"I have no intention of either of us exchanging last words," Lestat says, so briskly and certainly it comes out as a bright snap like shattering rock candy.
He knows Louis well enough that his lack of insight into his mind is no obstacle to knowing exactly who he must be thinking of. Death and Claudia, the twins that haunt their every exchange.
His fickle good humour has evaporated. He looks more like a schoolboy being shuffled off for discipline than devilry, and it's no more suitable an expression for this grim occasion than what it replaced. Inside the priest's empty office, Lestat strides ahead of Louis quickly, unslinging his rifle and setting it on the desk harder than is called for. The rattle of metal on wood fills up the cold air.
Lestat strokes his hair back with both hands as he composes himself, closing his eyes briefly before he turns around, bringing a smile back to his lips.
"Funerals," he says, lightly, "Such morbid occasions."
cw: death
He knows Louis well enough that his lack of insight into his mind is no obstacle to knowing exactly who he must be thinking of. Death and Claudia, the twins that haunt their every exchange.
His fickle good humour has evaporated. He looks more like a schoolboy being shuffled off for discipline than devilry, and it's no more suitable an expression for this grim occasion than what it replaced. Inside the priest's empty office, Lestat strides ahead of Louis quickly, unslinging his rifle and setting it on the desk harder than is called for. The rattle of metal on wood fills up the cold air.
Lestat strokes his hair back with both hands as he composes himself, closing his eyes briefly before he turns around, bringing a smile back to his lips.
"Funerals," he says, lightly, "Such morbid occasions."