[ Lestat laughs, but there's a note of wrongness to it. Not horror, or regret, or forced mirth, but rather a sort of wistfulness. ]
His head in his hands, fingers over the eyes. Like a kind of warning - 'don't look to us, Interlopers'.
[ He returns to the sledge and retrieves a hatchet from where it had been hidden beneath the body, then bounces it in his hands, turning it over reflectively. ]
I used to do this with our daughter. Not this- [ he flicks a hand out, sideways, slicing the air dismissively ] -unpleasant butchery. But we'd devise...ironies, I suppose you could call them. Fitting ends for deserving prey.
But she lost her taste for playing such games with me. I haven't...
[ He trails off, seemingly mesmerized by whatever it is he sees reflected in the axehead - and then he stirs, shaking it off conspicuously, and twists to offer her an apologetic grin. ]
Listen to me, waxing nostalgic. I only mean to say I appreciate your artistic contributions.
cw: corpse, body mutilation
His head in his hands, fingers over the eyes. Like a kind of warning - 'don't look to us, Interlopers'.
[ He returns to the sledge and retrieves a hatchet from where it had been hidden beneath the body, then bounces it in his hands, turning it over reflectively. ]
I used to do this with our daughter. Not this- [ he flicks a hand out, sideways, slicing the air dismissively ] -unpleasant butchery. But we'd devise...ironies, I suppose you could call them. Fitting ends for deserving prey.
But she lost her taste for playing such games with me. I haven't...
[ He trails off, seemingly mesmerized by whatever it is he sees reflected in the axehead - and then he stirs, shaking it off conspicuously, and twists to offer her an apologetic grin. ]
Listen to me, waxing nostalgic. I only mean to say I appreciate your artistic contributions.