Golden Moment
Sep. 16th, 2015 12:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
divineviolinistWhat made him realize that he wasn't gone any longer was Lestat's voice and how perfectly fitting, how perfectly infuriating?
Nicolas was burnt, he had burned. But his ashes had never been scattered and sometimes all it took for their kind to heal was time and all it took for him to wake was Lestat. He didn't rise right away. It took days, weeks, and he was weak. All he could think of was the hunger. It wasn't until after he had drained his third victim that he started to stare at his hands. They were there, they were whole. Not broken as his father threatened. Not cut off as Armand had done.
They had been returned to him before the pyre. Then the pyre and then nothing. Where was Armand now? Where was anyone in his Theatre de Vampires? There were no answers to be found and he was fine with being alone. He was growing stronger now and even in his ashen sleep, his senses had grown more powerful. He heard the great city above him, he learned of changes. He heard of Lestat.
One night he bought the books. He read them cover to cover without pause, with the speed of his kind. Interview he threw into the Seine, where it could drown like Louis drowned in self-pity, and The Vampire Lestat he weighed in his hands, he read the same pages again and again and then he tore it into tiny pieces and that seemed equally fitting.
He was dead to Lestat, but Lestat was alive everywhere. The world buzzed with his name, attention and adoration was him certain everywhere, but what else was new? The first time he saw the videos, Nicolas could only stare when the actress who portrayed the Queen of the Damned stomped down on the model of the violin that had been his. His family was long gone, his mortal friends all perished, but it was the violin he mourned.
To escape Lestat, he bought a walkman and then he started his journey. He flew to America and he wasn't even certain why. Once there he started driving, usually taking the cars or motorcycles from his victims, and he only stopped to feed and to change tapes and batteries on his walkman.
He always wore gloves now, because the sight of his hands disturbed him. His skin was still bronzed from being burnt, but that only made blending in easier when he stayed at one of the road stops with their fluorescent neon tubes. No one ever took much notice until he took their blood.
Kill only the evildoer, that was the rule Lestat so clung to. Nicolas believed in good and evil even less than he ever had before. But still Lestat was on his mind. When would he ever not be? Like poison that just wouldn't kill.
When he saw Lestat it was in one of the American cities that seemed so interchangeable with all the rest. It was Lestat all right, with his flashy clothes and flamboyant demeanour, pulling along his mortal band mates into the hotel.
Nicolas was far from flashy, wearing the worn black leather jacket he had gotten from one of his first victims and simple dark jeans. He leaned in the corner and he almost ran. But then it felt as if his eyes met Lestat's and he couldn't bring himself to move.
Nicolas was burnt, he had burned. But his ashes had never been scattered and sometimes all it took for their kind to heal was time and all it took for him to wake was Lestat. He didn't rise right away. It took days, weeks, and he was weak. All he could think of was the hunger. It wasn't until after he had drained his third victim that he started to stare at his hands. They were there, they were whole. Not broken as his father threatened. Not cut off as Armand had done.
They had been returned to him before the pyre. Then the pyre and then nothing. Where was Armand now? Where was anyone in his Theatre de Vampires? There were no answers to be found and he was fine with being alone. He was growing stronger now and even in his ashen sleep, his senses had grown more powerful. He heard the great city above him, he learned of changes. He heard of Lestat.
One night he bought the books. He read them cover to cover without pause, with the speed of his kind. Interview he threw into the Seine, where it could drown like Louis drowned in self-pity, and The Vampire Lestat he weighed in his hands, he read the same pages again and again and then he tore it into tiny pieces and that seemed equally fitting.
He was dead to Lestat, but Lestat was alive everywhere. The world buzzed with his name, attention and adoration was him certain everywhere, but what else was new? The first time he saw the videos, Nicolas could only stare when the actress who portrayed the Queen of the Damned stomped down on the model of the violin that had been his. His family was long gone, his mortal friends all perished, but it was the violin he mourned.
To escape Lestat, he bought a walkman and then he started his journey. He flew to America and he wasn't even certain why. Once there he started driving, usually taking the cars or motorcycles from his victims, and he only stopped to feed and to change tapes and batteries on his walkman.
He always wore gloves now, because the sight of his hands disturbed him. His skin was still bronzed from being burnt, but that only made blending in easier when he stayed at one of the road stops with their fluorescent neon tubes. No one ever took much notice until he took their blood.
Kill only the evildoer, that was the rule Lestat so clung to. Nicolas believed in good and evil even less than he ever had before. But still Lestat was on his mind. When would he ever not be? Like poison that just wouldn't kill.
When he saw Lestat it was in one of the American cities that seemed so interchangeable with all the rest. It was Lestat all right, with his flashy clothes and flamboyant demeanour, pulling along his mortal band mates into the hotel.
Nicolas was far from flashy, wearing the worn black leather jacket he had gotten from one of his first victims and simple dark jeans. He leaned in the corner and he almost ran. But then it felt as if his eyes met Lestat's and he couldn't bring himself to move.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-21 05:22 pm (UTC)"Why?" Three simple letters but a world of questions inside of it. He kept his hands firmly in place. No longer in a means of seduction, but as a means to keep him. Fearful Nicki might run otherwise, and with reason he doesn't yet understand.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-21 05:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-09-21 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-09-21 05:56 pm (UTC)But for now he could kiss him, so he did.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-21 06:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-09-22 11:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-09-22 05:31 pm (UTC)"Take it, I want you to take it, even if you dont. Pawn it if you wish just take it with you." He spoke running a hand through the others hair.