"The king of kings?" Lestat returns, catching only the fleeting impression of Rorschach's thought, more feeling than words themselves. He laughs lightly, shaking his head, the mane of his golden hair flashing under the moonlight.

"You assign me grand compatriots," he teases, knowing that Rorschach refers to some man of the same name, not the man himself - unless he's quite mistaken about Rorschach's age, of course. "Traitors and fallen kings. I would make a good court hanger on, don't you think? Fetch me a cap with bells, and, well - "

He looks at Rorschach sidelong, tipping his head, and admires the flow of shadows across the sunken topography of the other man's obscured face.

"But I think I prefer your company," he adds, after a moment. "And what better throne than this? The very perch of the angels of justice."