re: moving to dw

[aureate]

You know I will miss Nuala and Edward if they cannot bring themselves to follow. Meta the hell of out them, babydoll, bring me my greatest loves! God's teeth, Quinn would be the sweetest of gifts to me here even if that little hellion Mona dragged on his heels. Take Claudia to me! Take Marius and throw him toward these open arms, he'll be weeping within the week if I disappear for too long, no matter the scathing sweetness his red devil whispers by way of comfort. You know how they are, ma chérie, we'll have to rock on either way.

So!

New coat, crushed velvet in cobalt, silver embroidery of arabesques all down the front in the old-style. You'll give it to me, won't you? You know it. Chantilly soaked into my new silk shirts over here in memory of Aunt Queen, the old darling was a rave of inspiration for us all. Bring me home to myself if nowhere else, sweetheart, do it as fast as possible or I couldn't bear the most minor of accented differences.

I want Louis, he must be here. He must be with me.

You're ripping apart a family and it isn't endearing in the slightest, watch out for your own personal Goblin. I'd call it your conscience.

Comments

[aureate]

I'd prefer to call you Deacon, if you don't mind. [ He does with everyone else, this won't be any different in that regard - even if he did, there's no stopping Lestat from doing whatever he wants, an air of absolute certainty to every impulsive comment, somehow. ] An old man's liberty.

[ It seems a waste not to and entirely pointless dancing around the fact that I know it. That? Is most certainly some telepathy going on. You may call me Lestat. And that isn't a suggestion. ]

I didn't, how annoying. Perhaps I will and perhaps I won't, we'll find out in the coming weeks whether I'll be weighing in on the territory of others like myself and gouging out the heart to see what all the fuss is about. Can you tell me about the city, Deacon? I'd be delighted to listen to you.

[fuckin_thirsty]

[ Obviously Deacon responds to telepathic showing off with maturity, which is to say, a flash of fang in a grimace. ]

Do I look like a fuckin' travel agent to you? It's kidnap city, and you either figure it out or you don't.

[aureate]

[ One day, Lestat will introduce Deacon to Mona and little vampire hearts will pop between their heads. ]

I bet I will, but I'd rather know who the big noise is from someone whose opinion actually factors into the equation.

[fuckin_thirsty]

[ That's a little horrifying. ]

Really? That's flattering. [ HE SOUNDS SO FL-- no he doesn't. ] But speaking of opinions that matter, yours won't. Not when it comes to whether or not you'll be there.

[aureate]

You have a less than endearing habit of pointing out the obvious, it's almost amusing. The regularity with which you insist upon it. I do realise that until I arrive there, quite a lot lays outside my influence, make no mistake.

[ It boggles the mind, really, why anyone would sass what's essentially a marble statue with glass for nails, but then Lestat won't relate if his pride is in the way; he speaks to Marius the exact same tone, in his own fashion. ]

But should I find myself in the midst of you and yours, I plan on making myself entirely comfortable. [ Time to shift the topic! Ptchooo. ] How long have you been a Blood Drinker, Deacon?

[fuckin_thirsty]

[ And then he rolls his eyes. Sassing his superiors is a compulsion. ]

Forty-two years. The fifties was a great decade. Is this where you lament about my youth?

[aureate]

Not at all, I've lamented the youth of far more sharp-toothed children than yourself and, frankly, a couple of my own would grind down even your fangs. No, I don't care about that. You're incredibly defensive over a little curiosity and here I am granting every courtesy in not ransacking your mind. Not a dig, just a fact.

I went to ground for the fifties, but I was led to believe I didn't miss much.

[ Mildly dismissive, his gaze flickers away from Deacon as if in confirmation. ]

[fuckin_thirsty]

You're meant to become some rockstar, right? Or are one? Shame on you for dissing the fifties.

For what it's worth, you don't do it for me either, sweetness.

[aureate]

Was a rock-star, tired of it after a while. Shame on you for missing out.

[ Just another whim, something he's good at burning out on. His laugh is a wide one, genuinely pleased by the honesty. ]

Good to know.