[ ah, that puts a dampener on lestat's flirtation somewhat. certainly, he has sympathy for that petulant hurt heard in david's voice, his tender feelings still surrounding sydney. it has not been long at all since louis had allowed lestat back into his life after all, open wounds and all. he is lucky enough to have snippets of his companion's time back to himself, not left alone to numb himself out with drugs and sex until he cannot think of anything else.
david's rigidity may yet be a reaction to his own wounds caused by sydney, it seems. or it may be simply an aspect of who he is. lestat hasn't figured it out yet. he contemplates this whilst regarding david with a long stare, letting the silence after the man's question hang.
then, a softer offer, his fingers loosening around the slender wrist -]
It is not my intention. [ a beat. ] Would you like me to?
[ there is pleasure in it, after all. the pain, certainly, but a catharsis in giving oneself over. lestat does not think david would offer this, but the man is full of surprises thus far.]
( there is, for a moment, a flicker of indecision. lestat's assumption isn't wrong, but there's momentarily the recollection that for all of the pain and the shock of it, it wasn't wholly, entirely unpleasant — but that's offset almost immediately by david's distrust and dislike of giving over control, not after finally managing to obtain some after a life with so little.
the softness of lestat's words, the loosening of his grip, neither mean that david fully trusts lestat when he says it's not his intention, but they are the reason why david doesn't jerk out of lestat's grasp entirely, why his own words are sharp but not angry. the frustration there, as transparent as it is, is general, not aimed at lestat in particular. )
No. I've had enough things, ( not that it entirely tempers david's word choice — but again, it's less about lestat and more david's refusal to see farouk as a person. ) Feed off me in my life. I'm not interested in having someone else start, not when I've finally—.
( he snatches his hand back, any and all sudden agitation all of his own doing. he takes a step back, attention sliding away from lestat as if trying to find something else in the woods to give his attention to. in finding nothing, his mouth scrunches, then flattens into a line, and then— )
—I grew up somewhere like this. ( he doesn't know if lestat saw that, his childhood home. the house in the country, the fields and the grass and the trees and the mountains. the stars. it's not quite an olive branch, but it's not antagonism, an attempted redirecting of the conversation to something a little more palatable for david. )
[ lestat does not snatch david back, simply watches him move away, observing the way he flinches like a wounded animal. no matter; there was a moment of connection and meaning in not forcing his hand, even as easy as it would be for the vampire. if it were simply blood or sex lestat wanted, it would be another story entirely. he had the strength and the means to get whatever he pleased - this was a delicate balancing act, unpeeling layers off another interesting human the closer he peered.]
As I said, it was not my intention.
[ he offers quietly, before allowing his gaze to sweep around the forest, as if observing with david's context in mind. he did not see it in the man's blood, instead other memories, blurry images of therapy sessions, dark eyes and confusing shadows. fear, mostly. this was a reprieve, evidently something comforting to the other man.]
Yes? I often hunted as a mortal man in similar places. A long time ago.
[ an unguarded offering, a clear image held in his mind's eye of a snowy forest in auvergne. lestat astride his horse, followed by enormous mastiffs, musket strapped to his shoulder. endless woods stretched out before him, the only tracks those of the animals he hunted.]
( david makes a noise that, for all appearances, is acknowledgement of lestat's repeated insistence that he'd had no intention to attack — is that the best word for it? is that what the first time had even really been about? given everything — david. he's not convinced that lestat's as lacking as capriciousness as all that, thinks that it's even there in his phrasing: not his intention. that's not saying he wouldn't or he won't, just that it's not what he was planning.
the thought sits with david, even as lestat offers a memory. for all intents and purposes, lestat doesn't look all that different to how he looks now — marginally younger, perhaps, although maybe there's a degree more innocence there. hope? the determination's the same, the expectancy. whatever being turned into a vampire did to lestat, david thinks that it didn't change him, not really. solidified, perhaps; made him more fully realised—. )
I don't like dogs. ( it's murmured, half meant for lestat, half commentary for david alone. he knows now that king had never been real, that it'd been farouk in a form more palatable for david's childhood perception, and it explained — in so many ways — why david had never seemed to feel comfortable around any others. why, after king had disappeared, (run away? died? doesn't matter, it wasn't true—), he'd never managed to settle on the idea of getting another dog.
farouk, he thinks, explains why none had ever really seemed to like him. )
[ a flash then - the memory twisting to blood on the snow, the terrible shrieking of the dying mare confused and frightened. lestat too, face streaked with tears, surrounded by a pack of wolves all dead by his hand. his two hounds unfortunately also laying still in the snow, killed trying to protect their master.
beloved pets he had hand reared from pups, unconditional adoration for the bright young man struggling to flourish despite regular beatings from his brother's and father. oft snuggled close to him at night for warmth within the cold stone walls of his father's barren castle - now pointlessly slain, never again to gamble alongside him like oversized puppies. the young lestat is almost too shellshocked to register it entirely, cannot do much else but let tears fall. hoist a wolf carcass over his shoulder and begin to make the slow trek back home on foot, lucky to be alive but almost wishing he had died there with his beloved animals.
it's a traumatic memory, one that signals the eventual stalking, torture and murder of the young de lioncourt. even as the mortal lestat did not know he was being watched, the immortal vampire's memory adds a dark looming shadow beyond the trees in an approximation of where the ancient predator may have been watching.
a twist of discomfort over lestat's expression as he recollects this for david's consumption, a beat longer before sealing it away once more. a show of faith, along with the lack of any attempted bites. though the thud of david's pulse is sounding particularly appealing right now - an unfortunately loud surface thought that lestat clears away.]
I do not keep dogs now, as you can imagine. The time with them is simply too short. It is difficult enough to watch mortals fade away, much less innocent animals.
though not inherently squeamish, it's quite clear that david doesn't enjoy what lestat shows him, from the horse to the wolves to the dogs and the blood. lestat's — the younger one in his memories — tears are something of a surprise, and though it doesn't quite mean that david reconsiders his opinion of lestat, it is something he allows to sink in, allows to contribute to a more fully-formed image of the vampire lestat is today.
the memory ends, the abruptness of it fitting for the palpable discomfort, and though david catches the shift in lestat's expression, though he understands on some level that it was a — what? olive branch? an open hand extended if not in friendship, then at least not enmity, that doesn't stop david's immediate, discomforted response of, )
You could've just said they died. That was horrible. ( it's incredulous, lightly challenging only in the sense that david did not enjoy it, and he eyes lestat for a beat before adding, a touch more curious, ) What was the—. ( a vague wave of his hand. )Shadow?( fear? david's not sure what word to use, even if the similarities go unmissed. )
[ the taller man turns away then to walk a few steps further away, sharp eyes investigating the further depths. as dark as it was, it was no challenge to pierce through the thick of night. something to distract from the unpleasantness brought back by the memory.
even so many years later, the panicked, pleading sounds of his horse bleeding out into the snow was so vivid. as soft hearted as he had been then, he could not put the poor mare out of her misery. he regrets it now. ]
Obviously they died. [ that was what - 240 years ago? give or take? ] If I had simply said so, you would have asked how. I was merely saving us both the trouble.
So you noticed him. I did not myself at the time, though I know now that he was watching.
[ that discomfort twined with fear, yes - but also longing. a touch sad as lestat turns back to look at david, a softness around the eyes. a blink and then it's gone, his gaze skirting away to look back beyond the trees. was this the right setting to tell this tale, with such visual similarities? did he want to rehash this once more, with the recollection still so fresh after telling it to molloy? ]
A story for another time, perhaps. I do not find myself in the mood for further dour subject matter, if it is all the same to you. [ what a tease.
but lestat crosses his arms across his chest, body language folding in upon itself. inadvertently sharing too much of a shared experience, being prey to something larger than oneself. it's too much vulnerability for lestat in that moment, his mind sealing off much as his body does. ]
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no subject
Date: 2026-04-02 08:18 am (UTC)david's rigidity may yet be a reaction to his own wounds caused by sydney, it seems. or it may be simply an aspect of who he is. lestat hasn't figured it out yet. he contemplates this whilst regarding david with a long stare, letting the silence after the man's question hang.
then, a softer offer, his fingers loosening around the slender wrist -]
It is not my intention. [ a beat. ] Would you like me to?
[ there is pleasure in it, after all. the pain, certainly, but a catharsis in giving oneself over. lestat does not think david would offer this, but the man is full of surprises thus far.]
lmao david killing the vibe soz lestat
Date: 2026-04-02 10:00 am (UTC)the softness of lestat's words, the loosening of his grip, neither mean that david fully trusts lestat when he says it's not his intention, but they are the reason why david doesn't jerk out of lestat's grasp entirely, why his own words are sharp but not angry. the frustration there, as transparent as it is, is general, not aimed at lestat in particular. )
No. I've had enough things, ( not that it entirely tempers david's word choice — but again, it's less about lestat and more david's refusal to see farouk as a person. ) Feed off me in my life. I'm not interested in having someone else start, not when I've finally—.
( he snatches his hand back, any and all sudden agitation all of his own doing. he takes a step back, attention sliding away from lestat as if trying to find something else in the woods to give his attention to. in finding nothing, his mouth scrunches, then flattens into a line, and then— )
—I grew up somewhere like this. ( he doesn't know if lestat saw that, his childhood home. the house in the country, the fields and the grass and the trees and the mountains. the stars. it's not quite an olive branch, but it's not antagonism, an attempted redirecting of the conversation to something a little more palatable for david. )
make him work for it david he loves it
Date: 2026-04-02 10:57 am (UTC)As I said, it was not my intention.
[ he offers quietly, before allowing his gaze to sweep around the forest, as if observing with david's context in mind. he did not see it in the man's blood, instead other memories, blurry images of therapy sessions, dark eyes and confusing shadows. fear, mostly. this was a reprieve, evidently something comforting to the other man.]
Yes? I often hunted as a mortal man in similar places. A long time ago.
[ an unguarded offering, a clear image held in his mind's eye of a snowy forest in auvergne. lestat astride his horse, followed by enormous mastiffs, musket strapped to his shoulder. endless woods stretched out before him, the only tracks those of the animals he hunted.]
no subject
Date: 2026-04-02 08:28 pm (UTC)the thought sits with david, even as lestat offers a memory. for all intents and purposes, lestat doesn't look all that different to how he looks now — marginally younger, perhaps, although maybe there's a degree more innocence there. hope? the determination's the same, the expectancy. whatever being turned into a vampire did to lestat, david thinks that it didn't change him, not really. solidified, perhaps; made him more fully realised—. )
I don't like dogs. ( it's murmured, half meant for lestat, half commentary for david alone. he knows now that king had never been real, that it'd been farouk in a form more palatable for david's childhood perception, and it explained — in so many ways — why david had never seemed to feel comfortable around any others. why, after king had disappeared, (run away? died? doesn't matter, it wasn't true—), he'd never managed to settle on the idea of getting another dog.
farouk, he thinks, explains why none had ever really seemed to like him. )
—What happened to them?
no subject
Date: 2026-04-03 01:47 am (UTC)[ a flash then - the memory twisting to blood on the snow, the terrible shrieking of the dying mare confused and frightened. lestat too, face streaked with tears, surrounded by a pack of wolves all dead by his hand. his two hounds unfortunately also laying still in the snow, killed trying to protect their master.
beloved pets he had hand reared from pups, unconditional adoration for the bright young man struggling to flourish despite regular beatings from his brother's and father. oft snuggled close to him at night for warmth within the cold stone walls of his father's barren castle - now pointlessly slain, never again to gamble alongside him like oversized puppies. the young lestat is almost too shellshocked to register it entirely, cannot do much else but let tears fall. hoist a wolf carcass over his shoulder and begin to make the slow trek back home on foot, lucky to be alive but almost wishing he had died there with his beloved animals.
it's a traumatic memory, one that signals the eventual stalking, torture and murder of the young de lioncourt. even as the mortal lestat did not know he was being watched, the immortal vampire's memory adds a dark looming shadow beyond the trees in an approximation of where the ancient predator may have been watching.
a twist of discomfort over lestat's expression as he recollects this for david's consumption, a beat longer before sealing it away once more. a show of faith, along with the lack of any attempted bites. though the thud of david's pulse is sounding particularly appealing right now - an unfortunately loud surface thought that lestat clears away.]
I do not keep dogs now, as you can imagine. The time with them is simply too short. It is difficult enough to watch mortals fade away, much less innocent animals.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 03:48 am (UTC)though not inherently squeamish, it's quite clear that david doesn't enjoy what lestat shows him, from the horse to the wolves to the dogs and the blood. lestat's — the younger one in his memories — tears are something of a surprise, and though it doesn't quite mean that david reconsiders his opinion of lestat, it is something he allows to sink in, allows to contribute to a more fully-formed image of the vampire lestat is today.
the memory ends, the abruptness of it fitting for the palpable discomfort, and though david catches the shift in lestat's expression, though he understands on some level that it was a — what? olive branch? an open hand extended if not in friendship, then at least not enmity, that doesn't stop david's immediate, discomforted response of, )
You could've just said they died. That was horrible. ( it's incredulous, lightly challenging only in the sense that david did not enjoy it, and he eyes lestat for a beat before adding, a touch more curious, ) What was the—. ( a vague wave of his hand. ) Shadow? ( fear? david's not sure what word to use, even if the similarities go unmissed. )
no subject
Date: 2026-04-05 07:24 am (UTC)even so many years later, the panicked, pleading sounds of his horse bleeding out into the snow was so vivid. as soft hearted as he had been then, he could not put the poor mare out of her misery. he regrets it now. ]
Obviously they died. [ that was what - 240 years ago? give or take? ] If I had simply said so, you would have asked how. I was merely saving us both the trouble.
So you noticed him. I did not myself at the time, though I know now that he was watching.
[ that discomfort twined with fear, yes - but also longing. a touch sad as lestat turns back to look at david, a softness around the eyes. a blink and then it's gone, his gaze skirting away to look back beyond the trees. was this the right setting to tell this tale, with such visual similarities? did he want to rehash this once more, with the recollection still so fresh after telling it to molloy? ]
A story for another time, perhaps. I do not find myself in the mood for further dour subject matter, if it is all the same to you. [ what a tease.
but lestat crosses his arms across his chest, body language folding in upon itself. inadvertently sharing too much of a shared experience, being prey to something larger than oneself. it's too much vulnerability for lestat in that moment, his mind sealing off much as his body does. ]