InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "This cake is angry!"

Lestat de Lioncourt (i_liveforever) wrote in we_coexist,
@ 2012-03-21 19:40:00

Entry tags:

eric northman, lestat de lioncourt, stand still

oh, now you're just taking things too far. (eric)
Lestat did not need as much rest as younger vampires of his kind did; in fact, he'd mostly gotten away from the Hells Bells of his youth, from the sound of dawn approaching feeling like a death knell.

But sleep he did, shortly after the sun came up, and he'd wake just before sunset. Fully fed and strong, he could withstand the sun--and had, in the dessert. The sun still put him to sleep, though, whether he wanted it to or not. There was only so hard he could fight it.

When he awoke this evening, in his beautifully appointed apartment made to look just like his home in New Orleans, something caught his eye. He was reaching into the wardrobe for a jacket and shirt to wear, something eye-catching.

That was when he saw it.

The heart on the mirror. A lipstick-drawn heart. And a square in the middle, a picture.

Holding his chosen garments, Lestat crossed the room in the blink of an eye, grabbing the picture up.

Eric. Eric in the park. During the day.

Lestat growled. It was a low, angry, predatory growl.

The clothes were donned in a flash. And he was out the door in a blur. Eric was out during the day? Eric, whose particular brand of vampire was so vulnerable to the sun?

Once he was on the street, he pursued Eric with a single-mindedness that rivaled actual obsession.

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i_liveforever
2012-04-17 05:15 am UTC (link)

Lestat barely heard the vampire.

There was only blood, and it was interesting blood, rich blood. Vampire blood was always so different, and carried with it so many more images, such a flood of memories, that it was almost more intoxicating than drinking in a fragile mortal life.

He swallowed a rush of memories similar to his own mortal life-- a revered Viking son bedding many women, just like the son of the Marquis and the local girls. Feasts and battles, a language Lestat seemed to innately understand, though he did not know it. And then there was the blood, and the club, and arriving here. There was... a mortal girl, one he hadn't met personally, not yet, but recognized. He'd seen her around, at least at the masquerade. And that obnoxious Winchester, fighting. He almost smiled at that.

I think you should let go now.

Lestat barely heard him over the roar of the blood. It was like a distant call. He smiled very slightly, letting go of Eric's arm, licking at his lower lip, a the remnants of the blood. There was a look on his face that was somewhere between bliss and amusement. He knew it might be similar for Eric, but the blood was everything to his kind.

With slowness that was not deliberate, simply lethargic out of satisfaction, Lestat drew himself up, eyebrow arched. He rolled up his right sleeve and held his arm out to Eric.

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