Almost any other night of his existence, Lestat would have leapt at the invitation. He nearly leaps at it now, and is irritated to find himself teetering on the precipice. Even if Lalo isn't being as suggestive as he sounds, Lestat is certain he could tempt him otherwise, or at least make an evening of it in other pursuits - but a foreign qualm tugs at his sleeve, restraining the impulse.
He frowns for a passing moment, caught up in this minor internal struggle, and gives his head another dislodging shake.
Why shouldn't he? He's in control of himself. He can do what he likes, stopping short of any so-called impropriety at any time he pleases. Let idle gossips (what gossips, out on this frozen, eerie night, he doesn't stop to think of) say what they will.
"How could I refuse such a gracious invitation?" He asks, some semblance of sanity reentering his voice. "This is no night to be wandering the streets."
He composes himself into something less fey, civilization finding its way into the set of his shoulders, and he makes to follow Lalo wherever he might lead.
no subject
He frowns for a passing moment, caught up in this minor internal struggle, and gives his head another dislodging shake.
Why shouldn't he? He's in control of himself. He can do what he likes, stopping short of any so-called impropriety at any time he pleases. Let idle gossips (what gossips, out on this frozen, eerie night, he doesn't stop to think of) say what they will.
"How could I refuse such a gracious invitation?" He asks, some semblance of sanity reentering his voice. "This is no night to be wandering the streets."
He composes himself into something less fey, civilization finding its way into the set of his shoulders, and he makes to follow Lalo wherever he might lead.