brat prince

Should I wear black or blue… ? Nevermind, I’m always hot.

Viola walked further out onto the porch, closing the door behind her. It wasn’t worth taking the risk Madeline or Roderick would overhear. And she had already let in enough bugs to last a week. Viola crossed her arms in front of her, tilting her head slightly as she surveyed him. “This house has a history. Not all of it happy.” She was aware that everyone in Walpole tended to steer clear of the house. Not only did it give off a ghoulish appearance, the rumors of what had occurred there didn’t help matters. Viola knew of the horrible history of the house and the Underwood family. There was even an entire room that had been dedicated to fiendish occult practices over the decades, though Viola kept it locked. She sometimes wondered if the twins really were cursed, as so many rumors spoke of. Her eyes narrowed. “Well, Mr. Whitaker can be terribly foolish. Not always the best at judgement, poor boy. Breaks nearly everything in this house.” Viola thought back to the night he’d come stumbling in drunk as a skunk. Kissing Madeline. Nathaniel’s lingering glances didn’t go unnoticed by Viola. Madeline was breathtakingly beautiful, but she knew what would happen if Nathaniel ever got too close to her. Viola almost shuddered to think. Over the years, Roderick had begun getting increasingly paranoid and protective of his sister. Though they were friends, Viola was certain Roderick wouldn’t hesitate to become violent with Nathaniel if he came between he and Madeline.

Even though Lestat should have moved to give Viola more room on the porch, he stood his ground and waited - long enough to make it uncomfortable - before smirking and taking a few steps back. It was hardly a surprise that the house had a history. Most did, after all, although he rarely saw a physical decay - or evidence of the a rotten outside matching the inside. Lestat didn't know very much about the Underwood twins, but he had read enough in Madeline's mind to be acutely aware of their taboo relationship. But given their family history, he might have been more shocked if they had been strictly platonic. He leaned one hand against the edge of the railing, his clear nails scraping the dirt off distastefully. "Foolish, yes, but he isn't ignorant of what he is dealing with." Nathaniel was one of the mortals Armand had confided in - the first one, if he wasn't mistaken; it was his voice that had been on the recording. "I haven't spoken to him myself." The few times Lestat had come into contact with him, Nathaniel had seemed utterly terrified. It was ironic, considering the vampire he had chosen to consort with. He waved his hand, as though to put Viola's concerns at ease. "Either way, the association protects him." …Sort of. It could only go so far. Armand wouldn't be able to keep tabs on him, but Lestat respected the connection enough to not bother Nathaniel for his sake. 

Viola’s brown eyes darkened at the thought of burning. She had witnessed her own grandmother dragged into an empty field, doused with gasoline, and set aflame. Viola had been forced to watch as a warning against future practice. They didn’t even tie her down. They set her on fire, and she ran in circles, screaming. Viola swallowed hard, easily blocking the thought from his vision. “You’d be surprised what they do to witches in these parts.” That smile. She wondered how many naive souls fell victim to it. “It’s always been my home. I’ve never known any other. Unlike yourself, I’m sure. Your obviously of French heritage, and not the Cajun type. I can see how a town like this would suit your - needs.” She spat out the last word, though Viola had no room to judge. Her powers frightened even herself at times, though she rarely used black magic anymore. She could as easily kill a human being as Lestat could. Both of them were monsters in their own right. It took her a moment to register his comment about the Altoids. Viola’s gaze flickered towards the ground, to the empty tin. Silently, she cursed the Whitaker boy for being so forgetful. New tins seemed to pop up every other day. It seems he’d taken her advice about using more. That didn’t mean he had to leave them lying around like beer bottles outside Eudora’s. Viola didn’t have long to dwell on how she would reprimand Nathaniel. Lestat’s next comment nearly struck her dead. Her eyes moved back to his, wide. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. Viola had been a ffearlessin her youth. Ever since Madeline came into her life, she learned how to fear.

"Very little surprises me." Lestat was still smiling, although his eyes were analytical, almost cold, even though there wasn't a trace of threat in them. He wasn't there to be intimidating - but there was an unnerving stillness about their kind that he often used to his advantage. Lestat lifted his eyebrows at the way Viola said 'needs' and then laughed, his eyes practically dancing with amusement. "Oh, I imagine any town would suit my needs. I have a rather eclectic palate." There was no use in hiding the obvious fact that he killed. He had his own way of doing it - rather discriminately, despite his teachings - but that was nothing he thought to share. For now he would keep it a mystery. 

Oh I-I, no. No, I’m not paid for anything, I just like to play that’s all.

Such a shame! You're quite good for business. I meant to leave a half hour ago, but I couldn't pull myself away.

I do hope they pay you for such gorgeousness.

"I could say the same about you." She met his smile with a blank expression. Viola wasn’t one for smiles, unless they involved Madeline. "I know quite a bit about your kind. There’s more of them in Walpole then I would like, but I’m sure you think that way about our kind." There was a slight inflection of humor in her tone, but her face remained solemn. "You didn’t strike me as one stuck in the past. I’m not sure how old you are, but physically you don’t much older than 20. Probably why you act as you do. Charming everyone. Or attempting to at least." She’d seen how he was at the estate sale with Madeline and the few others that were there. Viola noticed how he lowered his voice, and for that she was grateful. "There are plenty of dangers for both our kinds. Fire tends to hate both equally." She shuddered slightly, thinking of the numerous witches or those accused of it having been burned in Walpole over the decades. These things still happened out in the swamps or deserted fields. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact there was an occult store in town. Perhaps it was only certain types of witches Walpole hated. And feared.

The blank expression made Viola even more difficult to read, but Lestat enjoyed the challenge. He smirked as she talked, flicking his tongue across his teeth, and lifted his head in silent acknowledgment when she mentioned fire. It was preferable that he know up front just how much she knew - although he already imagined it to be a great deal. "Mm, yes, although this lovely town is beyond burning anyone at the stake." He had no idea that she was thinking of similar incidences. Briefly, his own thoughts went back on some buried memory, one that made him appear almost solemn, but the expression faded and he smiled again. "We both have quite a history here." Lestat didn't mean the two of them personally - well, not Viola, at least - but Louis was the original owner of his plantation. Of course, neither one of them were around for any sort of witch trial, but he had heard his fair share of superstition. "I imagine you feel right at home. So do I." Both of them clearly intended to stay in Walpole; at this point, it was a matter of discovering just how they would stay and... co-exist. The witches kept to themselves and the vampires did the same. Rarely did they mingle with one another… but with the strange incidences that were happening, occurrences that he knew had nothing to do with either of their groups, it might be time to bridge the gap. There were powers they possessed that the witches did not, and vice versa.

She raised an eyebrow at his informal greeting. The way he leaned against the door frame didn’t go unnoticed, and she scowled even more at it. Her eyes met his briefly before glancing down at the case in his hand. Madeline’s cello. Viola had wondered if he would keep good on his word to get it repaired. He seemed he had, though she knew he had ulterior motives. That was revealed when he said she was who he had come to see. No one ever came to see Viola. She was always in the background, where she needed to be. In the background and watchful. Her face relaxed slightly as she spoke. “If saving time means less time to have you around, then yes. Let’s drop them.” Viola straightened, still not allowing him to enter. Not until she knew more. “I know what you are, and I assume you know what I am. Though I’m taking a risk with that assumption, as I’ve met plenty of your kind who aren’t that terribly bright. Odd, considering how long they’ve been stuck on this earth.”

"Charming, aren't you?" Lestat said with a slow smile, but didn't seem to be anything but amused. His gaze briefly went to the cello, since Viola was looking at it, but he met her gaze and nodded appreciatively when she agreed. "Good. Yes, I had suspicions about you, but it seems you already know a great deal about me - or my kind." He laughed richly, something in his eyes brightening at the assessment that the ones she knew hadn't been terribly bright. "It really isn't. Odd, I mean." Tapping his fingers idly against the case, he tilted his head and continued in a matter-of-fact way, certain to keep his voice low and directed only at her. Even though Lestat could hear nothing in the house, he knew how to keep himself from being overheard. "Not many of them move with the times, you see. They are the ones who won't survive it." He sighed heavily, as if it were such a terrible thing, but his expression registered nothing but mockery. "The danger of being immortal in a mortal world!"

It was him.

When the door opened, Lestat wasn't surprised to see that it was Viola there - even though he had no way of knowing if anyone was home, aside from the vehicles that occupied the driveway. He smiled slowly and leaned one elbow against the frame. "Viola! The lady of the hour. Exactly the person I wanted to see!" He held the cello case by his side, and his thumbnail scraped over one of the latches even as his gaze remained cool and steady. He laughed when she asked him that, his eyes gleaming unnaturally in the porch light. "Oh, yes, I think you can help me." Lestat straightened, his hand lowering form its position against the door, but he only brushed the backs of his fingers over his mouth as he studied the woman in front of him. His fingers curled and he smiled, but his eyes remained distantly scrutinizing. "We can drop the pretenses, yes? It would save us both some time." Just as it had been at the estate sale, he found himself unable to read her mind. At first, Lestat had thought the power extended to Madeline, but then realized otherwise when the girl's thoughts were readable once Viola was not present. He might have dismissed the whole incident as being common, if it weren't for the strange shift and the obvious use of power. There were, after all, some mortals whose thoughts were not easily accessed.

All the old poetry makes sense when you look at one whom you have loved.

"Good…" Armand smiled, knowing that the thumb brushing over his lip meant that Lestat would kiss him now. It was wonderful, for the kiss of a mortal could never quite feel like the cold lips of another vampire and in the end he felt drawn to those of his own kind. "Hm… you missed me," he sighed against Lestat’s lips. "… and i missed this."

While Armand compared kissing him to kissing Daniel, Lestat was doing the same thing for Louis - but then pushed the thoughts aside in frustration. He laughed softly and nodded, as though he had no doubt that Armand missed everything about it. Instead of answering him, he kissed him again, pressing forward firmly so that Armand's back was against the couch.

She was used to people fussing over her. In Europe, Lestat would have her gowns specially made for her. She would endure hours of women with thick accents spatting back and forth with each other over measurements and colors. Claudia had ended up feeding from several of them, much to Lestat’s displeasure. She remained calm while the saleswomen helped her into the different gowns. Each time, she would walk out into the main area and let him see. Claudia knew he was probably screaming in his head at her choices. She walked out, wearing a Versace one shouldered purple dress with a tight fitting bodice. As she caught her reflection in the mirror, she couldn’t help but smile. “I think this is the one.”

Even though he would normally have a sarcastic comment to say about each and every one of her choices, Lestat seemed only quietly approving. He was certain to at least compliment the style or color she had chosen, because it wasn't as though the dresses weren't beautiful. In fact, they fit her too well, especially the last one, and it was a struggle not to show that he was troubled. "Very good, Claudia. I think you need shoes next." Gloria was clearly enthralled that she was in the company of a man who would lavish such attention of his daughter, but Lestat was still not paying her any notice.