Lestat de Lioncourt (i_liveforever) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2011-01-02 10:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | death of the endless, in arkham, lestat de lioncourt |
in check (narrative/open)
On the top possible floor of Arkham Asylum, Lestat de Lioncourt sat in a ball on the bare floor, several doors between him and the hallway.
The vampire resented this. He resented being put here. He felt punished.
Very punished. And he had the nagging thought, again... of what might happen if irresponsible people got a piece of his hair, a shred of his skin. He remembered giving Spike a hard time for being caught by that Initiative operation, and locked up. How irresponsible that had been. And now here he was.
Lestat didn't remember arriving here. He credited the City with amazing innovation, to sneak up on him. There was a gap in his memory that didn't make sense to him, and then he was here. There were chains attached to the wall, chains he recognized, but it didn't seem possible... these were the chains made from Maharet's hair, long and red and thick, braids of amazing strength. He might be able to break metal, but he couldn't break Maharet. And his wrists were in the chains, and he didn't know how in the name of anything THAT had come to pass.
They bled him.
They cut his wrists. The wounds closed almost instantly and he'd laughed. They did it until he'd lost a fair amount of blood. Weak, now, an orderly came in, keeping great distance, a cup on the end of a long pole presented with a straw in it. Blood.
Lestat's eyebrow had risen. He wasn't so weak and stupid he wouldn't read the orderly's mind, and the City couldn't find enough people capable of locking their minds down from him to hide everything it should've been hiding.
Dead blood. Taken from a corpse being embalmed for burial outside of the asylum.
Lestat laughed, then. Loudly, hysterically. "Get out," he'd commanded, as commanding as he could be in his current state. "I don't drink from the dead."
He'd stopped laughing and glared, and smiled at the kid. The orderly left.
Lestat listened carefully to the amount of door clicks as the footsteps faded.
He was very far from anything but these chains.