#lamourt

she tried not to disturb the clients that found themselves in the back rooms; the private lounges that promised to keep their secrets, as long as they didn't bring any unwanted attention to her poppy house. but it was nearing an early hour, and she was beginning to clear the lounge so that she might be able to tidy up before the sun decided to once again rise above them. long, manicured fingers wrap lightly against the door, only entering when she hears his voice call out for her to enter. the light is dim inside, washing the room and its patrons in a warm, red glow. genevieve steps in, spotting a human lying unconscious on one of the sofas, and lestat sitting with one leg crossed over the other just opposite of his meal. nostrils flare a bit at the familiar scent of blood, but she ignores the slight watering in her mouth in favor of giving her attention to lestat. 'have you enjoyed yourself this evening, monsieur?' gen speaks quietly, lilac eyes glowing slightly in the darkness of the room. she moves one hand to grasp at a handkerchief from her pocket, pointing at the corner of lestat's mouth. 'may i?' @lamourt.

Louis wants to rolls his eyes, wants to laugh this off. Wants to say okay, okay and immediately disentangle himself from Lestat.

But if he really wanted to, wouldn't he do that instead of smiling and casting his eyes down, almost shy, like way back when they first got together?

It's just that it feels like old times, even though the music's different. Even though they have a ton of baggage they've shrugged off, just to dance together for a little while. And Louis' not thinking about that last dance, he's thinking about the first hundred, so his hand rests on Lestat's waist, and his cheek on Lestat's shoulder. Easy, like they belong there. Like they never left.

Happy Birthday.

- Lestat de Lioncourt (and it’s a nicely tailored suit. The note is a little frigid fully on purpose sbdbfbfb)

there was a prominent change in genevieve after she had finally ended her family, and the turmoil they had caused her for two hundred years. the freedom she felt was unlike anything she had experienced before, a jolt to her system, and a learning curve. but she was more confident and less timid because of it. her new found sense of self clearly has not gone unnoticed.

intimidation was a new feature that genevieve had unlocked, and though she uses it sparingly, when it does come out, it is effective. the man that stood in front of the musician, lestat, and genevieve, his manager, was really more of a rat than a man. he smelled greasy, spoke like a salesman, and thought he was giving the duo an offer they couldn't refuse — he was trying to sell lestat a new record deal; a contract to sign. genevieve was firm as she declined on lestat's behalf several times, but the man continued. it was when he refused to stand down ( and when he threw in an inappropriate offer for genevieve, as well ) that she flashed her fangs and filled his mind with exactly what she would do to him if he didn't shut his mouth. only when the man stumbles away in a panic does gen turn to lestat, her features softening instantly at his words.

'i know you are more than capable of taking care of these matters yourself, but . . . ' grin is flashed at her companion, fangs still present. she looks predatory, in this moment — an expression she had grown accustomed to seeing on lestat's own features. hand raises to brush a thumb against his jaw. 'i do so enjoy doing it for you,' @lamourt.

brush is held in an expert's hand, strokes made against canvas with nothing less then practiced precision. valentine has had plenty of muses over the centuries he's been alive, each one with their own special place in his heart. but the moment he had seen lestat, valentine knew the other vampire needed to be a part of his collection. with his paintings growing in popularity — albite under a pseudonym that he used for his own protection — he had no doubt that this portrait would stun the general public; those that resonated with p. r. dunham's other works. 'this would be much easier if you held still,' valetiine glanced at lestat over his easel, giving a small but knowing grin as he dipped his brush back into the paint he had mixed by hand. 'you may talk, just do not move your head, please,' @lamourt.

memory remains a hazy mess of images that don't quite make sense to daniel. and yet he has discombobulated nightmares about them more often than not. waking up, drenched in sweat ( something he was used to, though it was the that which he was addicted to that normally gave him such a start at 4 in the morning ), imagining men with sharp teeth, blood lining their lips... he needed to do research. he needed answers. believe it or not, there was jack shit about vampires in most libraries - nothing historical nor nonfiction because monsters were myth and legend. daniel knew the truth. even if he seemed fucking crazy, he knew the truth. he found some news articles, suspicious activities barely reported on, trails of bodies vacant of blood.