lestat de lioncourt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flanerie) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2023-12-18 05:42 pm
flanerie) wrote in singillatim2023-12-18 05:42 pm
(no subject)
Who: Lestat de Lioncourt and open
What: Exploring town, exploring caves
When: December
Where: Milton, Misty Falls Cave
Content Warnings: Vampirism and associated blood thirst, animal hunting and consumption, claustrophobia, caving
misty falls cave
Unlike many of the explorers seeking the cave, Lestat did not receive directions from the old man of the forest. His guide to the falls came in the form of others’ boot prints trekking to and from the falls, a sight which couldn’t fail to incite his curiosity.
The trail brings him to the falls some hours after sunset. He had his trap-line to attend to first, where he took his small dinner from a gamey rabbit that now hangs dressed and butchered in his growing larder. Hunger blunted, if not sated, he can admire the tumult of icy water as it deserves to be admired.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He calls over his shoulder as soon as he picks up the sound of newly approaching footsteps, perhaps sooner than whoever comes might expect. “A chandelier hung by winter itself.”
He turns gracefully even in his heavy winter layers, smiling at the newcomer as if they are already in accord. Warm acquaintances at the least, if not yet friends, on the cusp of embarking into a thrilling secret together.
“What do you think is inside?”
vampire about town
The evening Lestat walks into the grubby little town is unremarkable except for the fact of his arrival, a fact which perversely delights him. There have been no letters sent ahead, no lodgings arranged, no quantities of money moved by the firms of quiet professionals who attend to such things on his behalf. There’s only Lestat in secondhand winter layers, gliding between the huddled houses to the center of the community.
He’s always a little excited by novelty. It’s a quality one must cultivate to survive the interminable span of immortality, and it’s one of many such qualities he possesses in surplus of necessity.
So his anonymity has its charm, as fleeting as it will be. His mark will be made soon enough, beginning with crossing the threshold of the town’s gathering place.
Once inside, he takes in his surroundings with evident approval before he crosses to a table near the fireplace. He undoes the bundled canvas strapped to his back and lays it down, unfolding it to reveal the choicest cuts of venison he’d been able to harvest from last night’s hunt. Its blood is only a pleasant memory, but sufficient to keep him clear-headed and convivial.
He turns to the nearest party who happens to catch his attention with a modest smile, plucking his gloves from his hands a finger at a time.
“Good evening,” he says, warmly, “I thought this might make a decent supper. You wouldn’t happen to be a cook?”
What: Exploring town, exploring caves
When: December
Where: Milton, Misty Falls Cave
Content Warnings: Vampirism and associated blood thirst, animal hunting and consumption, claustrophobia, caving
misty falls cave
Unlike many of the explorers seeking the cave, Lestat did not receive directions from the old man of the forest. His guide to the falls came in the form of others’ boot prints trekking to and from the falls, a sight which couldn’t fail to incite his curiosity.
The trail brings him to the falls some hours after sunset. He had his trap-line to attend to first, where he took his small dinner from a gamey rabbit that now hangs dressed and butchered in his growing larder. Hunger blunted, if not sated, he can admire the tumult of icy water as it deserves to be admired.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He calls over his shoulder as soon as he picks up the sound of newly approaching footsteps, perhaps sooner than whoever comes might expect. “A chandelier hung by winter itself.”
He turns gracefully even in his heavy winter layers, smiling at the newcomer as if they are already in accord. Warm acquaintances at the least, if not yet friends, on the cusp of embarking into a thrilling secret together.
“What do you think is inside?”
vampire about town
The evening Lestat walks into the grubby little town is unremarkable except for the fact of his arrival, a fact which perversely delights him. There have been no letters sent ahead, no lodgings arranged, no quantities of money moved by the firms of quiet professionals who attend to such things on his behalf. There’s only Lestat in secondhand winter layers, gliding between the huddled houses to the center of the community.
He’s always a little excited by novelty. It’s a quality one must cultivate to survive the interminable span of immortality, and it’s one of many such qualities he possesses in surplus of necessity.
So his anonymity has its charm, as fleeting as it will be. His mark will be made soon enough, beginning with crossing the threshold of the town’s gathering place.
Once inside, he takes in his surroundings with evident approval before he crosses to a table near the fireplace. He undoes the bundled canvas strapped to his back and lays it down, unfolding it to reveal the choicest cuts of venison he’d been able to harvest from last night’s hunt. Its blood is only a pleasant memory, but sufficient to keep him clear-headed and convivial.
He turns to the nearest party who happens to catch his attention with a modest smile, plucking his gloves from his hands a finger at a time.
“Good evening,” he says, warmly, “I thought this might make a decent supper. You wouldn’t happen to be a cook?”
no subject
Like he's oblivious to the small things like vocabulary and unearned confidence that what belongs to this man will stay as this man's.
"I've been here... since October? And it's supposed to be December. I've been trying to count the days to keep an actual calendar around, for everyone's sake, so we're not wasting time wonder what day it is or supposed to be," he explains. Patiently. Politely. He shakes his head. "Trying is the keyword. You're new here? I'm Tim, by the way."
Just, y'know, an afterthought.
no subject
"Lestat de Lioncourt, sadly unfamiliar with the title," he says, with a gracious incline of his head. He decides to leave his introduction at that, imitating Tim's style. The young man already clearly thinks him out of touch and, perhaps, a tad pitiable, in the way one's elders always seem pitiable to those in the blush of youth.
He can understand that. He feels much the same about his own ancients, at times.
"I've been here for a month, although I haven't tracked the time as assiduously as you have," he admits, lightly, "I've been keeping to the forest, but I thought it was time for a change now that I have the lay of the land - and this forest is certainly more dangerous than any I've hunted before."