⟡ @lestlio | A FUCKED UP KISSING MEME (more things set in Montreal!)
There’s a certain frustration in not being able to drink from the bottle anymore, an inconvenience he rails against. But, at the very least, there are no canals to fall into in Montreal, as there were in Venice. Even then, a chemical affliction is hardly an insurmountable obstacle.
All of which is to say, he’s accomplished it, the drink coursing through him, and muffling the constant influx of thoughts—his own, and that of everyone else. Not a single person with an original thought—everything about sex or money, or both at once, with enough of them directed at him to have achieved a pleasing buzzing… insobriety.
While getting drunk might be harder, the makeup lasts far better, so he looks almost as put together as he started the night, even if his hair is more mussed. He staggers, collapsing into Lestat’s lap. Amadeo doesn’t even know why he’s here—at the bar that is, he sort of understands Montreal as a city.
One arm rests behind Lestat’s shoulders, and he sits up enough to press a kiss to his lips, before bursting into a sad sort of laughter. “Sometimes I wish you’d met me like this,” he says, and presses another, almost softer, kiss to his cheek, before trying, more unsuccessfully, to extract himself from Lestat’s lap.
