little loss (open)
Lestat sat on his balcony, watching the City.
His eyes shone in the failing light, but his body was utterly still. He watched passersby in the early evening air, one eyebrow raised, a distant expression on his face.
He was growing tired of loss.
Lestat's time in the City was not short. He had, he knew, been here for six or seven years. He could not be fully certain; it wasn't as though he'd ticked off marks on his wall or anything like that.
But it was growing.
He looked to the people that he found interesting to keep him both entertained and on the wagon, so to speak. When those people could not be found, Lestat grew more and more upset with his circumstances.
He felt toyed with.
It occurred to him the previous evening that he had not seen his pseudo-grandson in a while. Logan. So he'd reached for him, looked for him.
And Logan was gone.
Well, then, Lestat reasoned, Veronica, his bright girlfriend, she should be very easy to find, very easy to hear over the din of minds in this place.
And Veronica was gone, too.
In a corner of his heart that was full of cobwebs and reserved for romantic notions, Lestat hoped that they'd ended up back in the same place again, together. But he could not know that was a true thing, and he'd lost two more people that he found worthwhile.
He did not like being at the mercy of this place.
And so, he felt feverishly among the minds of the people passing below for someone interesting.
A distraction. Someone to make him not care that he didn't seem to have a way out, while so many others did.