#script.

in the vampire chronicles, claudia was masterfully manipulative and reveled in lulling her prey into a false sense of security before closing in on the killing bite, taking after lestat’s ferociousness as a hunter of men. (she would pretend to be lost and alone and needing help, looking for her mother, or looking for her lost dog.)

she was so manipulative that she was perceived to have manipulated louis for their entire relationship, writing in her diary that she thought he was easier to control and therefore the practical choice to keep. killing lestat because she could not control him and he had become a direct threat to her and her sense of self.

my portrayal of claudia incorporates this part of anne rice’s canon. she was forced to navigate an abusive, wildly unconventional household (living with killers) and lestat’s control since she was fourteen, wherein she inevitably stopped trusting her “fathers” since the perceived violation of privacy via reading her diaries. every conversation was like walking through a minefield long before she been to europe and drank through the corpses of world war ii. she learned to lie, omit, and manipulate just like lestat in order to survive him. fight fire with fire.

she used her sweetness and perceived youth to her advantage, understanding that her aesthetic and femininity was the only survival tool she had at her immediate disposal. she relied on emotional and psychological manipulation via a personality of false purity and immaturity. this made her appear harmless & unassuming to lestat, playing on his nostalgia as an adoptive father. she continues to assume this persona when the need arises. her diary entries are especially flowery, taking after louis, but the spark of personality is strategic because she knows her privacy has been violated before.

she understood that her position in their family left her at a disadvantage, constantly infantilized by louis and serially abused by lestat while louis watched on or caused a scene as if she was merely collateral damage to their lovers’ quarrel.

she resented both vampires, but recognized that louis was also a victim of racism and abuse. while her decisions were made both with sincerity and cold, calculating practicality, she loved louis because of their shared trauma and the reality that no one else could relate to their situation as black vampires. over time, and even after lestat, their relationship became one of trauma bonding.

claudia’s love for louis is deeply protective in the sense that she is projecting her need for a protector by becoming that person for louis, who was far more indoctrinated by lestat; she could not trust him to make good choices when lestat was whispering in his ear to be forgiven and loved again. she had to be his guiding light. she had to be his conscience. a far cry from killer skulking in the night.

nursing louis back to health after lestat severely injured him had allowed claudia to exercise compassion and care for louis in a deeply personal way, and it had felt like learning a new skill that felt too easy, too right. that’s how she knew she deserved louis. because she was healing him, not hurting him.

it changed her. and it deepened their bond.

claudia had no qualms telling louis that lestat’s control over them was not only abusive but racist, too, mockingly calling lestat the “massa” to louis via telepathy. she used their solidarity as black folk to convince louis to support her; this was both deliberate and factual on her part. she builds resentment between them because it already exists and can be exacerbated by racial power dynamics. but it’s also true. to her satisfaction.

claudia and louis’ bond and solidarity as black victims of a white racist partner was what drove her to decide that lestat needed to die. so they could be free of their “slave master”.

lestat’s cruelty and bruce’s assault had made up her mind about white vampires. that they were no better than the normal crackas.

she has no interest in finding other vampires if they are visibly european. she is actively searching for other black and/or african vampires, and various sources of african mysticism in order to connect with the broader scope of black power.

she becomes radicalized because of her experience with white vampires and searches for a world of night creatures that are exclusively made up of her people.

Adelaide behaves much like someone who'd spent her life spinning under the scrutiny of critics and strangers alike: like a doll, her lashes are curled, her hair combed into unruly submission, and her nails manicured and filed to an generally acceptable length.

SHE STEPS INTO THE SNARE OF HIS CHALLENGE, not blindly, but incensed by his insufferable drawl, hooked by the barb of his provocation. it was a mistake, she knew it the moment she took the controller in her hands, the foreign geometry of it unfamiliar under her fingers. a wiser woman might have sought his counsel, swallowed her pride, endured the minor disgrace of tutelage to avert the greater humiliation of failure. but that, too, would have been a surrender: an exercise in degradation masquerading as instruction. the thought of it curdles something visceral in her. she would sooner let the earth split beneath her feet than ask him for anything.

she feels maddened by his voice, her patience has been stripped, gnawed down to meagre rations. the blood in her swelters, turbulent, rising. ❛   will you shut up. shut up! some of us have better things to do than sit and play games all day.    ❜     magic unfurls from her fingertips, neither grand nor ostentatious but steady in its intent, dark in its efficacy. it threads into the circuitry, burrows into the plastic, saturates every wire & every connection with its singular decree: narumi gen will lose every game he ever plays.

The rigidness of his posture did not waver even within such a casual scenario; his spine stood upright, limbs stiff as his neck tilted, fingers curled within his palm, elbow perched upon the counter, and dark eyes focused on the glass within his grasp, watching the yellow swirl of his drink swish from side to side while he contemplated drinking (but never actually took a sip).

A soft clink demands his attention, the quietude of the atmosphere making it stand out when it would otherwise be drowned by chatter; his head whips back, peeking over the slender bump of his shoulder to search for what could've made such a sound, finding the guilty object by his feet.