Vampire to vampire (Eric)
Lestat arched an eyebrow at the young woman behind the bar. She told him the the proprietor of this club was currently busy, and he would have to return.
Fangtasia--a name which gave Lestat paroxysms of annoyance--was not yet open. The girl at the bar had let Lestat in because he'd been quite persuasive with her, and quite flirtatious. He'd also used the Mind Gift on her and told her exactly what she wanted to hear in order to be allowed in.
"Well. I'll wait, then. Perhaps you could ask after him?" He arched an eyebrow, looking from the woman's face to the decor of the place.
Lestat preferred the vampire bars of his world, even if they contained threats against him almost across the board. Dracula's Daughter was just so much classier than this.
The girl looked skeptical, and said something about she'd see what she could do, before vanishing off behind doors that said STAFF ONLY. She left him a bottle that said Tru-Blood on it, and, with a melodic, seriously amused laugh, Lestat inspected the bottle.
Synthetic. Blood.
"This is horrifying," he said. He sat slightly straighter on the stool, boots resting on the rungs of it, legs covered in jeans tucked up. His hair was pulled back with a black elastic band, and he wasn't dressed in a showy way. Not today. He wore a button-down black shirt, and a worn leather jacket on top of it.
He toyed with the idea of throwing the bottle to destroy it, but realized that would simply make a mess. The existence of the beverage irritated him--as did the idea that this man was flaunting his vampirism for all to see. There were rules. There were rules so they could continue existing without things like villagers and pitchforks.
And only he got to break those rules. Didn't everyone know that?