Lestat wouldn't disagree. He'd thought of existence, when a younger vampire, as a garden. He'd been quite flowery with words, then. And now and then he knew he got carried away describing things like table legs or Tarquinn Blackwood's face.
It leaves one in a constant state of wonder.
The vampire started laughing, and it was a low, short chuckle. Then as Hannibal continued, the laughter grew. It was clear and almost ringing.
He drew a hand to his mouth to cover the laughter, to not be rude. The leather of his finely cut jacket creaked. His violet eyes twinkled without any mercy. The laughter was at Hannibal's expense.
When he'd regained his composure, Lestat smirked at the boy.
"You do realize you describe this city as I've described all cities in the world, specifically New Orleans? What you just said is why I'm too in love with myself and other people to ever allow myself to die."
The smirk grew into a smile. Are you really so similar? A constant state of wonder. I used to disgust others of my kind by falling in love with people in Wal-Mart. And then falling in love with various things inside Wal-Mart.
He suspected it wasn't quite the same. Lestat had only ever had the impulse to destroy anything around Armand, and the bastard always had it coming. His violence, his "folly," as David would say, always had to do with getting attention, and with causing trouble.