to describe it. Some freaky lookin' turd!" The aforementioned turd probably wouldn't have been too keen on hearing such a description, but he'd never been one to consider feelings before he spoke. Not for people and certainly not for strange encounters. "Just came out of his back. Snuck up right over his shoulder. Don't even think it tore his shirt, now that I think about it." Now he snapped at the bartender that had, at one point, been trying to sell to him. Timing was everything. They should have known that! "I never believed in aliens before that. You can quote me on that one. But this one knew some freaky shit about me, too! My name, for one. Came right up to me an' said, hey Cletus!—that's me, I figure I don't have to spell it for ya?—like we were pals or some shit. Maybe it was one of them body snatchers. I don't know. Think they can shack up with someone without killin' them? Hell, who am I kidding? Nobody knows jack fuckin' shit about that kinda thing.... but maybe you've heard somethin' I haven't, bein' so worldly an' all."
Freddie didn't write down 'alien'. She didn't underline 'blob', either. Those details were entertaining, certainly, but they could wait. Instead, the tip of her pen hovered over a single word before committing it to paper in neat block letters: CLETUS. Names tended to be anchors. People forgot dates, faces, entire lifetimes if Washington had decided to scramble them enough. But a name? A name usually survived for a reason. Whatever that reason might be. That was a discovery to be done another day. For now, her interest was completely piqued by the stranger that got more and more captivating with every sentence.
"No," she admitted after a beat, her expresison thoughtful rather than dismissive. "I can't say I've interviewed any extraterrestrials... yet." The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "But I have spoken to enough people in this city to know that the sentence 'I never believed in this until Tuesday' has become surprisingly common." She leaned forward just enough to signal she was fully invested now. "Let's forget the blob for a second." A small gesture with her pen. "You said it knew your name. Did you recognise it? The voice, I mean. The way it spoke. Anything that made your brain go, 'I've seen this before,' even if you couldn't place why?"
Armand was not used to the admiration, either -- not from Eccarius, not from anyone. He felt no one had truly loved him like this, not ever. His relationship with Louis, even... Seemed more one-sided. He opens his mouth slightly to apologize, for not listening, but he lets the other vampire continue speaking, rather than interrupting him. Despite no accusation in Eccarius's tone, Armand still meant to apologize. Not wanting to seem ignorant to his lover. There is, instead, fondness in his lover's voice. It causes Armand to smile a bit wider. He continues to comb his fingers through the other's hair. Eccarius knew about Armand's maker -- the things Armand had been through, barely remembering anything from his mortal life. Not even remembering his true name. Armand did not see brokenness in his partner -- as he had seen in some other vampires. Claudia, Nicki. Eccarius was far different. Armand saw strength and experience in his partner. Along with the hint of vulnerability. Which... Eccarius was being vulnerable now, and Armand highly appreciated it. "I should be thanking you, my love." He replies quietly, "For also restoring my faith in such companionship." Sure, Armand had his fledgling -- but that wasn't quite the same. "Truly, I cannot recall a time where I shared such closeness with another vampire." Armand shakes his head. That soft smile still on his youthful features. "It is... like a breath of fresh air." Because this was genuine, unlike his romantic endeavors with Lestat and Louis. "I do not know what I would do without you."
Armand's words settled over the other vampire with an almost unbearable gentleness. For once, Eccarius found himself without some clever rejoinder, without a flourish or a dramatic declaration waiting patiently on the tip of his tongue. He simply looked at Armand, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the line of the other's wrist where it rested so close to his face, as though reassuring himself that this was real and not another beautiful thing destined to vanish with the coming night.
"You say these things with such certainty," he murmured after a long silence, a smile pulling faintly at his lips, "you'll have me believing them." Despite of how it was worded, there was no malicious intent or disbelief behind his voice, only quiet wonder.
"I have lived a long life, watching the world fly by. I watched rulers rise and fall, I've watched lovers swear eternity to one another only to forget each other's names before the century was out." He finally looked back up into the impossibly warm amber eyes, studying Armand with an affection that centuries had failed to dull. "I have lived long enough to know eternity is incapable of making promises. It steals kingdoms, names, people... it's always been incredibly greedy." A fait smile returuned. "So, I made peace with expecting very little from it."
His expression softened further as he lifted Armand's hand from his hair and turned it carefully within his own, studying it as though it were something precious.
"And then, quite without warning, it gave me you."
The words hung between them before Eccarius laughed softly at himself, equal parts embarrassed and amused.
"I hope you never discover what you would do without me... Because I have grown rather attached to discovering what I shall do with you."
@fiveofswcrds | Frederick & Freddie.
"Freddie? Freddie Lounds?" Frederick says -- he had not seen her in ages. It was even difficult for him to pinpoint the last time he saw her, since so much had happened in his life before winding up in Washington. It felt like everything happened all at once. His being set up by Hannibal, his 'run-in' with Francis Dolarhyde. Somehow, Frederick managed to survive all of it, by some miracle. But not without ending up severly emotionally and physically damaged. He was just glad to be away from all of that now, for the most part. Hannibal and Will were in Washington, sure, but if Frederick could just manage to stay away from them and not be seen as a threat... maybe he could live a good life, here. What he wasn't expecting was for Freddie Lounds to turn up at his doorstep. "Come in, come in," He gestures, stepping aside to let her in his home. He closes the door behind her, once she enters, and turns to face her. "Do you want anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?" He asks, wanting to be a good host.
Frederick Chilton. He was standing in front of her and she couldn't form a simple sentence. Freddie knew she probably looked absolutely ridiculous — still as a statue, with quivering hands and unblinking eyes, as if trying to prove to herself that this was not some terrible dream she would eventually wake up from.
She read about the fate of doctor Chilton. She heard about it on the news channels, she managed to get her hands on medical reports. Freddie, however, could not bring herself to see it for herself. Could somebody still experience 'survivor's guilt' when the other party was still alive? Then again, could you even call that living? Over the several months, the constant 'it could have been me' thought at the back of her mind turned into 'it should have been me', which didn't help the guilt that rotted through her heart.
Freddie stepped into the home once she managed to move again, the initial shock slowly wearing off... but not quite disappearing. "Drink, yes. Coffee would be nice. Unless you have something stronger. I might— I'd quite like that, actually."
(¸.• ♛ → the bitter little smile vanished from claudia’s lips, replaced by a heavy, profound stillness. she didn't approach him. she didn't yell. Instead, she just stood there, her small hands resting flat against the fabric of her skirt, her dark eyes tracking every single line of agony etched into his face. it was a dizzying, suffocating rush of contradictions inside her dead chest. It felt so good to see him—to see the familiar face of the only person who had ever truly loved her in that miserable eternity. but the sight of him also brought the crushing weight of their history crashing down on her.
she took one slow, deliberate step forward, her head tilting slightly. the gaze she leveled at him was a complicated storm—half-softened by an undeniable, deep affection, and half-sharpened by a lingering, cold resentment that the ashes hadn't fully washed away.
"yeah? i missed you, louis. i really did," she whispered, her voice dropping to a raw, honest confession. then, her eyes flashed with a sudden, dangerous edge of old bitterness. "but I also remember the smoke. I remember who was sitting in that theater, and who failed to save me. i’m glad you’re here… but don't look at me like a ghost you can just apologize away." she stopped just short of him, her hand next to her, trembling slightly with a mix of anger and a desperate desire to touch his arm. "sre you going to keep standing there like a statue, or are you actually going to look at me?"
Her words landed exactly where they were meant to. There was no instinct in him to shield himself from them, no argument waiting on his tongue, no desperate search for kinder phrasing. They were true enough to hurt, and perhaps that was all truth had ever promised to do. Louis finally closed the distance between them with a couple of steps. He didn't want to pressure forgiveness, but he didn't want to no longer feel like he was speaking across a grave. His eyes remained fixed on hers, refusing the easier escape of looking away.
"I am looking at you," he answered quietly. "That's the problem." The corner of his mouth twitched into something too weary to be called a smile before disappearing again. "I've looked at you every day since Paris. Sometimes I saw you at fourteen, asking me questions I couldn't answer. Sometimes I saw you on that stage." His voice faltered, only for a heartbeat. "Most days... I saw you burning."
He left the silence settle between them before continuing, slower now. "You said I failed to save you." His jaw tightened. Not in protest, but acceptance. "I did. I failed you long before that theatre. I failed you every time I saked you to forgive what should never have been asked of you." Louis' hands remained at his sides despite every instinct urging him to reach for her. "And I'm not standing here because I think an apology fixes any of it." His gaze softened, grief replacing the rigid composure he'd been clinging to. "I'm standing here because, for the first time since I lost you... you're alive enough to tell me exactly what I deserve to hear."
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"And you have terrible timing." Kol snapped back quickly. He crossed his arms and huffed at the stranger. He looked the man up and down. The other was obviously a vampire too. "I was hunting, and you got in my way." He stated, pursing his lips. He turned his head to watch as the human he was stalking wandered down the street. "Why don't you scurry along and find a different hunting ground, hm?"
"As it happens, I do not see your name etched in the stone to claim this part of town," he responded with a small shrug, nonchalantly, yet Eccarius felt his nostrils flare for just a moment as he stared down the other vampire. Attack at this time would not be ideal. Regardless of whether or not he was prepared for it, the scent of the other night hunter was strong enough to warn Eccarius that he wasn't talking to a fledgling. And those were a lot more difficult to take down. "I would dare argue that I've been tracking this one for a while now, but something tells me you do not like to dwell on technicalities."
lestat was trying to pin down what the other was thinking, but it felt like his mind was going a million miles a minute and was constantly changing. he couldn't pick out just one thought and it was more than just a little frustrating. "please calm your thoughts, or at the very least pick one thing and stop going to something else. unless you're doing that on purpose so that i can't hear what you're really thinking about." he shook his head, arms crossing over his chest.
"really? you mistook me for someone you knew? someone else looks like this?" he questioned as he did a little spin. "impossible. there is no one in the world that looks like me. there's only me so i'm afraid i don't believe you."
Louis couldn't help a small smirk that formed on his lips and didn't threaten to disappear, no matter how much the younger vampire tried to will it away. None of it made any sense... but what in this strange place did? It could've been multiple explanations. Some kind of memory loss? A complete coincidence of two vampires looking and acting identically to each other? Or, perhaps, the most simplest explanation was that Lestat simply chose to pretend that they were strangers.
Well, if that was the case, Louis could work with that.
After Lestat did the little spin, Louis shook his head fondly and raised his hand in defense. "Ah, I clearly was mistaken, friend. Indeed, you seem to be quite a... one in a million type." He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, before extending his hand — this time it wasn't to grab the other's arm but offer a handshake. "Louis de Pointe du Lac."
open starter!
What the hell is this place? The question had been on a loop in his mind since he'd first realised he was (somehow) no longer in Los Angeles, and he was still absolutely none the wiser. After two decades with the LAPD, he liked to think he was smart; he could follow a lead, pick out clues, read a room...apparently, though, this was a bridge too far. His only hope now was to, well, ask somebody else. "Not to sound like I've got some kind of head injury-" he didn't, right? That might explain a lot. "But where exactly am I?"
She recognised the shock and confusion from a mile away. Not only has Freddie been in the same pair of shoes not too long ago, she had stumbled upon ample of people who were very... fresh off the boat, for a lack of a better expression, and needed someone to show them the ropes. Or, at least, tell them about said ropes. "Washington. The capitol, not the state. No, you won't have any recollection of how you got here. No, you can't leave. I would know, I've already tried." Freddie began listing a number of questions that were usually asked when it concerned the new-comers, wanting to bring the man up to speed as quickly as possible. "That about covers it?"
There were a lot of people in the world that would have stopped at good looks and nothing else, but Cletus found intrigue beyond that. Damn, there was some good wit there. Drive. She sat like she owned the seat and nobody else could have given her a reason to the contrary. But most importantly, she seemed interested in what he had to say—the fastest way to get him talking was always through his ego. Who didn't want to feel important? "Yeah?" He should have recognized her by now, but his perusal of her columns had not perfectly transplanted a face to memory. He always had trouble with them. His inner world was entirely in shades of red, memory and fantasy both—they often intermixed. It was supposedly "not unheard of" as far as responses to trauma went... but he had sure as hell never heard of anything like it. "All right, I'll give it to ya straight—you believe in aliens?" A bold start, to be sure. Cletus already felt the tight coils of a defensive position looping into place, ready to strike. He knew how this looked. How he looked. People heard the way he talked, got a look at him—they would think he was some dumb hick who drank too much moonshine and thought he'd got sucked up in a corn field. Not so! "I'm still tryin' to piece it together myself. One popped right outta this guy's back, a big ol' slimy lookin' motherfucker! Acted like he knew me." He snorted. "I been through some crazy shit, but I ain't never seen a thing like that."
huh. it was, indeed, quite a choice for the opening sentence. easy to say, freddie lounds was intrigued. of course, if she heard this kind of story back home in maryland, she would've thought the man to be completely out of his mind, high on some kind of second-rate drug that was cheap and worked like shit. however, she had come to learn that this city held a lot more secrets that simply begged to be uncovered... and freddie, fighting back her common sense, chose to humour him. sure, there were plenty of logical explanations to this, right? hallucinations immediately came to mind. lucid dreams, even. or, perhaps, brain working overtime as some kind of coping mechanism. however, the ease with which this intriguing man recounted the encouter — including the muted laugh that came out in a snort — would have been overlooked by most other reporters or journalists. lucky for him, freddie was everything but ordinary. not wanting to interrupt his story, she slowly reached into her handbag. long, delicate (and skilled) fingers found the voice recorder within a couple of seconds. she didn't hide it. far from it, she pressed the button with a red dot on it and placed the device in between the two of them, pushing the notebook and pen to the side. she didn't want to miss a single detail. the voice recorder was sleak, black, with a blood-red 'TC' sticker on the front. while she did not run the tattlecrime blog anymore... why let good gear go to waste, right? "when you say this alien popped out of him... are we talking xenomorph-style, or something entirely different?" a single question. no accusation of him being crazy, no immediate disregard of his story... just genuine curiosity that was clearly peaked by this bizarre encounter.
Colette's gaze met his and a wide smile formed on her lips. "Little Louis, is that you? Not so little anymore, I guess. I remember when I used to babysit you!" She chuckled for a moment, then her expression settled. "Well, I was dead. I suppose that's what happens when you pick a fight with vampires. This place brought me back to life somehow. I don't know how to explain it, but here I am." She shrugged. Colette stared at him for a moment, sensing something different, "You're a vampire. When did that happen?"
for a moment, louis simply stared at her. not because of the question, but because of the ease with which she'd answered his. — dead. brought back. here she was. — as if she was discussing an inconvenient journey rather than something more serious. the nickname lingered in his mind with an almost painful clarity, carrying with it flashes of new orleans he hadn't expected to find waiting for him here in washington; a porch in the summer heat, voices drifting through open windows, a life that was still measured in years rather than centuries. louis let out a quiet breath and shook his head once, more for himself than for her. "i don't know what's more surprising," he admitted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "that you're standing here after all this time, or that you still insist on calling me that." his gaze dropped briefly to the glass in his hand before returning to her. "as for this..." louis gestured vaguelly toward himself, the implication obvious. "new orleans. ninteen ten. a lot of things happened since then." the words settled between them before curiosity reclaimed his attention within moments. "you said you fought vampires?" his brow lifted slightly. "that's a sentence i never imagined hearing from you."
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@fiveofswcrds | Armand & Eccarius.
Armand's apartment was the definition of cozy with the all of the lights off, and the candles lit. He was a romantic, he must admit. He always brought Eccarius flowers -- and fresh flowers, when the others he bought had withered away. He was quiet whilst the other worked, reading or writing at the same time. Armand's partner knew some about him, as much as he had also revealed to Louis when they were together. But... this was different, than his relationship with Louis. It didn't feel like Armand was waiting for things to go bad, like Armand was waiting for the other to grow sick of him. 'Boring', Louis had said, 'You're boring'. The time spent with Eccarius was always enjoyable, for them both. They had more in common, he thought, than Armand had in common with anyone else -- with any other vampires. They could relax together. He felt, to some degree, that he could see vulnerability in Eccarius -- the same vulnerability he saw in himself. But Armand does not prey on the vulnerability of his partner, not like he does with others. He sits on the bed, his shirt unbuttoned -- opened, and watches his partner intently, with a sweet expression on his features. Eccarius is speaking to him about something, but Armand is not quite listening. He, instead, is combing his fingers through the other vampire's hair as he gazes at him lovingly. A smile on Armand's lips. After a moment, he brushes his partner's hair behind his ear. "Eccarius," He says softly, "What is it, you were saying?"
Eccarius paused. Whatever thought had occupied him dissolving almost instantly beneath the weight of that gaze. For a moment, he simply looked back at Armand, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and something far softer. The question lingered unanswered as he took in the gentle sweep of fingers through his hair, the absent-minded affection of it, the way Armand seemed entirely content to sit there and look at him as though he was something worth admiring. It was a feeling Eccarius still had not quite learned how to wear comfortably.
"No," he said at last, shaking his head, "you weren't listening."
There was no accusation in it. If anything, he sounded... fond. His hand came up to rest lightly over Armand's wrist where it lingered beside his face. Whatever story he had been telling (some observation, some complaint, some meandering thought that had seemed important moments ago) had vanished entirely. He held Armand's gaze for another moment before continuing, his voice softer now, stripped of its usual theatrical flourish.
"I think... I was trying to thank you." He paused. A smile touched the corner of his mouth, small and unguarded. "For this. For us." The admission felt strangely vulnerable, more so than any tale of violence or centuries-long loneliness ever could. Eccarius lowered his eyes briefly before looking back at him again. "I had convinced myself — a very long time ago — that companionship was something I simply wasn't built to keep." A quiet laugh followed his words. "And yet here you are, proving me embarrassingly wrong."
(¸.• ♛ → she really wasn't expecting to see him around here or not even in this place. claudia was having mixing feelings about that, of course, because it was upsetting what happened, she knows or she wishes that perhaps louis survived, however, she also knows that she was trapped in this chaos because of lestat and him, in her mind was like that as well, it was just very confusing but one thing is for sure, her heart was feeling heart when she was seeing him right now, like she was missing him.
"it is me." she replies, looking straight into his eyes and slowly approaching to where he was, until she was now in front of him. "somehow i'm...here." claudia just feels a bit awkward now seeing him but she wanted to approach him even more and hug him, but her pride was there as well. "it's good to see you are okay, louis."
louis had a whole list of things he wished he could say to her, things he wished he told her when he had a chance, fake conversations he made up with her in his mind to keep himself from slipping. which, in itself, was rather counter-productive, since those kind of thoughts were exactly the reason he was slipping. and now... claudia was here, right in front of him, just an arm's length away. all of the rehearsed words vacated his mind. a simple 'i am sorry' didn't seem strong enough.
it's good to see you are okay. — well, that was debatable. louis was feeling many things, he wasn't sure if 'okay' was the right term to use, but he didn't have the strength to argue. he nodded his head, subconsciously, feeling the muscles of his jaw tense, as if holding back tears. he was holding back tears. "you look... good." it was all he managed. a compliment with a strained voice, clenching every single muscle in his body to stop himself from pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly against his chest to prove himself that she was, indeed, here.
lestat was out for a walk, it was that perfect time where he could walk around and just be himself. he was looking for a late or early snack depending on how you looked at it. considering the fact that he slept all day and was up all night, he would consider it a late snack. especially since he was about to find his way back to his home and his coffin to sleep. it was then that he felt someone else's attention on him. he could practically hear their thoughts as if they were being screamed in his direction. whoever it was, they were surprised by someone's appearance and didn't exactly believe it.
his gaze focused on the man that he was sure was the one who's thoughts he was hearing, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched and waited to see what the other would do. he was surprised when the other had quickly moved towards him and spoke his name with such familiarity. he even went so far as to touch his arm. lestat quickly moved away from his touch, his brows drawing down in confusion. "can i help you with something?"
not you. — that was the first thought that had crossed louis' mind. the thought was quickly followed by the other man breaking his arm out of the younger vampire's grip. would 'recoiling' be an appropriate word to use? perhaps. louis was trying to make his thoughts and his feelings make sense... but nothing in this city made sense. that was the lesson to take in. it wasn't an uncommon occurence to see familiar faces that brought back memories, after all. — he looks like you. he walks like you. he sounds like you. he smells like you. but you look at me like i am a stranger. not you. — the camera in louis' hands suddenly felt five times heavier.
he offered the other a half-smile (or, at least, an attempt at one), before semi-awkwardly retracting his hand that reached out for lost love. he was sure there was some twisted lesson about being 'too little, too late' in there, but his thoughts were too scrambled to find it. "i'm sorry," he finally spoke with a small shrug. louis couldn't hold eye-contact for long, the resemblance was simply too much. "i mistook you for somebody i know— knew." louis quickly corrected himself.
Hands clasped tight in front of him, Cletus stared hard into the scuffed wood of the bar top and ignored the tender uselessly trying to get him to order something. He did want a drink. That was why he was here, in fact. But before that he wanted to have a good think... he hadn't already been drinking, had he? Nope. Pretty sure he hadn't. Maybe he was just batshit crazy after all... but that was a little disappointing to consider right after he had just come to the conclusion that everyone else was just stupid, instead. Not nearly as good for the ego. The drone of another voice filtered in like noise from an old Charlie Brown cartoon. ...I'd love to know how it all started. Blinking hard, he swung his head up just in time to catch sight of an outline of pure fire. No, just hair. Hey, he was a redhead too! "Well ain't you a sight for sore eyes?" he chuckled, just shy of hoarse. "If it's a story you're lookin' for, I've got a good one. Just not so sure it's a real one yet... maybe you can help me figure that out, huh?"
"i used to make entire columns out of a few hastily taken pictures and a lousy, unofficial witness statement. i'm sure i can work with what you'll give me," freddie mused with an easy smile, tilting her her head to the side. she took this moment to fully evaluate the man at the bar. or, at least, work with the evidence she already had. — the first thing that stuck out the most was the voice. or, more so, the accent. one of those deep, theatrical bayou twangs that simply had to be dialed up. freddie had to compose herself not to let out a chuckle at the thought. the compliment didn't get lost in all that 'southern charm', and freddie had certainly heard worse opening lines, especially from the people who knew who she was and what she did. the certain disconect in his eyes was the third thing she noticed. it was not disinterest or fatigue. it was something far worse. her intuition was hardly ever wrong. some would chide freddie for the kind of stories and people she gravitated towards, but she had stopped caring about what other people thought a very long time ago.
@lavendaers // a closed starter for lestat de lioncourt.
louis had learned to mistrust stillness in washington. it always meant something was about to change shape. people, stories, entire lives quietly rearranging themselves while pretending they were just passing through. that was why he walked with his camera tonight, letting the act of photographing the city anchor him to something tangible, something that did not dissolve the moment he looked at it too closely.
louis saw him without meaning to. not a face at first. not even a certaintly. just a silhouette at the edge of a quiet street, framed by the kind of dim light that made everything feel like a memory rather than a moment. louis stopped walking. the camera lowered slightly in his hand. he knew that posture. he recognised that walk. he knew the shape of that presence the way one knew a wound that never fully closed.
"no," he whispered under his breath, immediately, as if the word could correct the perception before it became reality. because it had to be a perception, a dream. he knew what that was like, paris made sure of that. his mind had learned to suply lestat the way it supplied grief: automatically, insistently, cruelly. still, his finger moved anyway. — click. — for a long moment after, louis remained perfectly still. he stared down at the photograph as it resolved itself in the dim glow of the camera's screen, expecting the familiar absence, the hollow correction of his visions, something to remind him what was real and what was not. but the image held. unyielding. wrong in the only way that mattered. his gaze snapped up. the figure was still there. before a thought could intervene, louis was moving. the distance between them collapsed in quiet urgency, not frantic but inevitable. as though something inside of him had finally stopped accepting uncertainty. "lestat!" he called out as he finally reached out and caught the other's arm, grip firm enough to confirm reality but careful enough to still be afraid of it.
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@drvcxrys // a closed starter for claudia.
louis didn't expect silence to feel like this. not absence, not peace... something heavier, more deliberate, like the world had been arranged into a shape that resembled a memory, but refused to become one. the café, the street outside, the noise of strangers living without consequence... all of it fell away the moment his eyes settled on her. not a resemblance. not a trick of grief or memory. — claudia. — as she had been, as she had become. his body went still in a way that had nothing to do with predation and everything to do with recognition so absolute it felt like collapse. for a long moment he simply looked at her, as though movement might shatter the fragile impossibility of her presence.
when he finally spoke, his voice didn't hold its usual restraint. instead, it held something quieter, worn thin by time and guilt and the kind of love that had never known had to survive itself. "claudia," he whispered into the night, and there was no question in it, only recognition that hurt precisely because it was so capable of existing. "tell me what I'm seeing," he added, voice steadier now, but threaded with something raw beneath it, "because I already know what it feels like... and i don't think I can survive it twice."
@musingnook // a closed starter for colette boudreaux.
louis saw her before he allowed himself to believe he had. the bar was loud in the way washington always was — warm bodies, warm light, the familiar illusion of life continuing without consequence. but none of it registered the way it should have once his attention locked onto the far side of the room. there, standing in unbothered stillness of someone who didn't quite belong to the noise around her, was a face he had last seen in a very different world, in a very different time, when new orleans still felt like something that could hold a memory safely. his steps slowed without intention, then stopped altogether, as though forward motion would collapse something fragile in the air between them. it couldn't be her. it was her. the logic failed him. "that isn't possible," louis said quietly, voice stripped of its usual ease, gaze fixed on the woman with a sharp, unsettled certainty. "you're dead."
