( that doesn't stop david from trying. one message, then two, then three before he stops. a change of tactics, not giving up. maybe he could try reaching out gently, a probe of sorts, but lestat's done-said-implied enough that it doesn't occur to david, doesn't present itself as an option.
(—what does is a brief, fleeting, there-and-gone thought of reaching out to syd, but she won't answer him. he knows she won't. it doesn't matter if it's thanks to cary and whatever bullshit tool or shield or toy he's been able to build to prevent david from reaching her (them, division three—), or whether it's just her deciding he doesn't deserve an answer, she'll—.
silence. a void.)
so—
LESTAT.
loud and angry and impatient, and if that goes ignored, a trip. he doesn't know where lestat is — frankly doesn't have a clue, but there are tour dates. shows. signings. one of them—.
(he knows he could be wrong. lestat's right: he has his own abilities. gifts. whatever.)
[ he hears it. of course he does - as talented as david is, as sharp as lestat's senses are in anticipation. there's a giddy little thrill at the commanding tone echoing in the vampire's mind, one that makes him grin wildly to himself even as the following message is more hiss than before.
to his credit, lestat is indeed on the move - headed towards the pacific mid west someplace, on towards familiar scenery that he has seen in david's memories. somewhere with big pines and lush forestry, thankfully not far from his current stop in washington state. leaving his band behind on an impulse, though it'd only take a day or so to make his investigations. if david didn't immediately find his location and jump him, that was.
admittedly lestat was rather excited for that possibility. that was the point of his little ploy after all. truly, even if he found syd it would likely be to just observe, though david didn't need to know that.
so david gets only a feeling of amusement in return, then nothing more. if he wants lestat's attention now, he will have to come and find it. ]
( washington state and lestat's band is where david goes first and who he demands answers from — it's inelegant and short-lived, less a conversation and more a don't care, not interested, tell me where he is. it's less effective than david would like — not because he can't get the answer he's after, but because they don't know the answer. which, he supposes, is six of one and half dozen of the other.
it's hurried and graceless in a way, the stop-off that he makes to lestat's dressing room. he doesn't think that he'll be there — lestat may be many things, but stupid is not one of them — and though david doesn't think it'll hold any indication of where lestat thinks he might find syd, he does think it'll hold pieces of lestat. (that photograph that he'd seen before, that he doesn't touch — he's not an asshole.) but he does stop and pocket a half-empty, forgotten packet of cigarettes and a lighter that he suspects isn't lestat's but is here anyway, and leaves in their place a scarf one of his — his people had given. daddy, I made it for you. do you like it? it was made with love, so of course he did.
here and now, it's a note: from me to you, fuck you - david
it's a little after that that he ends up in much the same place as lestat. the country. fresh air and unending skies, uninterrupted by buildings trying to stake their claim amongst the clouds. in some ways, it's like returning home. is home. the city, that's whatever, it's just noise and people, overlapping with one another, begging constantly for attention. this is almost peaceful.
—or it would be, if it weren't for the lestat of it all.
(the mind gift. was that what that stupid book had called it? he's pretty sure that's why it's—. it's not impossible. it's just... challenging. annoying. in any other circumstance, he might even enjoy it.)
in some ways, it's not even about syd — the divisions have their own toys-and-tricks-and-tools, and he doesn't doubt for a second that they've got ways to deal with someone (something) like lestat, it's the — he doesn't want to see syd. (he'd love to see syd.) what would he say to her that he hasn't already said? sorry's not the hardest word, and it's also not enough. apparently. part of him thinks she's a bitch for that; the rest of him hates himself. and lestat? "sorry, I accidentally REDACTED a vampire and—."
(fuck!)
there's time, then, between lestat's amusement and david's response. the anger is still there — hot, pounding at the sides of his skull like a dozen fists; tight, in his chest; childish. )
The longer you hide, the worse it's going to be. Don't push me.
[ lestat can smell him now, that basic clean soap-detergent scent on the wind somewhere nearby. that bubbling pressure of power too, hammering on lestat's mental walls like a furious horror. how charming, that he had followed all the way out here.
lestat is beaming to himself, even as he pauses in his romp through the woods to detect more of that underground movement. a bunker of some sorts, most likely. there didn't seem to be too many buildings around, after all. by the determined way david was perusing him now, lestat was surely onto some trail. perhaps if he hadn't given chase, lestat may have given up and moved to another area. the impatience was cute, admittedly.
he'll slow just a little to let david catch up, if he really wants. a glimpse of this old love would be ideal, since he'd come all this way - but baiting david from his hiding place and revelling in his attention was the true reward.
for now, lestat doesn't respond, just settles against a large tree and lights a smoke. enjoys the moonlight dappling through the canopy overhead, waits for a sign of either david or another movement below - either one would be fascinating.
he's in a bit of a self destructive mood himself. maybe david wouldn't treat him with kiddie gloves.]
( lestat doesn't reply and that's the most infuriating part of it. that's the part that gives him pause, makes him double over and yell. it's a pointless, ineffectual waste of noise and energy, and it doesn't even make him feel any better come the end of it. instead, he's breathing harder, louder, and still in the same neck of the fucking woods he'd be in to start with.
he has, of course, no preternatural sense of smell nor sight to track lestat with, it's just psychic energies and impressions. if division three had opted to hole up somewhere with more people, it'd be easier — david would be able to press himself into thoughts, pull out recollections. he's no ptonomy, memories are a different beast altogether, but lestat's the sort of man (being, thing) that leaves an impression. he's memorable. no-one's forgetting lestat unless lestat wants them to, and lestat doesn't want to be forgotten.
his admission of taking molloy's book with a grain of salt is truth, but he doesn't think the impression of lestat in general terms is incorrect. he's a dick. he's self-centred. he's petty and capricious. he's controlling and he thinks he knows best. these are all traits that david recognises, but not for a second does the hypocrisy register. to david — incorrectly — they're reflections of a different man, one with sunglasses and a thin moustache.
several (blocked) text messages, an interrogation of his band, and a handful of unanswered psychic screams into silence, david doesn't try again. he's not quiet, nothing about david is quiet; his presence in the thicket is announced not by sound nor, really, by movement, but by presence. tangibility where once there was absence. it's dark, late enough that the nightsky can be seen between branches and leaves, and in spite of himself, david pauses.
he looks up.
brown hair that's almost blonde in the right light catches the light, the same way david's attention slips and slides before settling. it's abrupt, an OH! in anything other than words. the bunker's registered but ultimately discarded, and david waves a hand. swift and immediate, and in the one-two inhale-exhale of breath after, david waits to see if the anticipated thunk of (inhuman) body against tree trunk is as satisfying as he's been imagining.
the silence is. the crunch of grass underfoot, the snap of baby twigs. )
—I'm a good guy, you know. ( languid. a statement. ) Which means I don't get to do this often. ( he crouches, holds up a hand, fingers balled into a fist except for his index finger. "wait", accompanied by force of will and expectation, a cant of his head and a slow smile.
hubris. )
So I'm gonna enjoy it.
Edited (i cannot type) Date: 2026-03-30 05:17 pm (UTC)
[ the yell of frustration nearly made lestat blow his cover by sheer overwhelming mirth alone - how fun! how delightful! he has to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop the snickers from bursting free, cigarette smoke streaming from his nostrils. it burns a little, and that in turn makes blood tears well up in his eyes from the ridiculousness of it all.
so by the time an invisible psychic force snatches up his body in a firm grip, only to fling him sideways, lestat is already close to howling with laughter. indeed, the solid sound of impact is satisfying, but likely diminished by the manic cackling of the blond shortly afterwards, breaking the silence after david's words.
really, it's too funny. the discomfort in the simmering presence radiating from david, the splintering pain of what must be at least one broken bone (a testament to the strength of the force), the satisfaction of having aggressive consequence for his actions. external pain was becoming such a distant thing to him as of late, what with the monstrous, ancient vampiric blood soaking in his veins, yet he needed this. few other vampires could damage him, why not play with a different flame? one with such delicious, echoing fury.
the blond is crumpled on the forest floor now, not far from david. he's bitten right through the filter of his cigarette and into his tongue, coating the tobacco and his chin in wine dark crimson. yet he relights the end stubbornly as he straightens up against the tree trunk, hauling himself up with some difficulty.
the cigarette won't light. this finally seems to make lestat lose his patience and he flings the smoke to the ground in a childish fury, cursing loudly in french. the gesture makes him aware there's something not quite right with his wrist on his non dominant hand, hanging limp at an odd angle. it hurts, needling up his arm and into his shoulder with a novel pain.
lestat still has the awareness to toss his head back, making a show of getting hair out of his face before locking eyes on david. anything he was about to say dies on his lips as a look of bemusement flickers over his expression, settling low into distaste.]
--What are you wearing? Do you not have a change of clothes?
( it's not the way that lestat crumples that gives david pause, nor is it the blood that spills from his mouth and down his tongue; it's not even the odd, gross way that his wrist angles. david is not a squeamish man — it'd be impossible to be, what with his lingering preference for blunt force trauma when lacking in any other avenues for violence.
the brief tantrum is — whatever, actually. not quite as satisfying as the sound lestat's body (not lestat, notably) had made upon impact, but it's more satisfying than no reaction at all. farouk is better at that — composure — and the realisation's unwelcome and unwanted, and david shoves it away with deliberate force. still, lestat's display of temper tempers david's temper, just a touch, right up until the expression of bemusement that segues into distaste.
david doesn't move, still perched in an awkward squat, one hand half-raised towards lestat as— )
Do I—. ( ? )What?
( it takes him by surprise, enough so that he reflexively glances down at himelf. for a moment, confusion takes hold of his features, then hesitation, then back round to irritation. fashion has never been something david's cared for — for the better part of a decade, clockworks notwithstanding, his choice in clothing has remained much the same: some degree of skinny trouser, some degree of boot, some degree of marginally-oversized top. changing his clothes isn't something he's always done with regularity — addiction had shoved it slightly further down his list of priorities — but that's not what this is.
[ even with a broken wrist and a bloodied chin, lestat still manages to give david a very haughty, distasteful once over.
as if he were himself wonderfully put together in that moment - despite his current disarray, he was dressed rather elegantly in black, donned in a no doubt expensive low cut blouse and shapely jeans, thick designer boots. compared to david's gaudy tunic and well worn boots, he's very much precisely groomed, even with the few twigs poking out from his hair. no matter, this is about david.]
Hein? Je ne te crois pas.
[ the tilt of his head to the side before lestat's thoughts flicker through a few variations on outfits for david. loud, of course - he's not a subtle one, surprisingly honest for the parts he chooses to vocalise, with a mind prone to broadcasting around to any poor tired telepath in the area.
perhaps a nice patterned sweater, accessories, anything with texture. david seemed to be mostly lanky, lean muscle - but lestat could work with that. truly there was no excuse as to why david hadn't taken more care in his appearance before now?
baffled, lestat's expression turns a touch pained. not from the broken wrist he almost idly sets back into place with a very audible crunch, but something nearly pitiful whilst regarding the other man.]
If you were having clothing trouble, you need just ask. I would be very happy to assist in arranging a small wardrobe to pick from.
[ there's that haughty lift of his chin again, appraising david with a critical eye.]
It is a waste. You are wasting your beauty with such garish, boring clothes. Have some respect, cher.
( it's absurd, the two of them here, like this. david catches the images — sweatshirts he'd never consider for himself; accessories that are — mostly fine, actually, even if accessories are a new thing for him; texture that's—. (no, fuck him, the outfit's deliberate. it goes with the commune, with the image-personality-self he's been working on.) )
—I can choose my own clothes. I don't need to dress up. ( he doesn't mean it to sound as petulant as it might to lestat's ears, but it's the kind of defensive remark that's nearly impossible to sound anything else. he doesn't elaborate on what he means by 'choose', whether that's the typical going-to-a-store-and-selecting, or whether it's more in line with the way that his clothes had changed the first time, from this exact outfit to that of a caricature lion tamer.
but it's not the point. that's not why he's here.
he stands. looming isn't something david does naturally, and it's not something he does now. instead, his body language is caught in an odd refrain of both tense and cautious and casual, the slope of his shoulders implying a slow edge towards disinterest, while everything else about him suggests otherwise. walking in a slow circle to lestat's left, david reaches into a pocket and pulls out the lighter he'd taken from lestat's dressing room earlier.
there's a soft clink of metal, and in a pointed effort to move the conversation away from david's clothes— )
I said hi, to your band. They're nice. ( it's clear that david would say that regardless of how they were. ) Open, actually, which I like. But whose is this? I know it's not yours.
[ the returning snort at david's words indicates exactly what lestat thinks about not needing to dress up. a waste indeed - an hour and lestat's expansive wardrobe would easily put that notion to shame.
but david's slow, rounded advance makes the vampire's nerves prickle in warning. instinctual, that pace bringing wolves to mind. maybe it was just the setting, the taste of blood on his lip. lestat licks at it, sucks his lower lip in to dig his teeth into. good timing - the sight of the lighter - adam's lighter - immediately raises his hackles, just as david likely knew it would.]
It is a lighter. There are so many around, likely left by the band members - [ an attempt at nonchalance, a shrug of his broad shoulders.] - who could say?
There are so many in and out of my spaces. Not everything may belong to me. [ tension in his clenching jaw though, claws flicking against the heel of his hand and drawing blood.
adam is a sore spot, just a young mortal man recovering from his own traumas. unfortunate enough to tangle with lestat and inadvertently be sighted by powers much bigger than himself. it's definitely his lighter - lestat can smell it on the warmed metal, below the flint and steel. ]
( david ignores the snort. it's easy to do, with the way that lestat's demeanour changes. if he were a petty man — or at least, if he acknowledged being a petty man — he thinks he'd try harder to pluck the name from lestat's thoughts. he thinks he'd try harder to get an image, a location. he thinks he'd dangle both over lestat's consciousness, a threat and a question: you came out here looking for syd, maybe I'll go looking for them.
but he's not petty! he's not like lestat. he's better than that.
he hums, then, a low noise of loose consideration, and his gaze darts between lestat and the lighter in his hand, held between thumb and forefinger. he pretends not to have noticed anything of lestat's body language, not the tensing of his jaw, not the way his too-bright, too-sharp nails dig and release, dig and release against his skin. eyebrows arched in feigned obliviousness, david settles on, finally— )
Good! ( it's bright and delighted. ) Then no-one's going to miss it. ( and by way of almost immediate explanation, as if lestat's asked, david remarks— ) I have a friend. She'll be pissed that I've gone on a trip without talking to her first, so... Souvenier.
sure, lestat could just let david keep the lighter, but then there's whatever traces he could pick up from the lighter - or rather, what traces he could spurn from lestat's mind upon taunting him with it. then he'd continue to hold adam over him in some sort of returning gambit, and that was a game less fun when it was turned around on lestat.
slowly, the vampire's muscles begin to coil. pale eyes tracking the lazy prowl of the other man as he speaks, now irritatingly animated, chipper. always sardonic it seemed, from what little glimpses of a positive mood he had seen, but more so now with the rising tension between the two of them.
the atmosphere itself begins to feel weighted, air growing still around them in the forest. if david's vision in the low light is sharp enough, he may be able to note the swelling of lestat's pupils. certainly a force exuded, crackling with potential. it's the mind gift - the vampire churlishly forcing time to slow around david in an attempt to guarantee his success in the next moment.
a flash of remarkable speed, with that sudden squeeze of time around the other man - lestat will attempt to topple david over and snatch the lighter from his hand. no intention to wound, just maybe pin to the damp forest floor if he can.
dangerous, certainly. but lestat isn't really concerned about damage to his own person, only to what leaving such a possession in david's hold could mean for adam.]
( does david expect lestat to react? certainly. he'd been counting on it, in a way, but what he doesn't expect — oh, it's fucking stupid in retrospect, because he has read the book, and it's not like there aren't supposed accounts of vampires from over the years — is the sheer speed and raw power. david doesn't see well enough in the low light of the forest, the hazy glow of stars and moonlight, to be able to pick out details.
sure, he can tell lestat's pissed, that's the point. he doesn't need telepathy for that. it's there in the air between them, although david doesn't miss the way it changes beyond that. for a moment, he falters. his eyes widen (slowly), and the furrow of his brows is a sharp question. uncertainty. fear? maybe, in a certain light.
it gives way to shock and pain, the two doing battle with one another as he's shoved to the ground. david may be many things, but unnaturally strong is not one of them, and the suddenness of impact forces his breath from his lungs, a dull cough-wheeze as the pain of it registers. confusion, too, even as he reacts by instinct — not, it's worth noting, to respond in kind, to shove lestat away, not like how he'd quote-unquote greeted lestat minutes before, but to teleport away instead. a handful of feet at most, doubled over on all fours, hands and knees pressed into the cold, damp forest floor.
heavy breaths, in and out for a count of one, two, then three and four before he lifts his gaze, allowing it settle accusatorily on lestat. )
[ you gotta stop doing that, david. lestat's activated, already wired up and ready to react at a moment's notice. much like the big cat of his namesake, the sudden reappearance of his prey has him immediately snapping his focus to david, pupils huge and black in the darkness.
it's a measure of lestat's own restraint that he doesn't immediately pounce on david. though every instinct he has is screaming to follow through, to pin the other man to the floor and see if he'll squirm away once more. he has the lighter, that should be enough. the weight of it in his pocket already makes him feel a bit better.]
Apologies. It seems as if I did have use for this lighter.
[ a mocking tilt of his head, a playful little pout as he regards david's dishevelled appearance. much better. that delightful thrill up his spine was back. ]
My, you do look quite the picture on your knees. Was that too rough for you? Harder, or softer next time?
[ now he's just being a dick. cocky too, relaxing his posture and running a hand through golden locks to smooth it out, remove debris. knowingly inviting more violence, but without the threat to adam, he was not concerned.]
( david shifts his weight so that he's sitting with his legs folded under him. it's foolish, perhaps, telegraphing the fact that he'll be unable to move quickly except by teleportation, but that thought doesn't occur to him. instead, he's taken by lestat's gaze on him, even if he can't see enough for the details, nor does he know enough to guess at where lestat's thoughts are at.
he can track the tilt of lestat's head, it's not too dark for that, not even with the way the shadows are growing deeper and longer around them, not even with the way the light grows more inky. the glint of light against the blood still on lestat's chin helps, even if it's annoying, too. his mouth twitches. not a smile this time, and then he's gone.
and then he's behind lestat, crouched over, breath warm against lestat's ear. )
I was being nice by not finding out who they are. ( a low whisper. ) Even if you can shield your thoughts, bury the little pops of recollection down deep, do you think anyone else around you will be able to do that? Your guitarist, your bassist, the woman that keeps your diary, writes down your schedule and reminds your of where you should be and who you should be meeting.
( abruptly, he stands and steps back, the weight of one footstep then the other eliciting a crack; his tone changes, slides into something more conversational, louder, like it's more than just the two of them there. )
—It's dickish, right? To try and use someone important to you like that? Like they're a toy. Leverage. Like they don't matter.
( his gaze slides sideways, expectant, like he expects an answer. (agreement.) )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 08:08 am (UTC)patient files and medical records, though. not the same thing, but they've got their own embellishments.
yeah, and that's how I know she'll hate you too.
no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 08:12 am (UTC)Ah, well I will not force the matter. A sip of her blood will give me at least a smidge of information, at least.
no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 08:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 08:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 08:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 09:01 am (UTC)[ the absolute glee with which he types this message. ]
no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 09:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 09:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 09:20 am (UTC)she's a person, you fuck.
not a toy.
not something to play with.
what is it you really want?
no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 09:28 am (UTC)Catch me if you can, David.
[ no more messages for now - any attempts will be unsuccessful, messages greyed out. lestat's petty ass has blocked david's number, for now. ]
CRYING
Date: 2026-03-30 09:49 am (UTC)(—what does is a brief, fleeting, there-and-gone thought of reaching out to syd, but she won't answer him. he knows she won't. it doesn't matter if it's thanks to cary and whatever bullshit tool or shield or toy he's been able to build to prevent david from reaching her (them, division three—), or whether it's just her deciding he doesn't deserve an answer, she'll—.
silence. a void.)
so— loud and angry and impatient, and if that goes ignored, a trip. he doesn't know where lestat is — frankly doesn't have a clue, but there are tour dates. shows. signings. one of them—.
(he knows he could be wrong. lestat's right: he has his own abilities. gifts. whatever.)
ragebaiting works :)
Date: 2026-03-30 10:20 am (UTC)to his credit, lestat is indeed on the move - headed towards the pacific mid west someplace, on towards familiar scenery that he has seen in david's memories. somewhere with big pines and lush forestry, thankfully not far from his current stop in washington state. leaving his band behind on an impulse, though it'd only take a day or so to make his investigations. if david didn't immediately find his location and jump him, that was.
admittedly lestat was rather excited for that possibility. that was the point of his little ploy after all. truly, even if he found syd it would likely be to just observe, though david didn't need to know that.
so david gets only a feeling of amusement in return, then nothing more. if he wants lestat's attention now, he will have to come and find it. ]
david is a simple man
Date: 2026-03-30 04:04 pm (UTC)it's hurried and graceless in a way, the stop-off that he makes to lestat's dressing room. he doesn't think that he'll be there — lestat may be many things, but stupid is not one of them — and though david doesn't think it'll hold any indication of where lestat thinks he might find syd, he does think it'll hold pieces of lestat. (that photograph that he'd seen before, that he doesn't touch — he's not an asshole.) but he does stop and pocket a half-empty, forgotten packet of cigarettes and a lighter that he suspects isn't lestat's but is here anyway, and leaves in their place a scarf one of his — his people had given. daddy, I made it for you. do you like it? it was made with love, so of course he did.
here and now, it's a note: from me to you, fuck you - david
it's a little after that that he ends up in much the same place as lestat. the country. fresh air and unending skies, uninterrupted by buildings trying to stake their claim amongst the clouds. in some ways, it's like returning home. is home. the city, that's whatever, it's just noise and people, overlapping with one another, begging constantly for attention. this is almost peaceful.
—or it would be, if it weren't for the lestat of it all.
(the mind gift. was that what that stupid book had called it? he's pretty sure that's why it's—.
it's not impossible. it's just... challenging. annoying. in any other circumstance, he might even enjoy it.)
in some ways, it's not even about syd — the divisions have their own toys-and-tricks-and-tools, and he doesn't doubt for a second that they've got ways to deal with someone (something) like lestat, it's the — he doesn't want to see syd. (he'd love to see syd.) what would he say to her that he hasn't already said? sorry's not the hardest word, and it's also not enough. apparently. part of him thinks she's a bitch for that; the rest of him hates himself. and lestat? "sorry, I accidentally REDACTED a vampire and—."
(fuck!)
there's time, then, between lestat's amusement and david's response. the anger is still there — hot, pounding at the sides of his skull like a dozen fists; tight, in his chest; childish. )
no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 04:51 pm (UTC)lestat is beaming to himself, even as he pauses in his romp through the woods to detect more of that underground movement. a bunker of some sorts, most likely. there didn't seem to be too many buildings around, after all. by the determined way david was perusing him now, lestat was surely onto some trail. perhaps if he hadn't given chase, lestat may have given up and moved to another area.
the impatience was cute, admittedly.
he'll slow just a little to let david catch up, if he really wants. a glimpse of this old love would be ideal, since he'd come all this way - but baiting david from his hiding place and revelling in his attention was the true reward.
for now, lestat doesn't respond, just settles against a large tree and lights a smoke. enjoys the moonlight dappling through the canopy overhead, waits for a sign of either david or another movement below - either one would be fascinating.
he's in a bit of a self destructive mood himself. maybe david wouldn't treat him with kiddie gloves.]
no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 05:12 pm (UTC)he has, of course, no preternatural sense of smell nor sight to track lestat with, it's just psychic energies and impressions. if division three had opted to hole up somewhere with more people, it'd be easier — david would be able to press himself into thoughts, pull out recollections. he's no ptonomy, memories are a different beast altogether, but lestat's the sort of man (being, thing) that leaves an impression. he's memorable. no-one's forgetting lestat unless lestat wants them to, and lestat doesn't want to be forgotten.
his admission of taking molloy's book with a grain of salt is truth, but he doesn't think the impression of lestat in general terms is incorrect. he's a dick. he's self-centred. he's petty and capricious. he's controlling and he thinks he knows best. these are all traits that david recognises, but not for a second does the hypocrisy register. to david — incorrectly — they're reflections of a different man, one with sunglasses and a thin moustache.
several (blocked) text messages, an interrogation of his band, and a handful of unanswered psychic screams into silence, david doesn't try again. he's not quiet, nothing about david is quiet; his presence in the thicket is announced not by sound nor, really, by movement, but by presence. tangibility where once there was absence. it's dark, late enough that the nightsky can be seen between branches and leaves, and in spite of himself, david pauses.
he looks up.
brown hair that's almost blonde in the right light catches the light, the same way david's attention slips and slides before settling. it's abrupt, an OH! in anything other than words. the bunker's registered but ultimately discarded, and david waves a hand. swift and immediate, and in the one-two inhale-exhale of breath after, david waits to see if the anticipated thunk of (inhuman) body against tree trunk is as satisfying as he's been imagining.
the silence is. the crunch of grass underfoot, the snap of baby twigs. )
—I'm a good guy, you know. ( languid. a statement. ) Which means I don't get to do this often. ( he crouches, holds up a hand, fingers balled into a fist except for his index finger. "wait", accompanied by force of will and expectation, a cant of his head and a slow smile.
hubris. )
So I'm gonna enjoy it.
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Date: 2026-03-31 05:22 am (UTC)so by the time an invisible psychic force snatches up his body in a firm grip, only to fling him sideways, lestat is already close to howling with laughter. indeed, the solid sound of impact is satisfying, but likely diminished by the manic cackling of the blond shortly afterwards, breaking the silence after david's words.
really, it's too funny. the discomfort in the simmering presence radiating from david, the splintering pain of what must be at least one broken bone (a testament to the strength of the force), the satisfaction of having aggressive consequence for his actions. external pain was becoming such a distant thing to him as of late, what with the monstrous, ancient vampiric blood soaking in his veins, yet he needed this. few other vampires could damage him, why not play with a different flame? one with such delicious, echoing fury.
the blond is crumpled on the forest floor now, not far from david. he's bitten right through the filter of his cigarette and into his tongue, coating the tobacco and his chin in wine dark crimson. yet he relights the end stubbornly as he straightens up against the tree trunk, hauling himself up with some difficulty.
the cigarette won't light. this finally seems to make lestat lose his patience and he flings the smoke to the ground in a childish fury, cursing loudly in french. the gesture makes him aware there's something not quite right with his wrist on his non dominant hand, hanging limp at an odd angle. it hurts, needling up his arm and into his shoulder with a novel pain.
lestat still has the awareness to toss his head back, making a show of getting hair out of his face before locking eyes on david. anything he was about to say dies on his lips as a look of bemusement flickers over his expression, settling low into distaste.]
--What are you wearing? Do you not have a change of clothes?
[ ew, david. orange, again?]
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Date: 2026-03-31 04:12 pm (UTC)the brief tantrum is — whatever, actually. not quite as satisfying as the sound lestat's body (not lestat, notably) had made upon impact, but it's more satisfying than no reaction at all. farouk is better at that — composure — and the realisation's unwelcome and unwanted, and david shoves it away with deliberate force. still, lestat's display of temper tempers david's temper, just a touch, right up until the expression of bemusement that segues into distaste.
david doesn't move, still perched in an awkward squat, one hand half-raised towards lestat as— )
Do I—. ( ? ) What?
( it takes him by surprise, enough so that he reflexively glances down at himelf. for a moment, confusion takes hold of his features, then hesitation, then back round to irritation. fashion has never been something david's cared for — for the better part of a decade, clockworks notwithstanding, his choice in clothing has remained much the same: some degree of skinny trouser, some degree of boot, some degree of marginally-oversized top. changing his clothes isn't something he's always done with regularity — addiction had shoved it slightly further down his list of priorities — but that's not what this is.
he shakes his head as if refocusing, and— )
Yes.
( incredulous and baffled, all at once. )
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Date: 2026-03-31 04:55 pm (UTC)as if he were himself wonderfully put together in that moment - despite his current disarray, he was dressed rather elegantly in black, donned in a no doubt expensive low cut blouse and shapely jeans, thick designer boots. compared to david's gaudy tunic and well worn boots, he's very much precisely groomed, even with the few twigs poking out from his hair. no matter, this is about david.]
Hein? Je ne te crois pas.
[ the tilt of his head to the side before lestat's thoughts flicker through a few variations on outfits for david. loud, of course - he's not a subtle one, surprisingly honest for the parts he chooses to vocalise, with a mind prone to broadcasting around to any poor tired telepath in the area.
perhaps a nice patterned sweater, accessories, anything with texture. david seemed to be mostly lanky, lean muscle - but lestat could work with that. truly there was no excuse as to why david hadn't taken more care in his appearance before now?
baffled, lestat's expression turns a touch pained. not from the broken wrist he almost idly sets back into place with a very audible crunch, but something nearly pitiful whilst regarding the other man.]
If you were having clothing trouble, you need just ask. I would be very happy to assist in arranging a small wardrobe to pick from.
[ there's that haughty lift of his chin again, appraising david with a critical eye.]
It is a waste. You are wasting your beauty with such garish, boring clothes. Have some respect, cher.
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Date: 2026-03-31 05:23 pm (UTC)—I can choose my own clothes. I don't need to dress up. ( he doesn't mean it to sound as petulant as it might to lestat's ears, but it's the kind of defensive remark that's nearly impossible to sound anything else. he doesn't elaborate on what he means by 'choose', whether that's the typical going-to-a-store-and-selecting, or whether it's more in line with the way that his clothes had changed the first time, from this exact outfit to that of a caricature lion tamer.
but it's not the point. that's not why he's here.
he stands. looming isn't something david does naturally, and it's not something he does now. instead, his body language is caught in an odd refrain of both tense and cautious and casual, the slope of his shoulders implying a slow edge towards disinterest, while everything else about him suggests otherwise. walking in a slow circle to lestat's left, david reaches into a pocket and pulls out the lighter he'd taken from lestat's dressing room earlier.
there's a soft clink of metal, and in a pointed effort to move the conversation away from david's clothes— )
I said hi, to your band. They're nice. ( it's clear that david would say that regardless of how they were. ) Open, actually, which I like. But whose is this? I know it's not yours.
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Date: 2026-03-31 05:42 pm (UTC)but david's slow, rounded advance makes the vampire's nerves prickle in warning. instinctual, that pace bringing wolves to mind. maybe it was just the setting, the taste of blood on his lip. lestat licks at it, sucks his lower lip in to dig his teeth into. good timing - the sight of the lighter - adam's lighter - immediately raises his hackles, just as david likely knew it would.]
It is a lighter. There are so many around, likely left by the band members - [ an attempt at nonchalance, a shrug of his broad shoulders.] - who could say?
There are so many in and out of my spaces. Not everything may belong to me. [ tension in his clenching jaw though, claws flicking against the heel of his hand and drawing blood.
adam is a sore spot, just a young mortal man recovering from his own traumas. unfortunate enough to tangle with lestat and inadvertently be sighted by powers much bigger than himself. it's definitely his lighter - lestat can smell it on the warmed metal, below the flint and steel. ]
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Date: 2026-03-31 06:05 pm (UTC)but he's not petty! he's not like lestat. he's better than that.
he hums, then, a low noise of loose consideration, and his gaze darts between lestat and the lighter in his hand, held between thumb and forefinger. he pretends not to have noticed anything of lestat's body language, not the tensing of his jaw, not the way his too-bright, too-sharp nails dig and release, dig and release against his skin. eyebrows arched in feigned obliviousness, david settles on, finally— )
Good! ( it's bright and delighted. ) Then no-one's going to miss it. ( and by way of almost immediate explanation, as if lestat's asked, david remarks— ) I have a friend. She'll be pissed that I've gone on a trip without talking to her first, so... Souvenier.
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Date: 2026-03-31 06:31 pm (UTC)sure, lestat could just let david keep the lighter, but then there's whatever traces he could pick up from the lighter - or rather, what traces he could spurn from lestat's mind upon taunting him with it. then he'd continue to hold adam over him in some sort of returning gambit, and that was a game less fun when it was turned around on lestat.
slowly, the vampire's muscles begin to coil. pale eyes tracking the lazy prowl of the other man as he speaks, now irritatingly animated, chipper. always sardonic it seemed, from what little glimpses of a positive mood he had seen, but more so now with the rising tension between the two of them.
the atmosphere itself begins to feel weighted, air growing still around them in the forest. if david's vision in the low light is sharp enough, he may be able to note the swelling of lestat's pupils. certainly a force exuded, crackling with potential. it's the mind gift - the vampire churlishly forcing time to slow around david in an attempt to guarantee his success in the next moment.
a flash of remarkable speed, with that sudden squeeze of time around the other man - lestat will attempt to topple david over and snatch the lighter from his hand. no intention to wound, just maybe pin to the damp forest floor if he can.
dangerous, certainly. but lestat isn't really concerned about damage to his own person, only to what leaving such a possession in david's hold could mean for adam.]
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Date: 2026-03-31 06:46 pm (UTC)sure, he can tell lestat's pissed, that's the point. he doesn't need telepathy for that. it's there in the air between them, although david doesn't miss the way it changes beyond that. for a moment, he falters. his eyes widen (slowly), and the furrow of his brows is a sharp question. uncertainty. fear? maybe, in a certain light.
it gives way to shock and pain, the two doing battle with one another as he's shoved to the ground. david may be many things, but unnaturally strong is not one of them, and the suddenness of impact forces his breath from his lungs, a dull cough-wheeze as the pain of it registers. confusion, too, even as he reacts by instinct — not, it's worth noting, to respond in kind, to shove lestat away, not like how he'd quote-unquote greeted lestat minutes before, but to teleport away instead. a handful of feet at most, doubled over on all fours, hands and knees pressed into the cold, damp forest floor.
heavy breaths, in and out for a count of one, two, then three and four before he lifts his gaze, allowing it settle accusatorily on lestat. )
Ow.
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Date: 2026-03-31 07:03 pm (UTC)it's a measure of lestat's own restraint that he doesn't immediately pounce on david. though every instinct he has is screaming to follow through, to pin the other man to the floor and see if he'll squirm away once more. he has the lighter, that should be enough. the weight of it in his pocket already makes him feel a bit better.]
Apologies. It seems as if I did have use for this lighter.
[ a mocking tilt of his head, a playful little pout as he regards david's dishevelled appearance. much better. that delightful thrill up his spine was back. ]
My, you do look quite the picture on your knees. Was that too rough for you? Harder, or softer next time?
[ now he's just being a dick. cocky too, relaxing his posture and running a hand through golden locks to smooth it out, remove debris. knowingly inviting more violence, but without the threat to adam, he was not concerned.]
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Date: 2026-03-31 07:25 pm (UTC)he can track the tilt of lestat's head, it's not too dark for that, not even with the way the shadows are growing deeper and longer around them, not even with the way the light grows more inky. the glint of light against the blood still on lestat's chin helps, even if it's annoying, too. his mouth twitches. not a smile this time, and then he's gone.
and then he's behind lestat, crouched over, breath warm against lestat's ear. )
I was being nice by not finding out who they are. ( a low whisper. ) Even if you can shield your thoughts, bury the little pops of recollection down deep, do you think anyone else around you will be able to do that? Your guitarist, your bassist, the woman that keeps your diary, writes down your schedule and reminds your of where you should be and who you should be meeting.
( abruptly, he stands and steps back, the weight of one footstep then the other eliciting a crack; his tone changes, slides into something more conversational, louder, like it's more than just the two of them there. )
—It's dickish, right? To try and use someone important to you like that? Like they're a toy. Leverage. Like they don't matter.
( his gaze slides sideways, expectant, like he expects an answer. (agreement.) )
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From:lmao david killing the vibe soz lestat
From:make him work for it david he loves it
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