#evilanew

Three nights prior Philippe had returned to Sept-Tours with Godfrey to present Lestat their stag, a magnificent beast as of course Philippe would only hunt the biggest and most impressive and they would still have been in the forest stalking had the right one not crossed their path. What were five wolves to a family of vampires? But the mortals already did not trust them...they thought them peculiar. Never quite thinking vampires but not quite warm to the wealthy landlords on the hills that rarely came to town.

Lestat handled himself better than anticipated considering that he faced a room of ire aimed towards his father but something in the room shifted when Baldwin walked in, he simply was the sort of presence that made rooms fall quiet. Not the tallest but he still walked like a military commander, shoulders squared, back straight, and with cold eyes. Philippe of course and Ysabeau did not allow for such rabble in their home and were about to intervene when the silence befell the room.

My son Lucius Sigéric Benoit Christophe Baldwin de Clermont Philippe introduced him although known to most of the room already.

"I will apologize for skipping the pleantries marquis de Lioncourt-" sons carried their father's title when representing them "-two children have been taken from the village. Not by the wolves, obviously." Baldwin spoke the obvious in his calm authoritative voice. "The Bordeauxs in the stable, yours I presume? I wondered if I can steal you away from your evening of...diplomacy and put them to use." he wondered, yes but it was more a request that did not allow for a refusal.Lestat was coming.

"The town guard is stretched thin , the mother is crying in the square, she summoned her girls to supper and found them gone. We are going to gather able men and search for them, night falls in these parts are brutally cold." Baldwin was a pragmatic man and this issue was more urgent. With a nod from Philippe he brought the map dividing the territory into six portions.

a maddening truth to swallow, that one. silence has never made a difference between them, words have only ever been cover for the calamity that goes on under it. carefully plucked for those that couldn't catch the underlying conversation, made to blossom and ooze poison lest those around them think them affectionate. god forbid, armand muses with something of a look of restrained pleasure, what would lestat do if there were witnesses to the tenderness that grows with abandon when they're alone to their own devices? who were they when the only performance was the forbearance that comes in their dire collapse inwards? armand quietly regards his swinging feet over the edge of the stone terrace, the city as it twinkles and winks, bright splashes of oranges and reds that only bring a haze of it to the stars. ❝ i can't hide from you. ❞ is what he says, having to clear his throat after, to make room for more. armand turns half his body so that he can glance back, overcome with the old imprint of his affections. in his eyes, a reflection of the moon behind lestat. ❝ thank you for not telling them where i am. it's better this way. ❞

@evilanew 💋

The dichotomy of vampirism was that it was in equal parts a gift and a curse gift wrapped by Satan himself. Two weights constantly attempting to balance on Nemesis' scale. Though many struggled with the euphoria of blood lust, Nicolas had found that it was his senses which pained him. Always deeply connected to the world around him, his turning had only amplified that which burned and painted his heart. Sound was particularly difficult. The constant inundation of chattering minds, buzzing machinery, and natures natural murmurs enough to drive even the sanest man mad.

In this case it was not a groaning car engine or blaring radio, but a couple several doors down who refused him peace. The woman had just faked her third orgasm. A wild belted plea for her husband (boyfriend? gentleman caller?) to finally roll off her. The momentary silence just long enough to lull Nicolas into a bit of hope only for the squeaking of worn down mattress springs to start up again. Maybe he knew she was faking it and was determined to get it right; more likely he simply popped one of the new worlds dick pills (Vyvanse? Viagra? Nicolas couldn't keep track) and was determined to get his money's worth. "I think we should kill them."

He glanced at the man beside him- an entirely different, though no less horrifying scene. Lestat's body was marred with cuts that went down to the bone, skin torn away by fangs and claws, and an orbital that remained broken despite Nicolas's best efforts. "Might help." He traced his finger gently down the less wounded side of Lestat's face. He should have been farther along in his healing by now, even Nicolas's worst wounds had begun to close over (though he suspected the broken ribs would continue to give him trouble). But the cocktail of drugs delivered straight from a heroine addicts veins had done quite the number on Lestat. "Flush out some of the poison, mm?"

Lips still sweet as honey and soft as flower petals brush along the shell of his ear. Auburn eyes close at the touch. A smile relaxing onto his features. His friends skin is unusually cold to the touch yet he feels a lingering warmth from the kiss. Blushing like they were schoolboys fumbling around for the first time. "Not what I meant, you know that." Palm pressing against the puckered skin of old wounds, Nicolas can feel a beating heart. Slow. Steady. Enduring. "You need to get your two legs working before trying out the third."

Sept-Tours, named for the seven towers of the fortress that Matthew de Clermont had build to reenforce the medieval fortress stood proud and sprawling in what one day will be called Clermont-Ferrand, the family that resided in this proud structure took the name de Clermont, of the bright hills, to distinguish themselves as being from the hills of Auvergne. Their gardens were immaculate, their estate vast and the purchase of this land a mere thirty years ago had been cheap, 1709 brought massive crop failures and caused the loss of 3.5 % of the French population due to famine, a period which one day would be called the little ice age and they brought gold and grain.... well Alcides Leontothymos did (Philippe's name at the time) and not much would be heard from the estate owners until three decades ago when Philippe suddenly inherited the land and with his wife and young children moved in.

The young children were mortal and belonged to their servants but carriages arrived and snooping eyes best see youths that would grow into the young men and women of the family. They kept themselves to their estate mostly, Ysabeau looked as young today as she did three decades ago but portraits were never made accurate, no memory fades fast and portraits showed a much younger woman slowly turning to Ysabeau.

The past two years had been tense and civil unrest grew.

A letter had been sent to the Marquis d' Auvergne that the peasants were threatening to abandon their farms, wolves attacked their live stock and when wealthy landlords lost their farm hands...the aristocracy lost their taxes. It all boiled down to this, placate them, soothe them and persuade the vassals of the reaches that action would be taken and their complains did not fall on deaf ears. The de Clermonts had a strange coldness to them, Philippe had been a man proven in many a battle and the heads of bandits often separated from their necks from his sword...who was to say they would not hold a son hostage? No, it would not be Augustin that would be sent to the dangerous reaches.

Lestat had arrived on horseback early, a day early to be precise and they had expected a carriage thus thought the merchant's road would be taken and not the far more treacherous dirt roads near the woodlands. Just the youngest son on a single horse with two hunting dogs...no guards, no carriage... in garbs that would not look out of place in the local tavern.

Do you know how much strength it takes a vampire to break out of the hold of the sun? As her servants flocked to who they thought was an intruder until the letter of summons was presented, her Mind was open and perceived it all, she broke the sun's hold over her, emerged from the death sleep early and in vampiric speed got dressed. She was disoriented from the effort it took to break the sun's hold, ancient vampires could but it was not easy.

"You ought to praise the cunningness of being inconspicuous on treacherous roads." Ysabeau spoke as the letter written in Philippe's hand was still being verified by the house guards. "Attend to his horse and dogs. With my sincerest apologies marquis de Lioncourt, we were expecting Augustin to not arrive until tomorrow." a slight bow of head as the second housekeeper freed him from his coat. Sons bore the titles of their fathers even if only two were presented at court. She did not remember ever seeing him, but she would blame her lack of interest in the parades of court.

"Frederick, Camille- attend to the marquis' son please. Anything he wishes-" The two servants now charged to attend him bowed their heads to the mistress of the house. "You will find your quarters in the East wing, Camille will draw you a bath. They are yours for the duration of your stay, anything we can do to make your attendance more pleasant. Marthe my housekeeper shall attend to you upon the evening, my apologies for her absence...and for my husband's absence who is still hunting for a stag to present to you in honour with our sons. Old Greek traditions of his lineage..."

"You will not find him in a good mood, I fear." Ysabeau would escort the young aristocrat up the stairs showing him their family portrait on the way to the East Wing. "We pay vast taxes and your father has not visited or attended our needs, my husband does not take well to disrespect when his sword and the lives of mercenaries paid for by our coffers keep the merchant's road safe. I speak to you in confidence as a wife and mother that does not wish to see a revolt through hubris and negligence. Your quarters." No, she liked the easy life they had, hunting was easy in the rural edges of civilization but they had to play the vassal lords and complain about taxes and lack of representation.

What time would you like dinner set ?

"Seven will suffice." she instructed the male servant as Camille opened the curtains to what would be Lestat's bedchambers and quarters for the three days they expected him to stay...four seeing as he arrived early.

The servants would tell her later how strange it was that Lestat insisted on bathing himself.

Should he open the doors and try to leave his quarters he'd find that the assigned male servants had been stationed to wait outside his door in case he was required and had been playing cards by himself on the mantelpiece next to the chamber doors.

"I didn't think anyone was listening. I usually try to be quiet." She averts her gaze, unable to look at them. She's used to wearing a mask during the day, of playing the part to get by in society. She knows how to be quiet and polite, how to smile and nod and say all the right things to not stand out. But how is she supposed to pretend to be normal when he admits to hearing her in a moment of weakness? "So, why are you saying something now? Did you change your mind about something?"

A matador and his bull. Nicolas leans into his beautiful beasts horns, pressing his cheek against the tips of nails strong enough to penetrate steel. Split me open. The trickle of blood had already begun to dry. A pinprick, barely felt. He wants to be stabbed. Eviscerated. Torn open and bled out. "Ah, ah, ah. One star performers cannot claim a month." His mouth turns upwards stopping somewhere between a grimace and a grin. "So much greed, you ought to know better." Fangs lull down halfway prompting Nicki to swallow back something tasting just short of desire. He pulls back, blinking with some disorientation. A fog rising above the bush. "The review was generous. Perhaps you might learn a thing or two, hm."

@evilanew / cont.

𝖆𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖘.

first, rhea's blessed with a rare stroke of luck to be one of the few fortunate fans ( or “ fangs, ” to get technical ) to have scored a ticket to the vampire lestat's first ever show tomorrow night – her head had spun so hard, the dizziness has yet to recede – then, she bumps into the frontman, himself on the eve of said debut. not literally, thank fuck for that.

she'd ventured to find a park bench, guitar in tow, simply to play. the air is fresh, albeit chilly, but giddy energy had forced them from the cramped space they call home. it's a lot of mindless strumming at first, to find a chord, the proper tuning . . . laughs through her nose as the song that's become a deeply embedded earworm over the past five days takes over her hands, now ; back to the tuning pegs, then to settle upon the instrument's neck. a deep breath.

a. c sharp minor. f sharp minor. d. repeat.

the opening is simple, no fumbles thus far, nodding along in time. it's difficult not to sing, & so they do – low, quiet, warm, like the occasional summer breeze through the trees – barely above the music.     ❝    you really caught my eye. i think you're somethin' special, babe. i wanna take you out tonight, i think we got --       ❞    

all at once, everything stops. their voice. their hands, resting over guitar strings. their breath. her heart, for a moment or two. & for a stretch longer, time. she is stone cold sober, & unless rhea has really, truly, completely lost herself to her delusions, that's lestat, himself in the dim evening light standing right in front of her fucking face. nope. he's still there when she blinks. in fact it's only when he speaks that she'd rather dumbly frozen in disbelief, grin & all.

@evilanew quotes the song of Achilles!

The words leave him like a spark thrown into dry tinder— “I feel like I could eat the world raw.” —too bright, too hungry, too alive for a creature who has already died.Ysabeau knows exactly what provoked it.

They are standing on the rooftop of an abandoned hotel overlooking the Seine, the city stretched beneath them like a jewelled offering. Below, a mortal crowd spills out of a late‑night gallery opening—perfume, champagne, laughter, the warm thrum of a hundred beating hearts rising like incense. The kind of scene that always stirred something feral in Lestat, something triumphant and reckless.

He had fed well tonight, Paris does not lack it's Evil Doers after all. Too well...and the moon is full. Paris appeared to her to be his favourite stage.

Ysabeau turned her head toward him slowly, her profile carved in silver by the moonlight. Her hair lifts in the wind, her coat snapping softly like a banner. She studied him—his eyes bright with that dangerous, ecstatic gleam, his smile sharp enough to cut the night open.

"Of course you do,"she replied stepping closer until their shadows merge on the stone. "You’ve drunk deeply, the city sings beneath us, and your ego is swollen like a storm tide."

Her gaze drifts down to the mortals below, then back to him—ancient eyes meeting his wild, pale ones. "But tell me, little lion,is it the world you wish to devour… or simply the feeling of being unstoppable again?"

A beat of silence. The wind curls around them, carrying the scent of rain and human heat. "Be careful with that hunger,” she says. "It makes you magnificent… and it also makes you foolish."

Her lips curve, not quite a smile.