[ Armand emerges and Lestat feels his chest collapse inward with a breath that isn't there. He looks so unlike himself; so far from the dark fabrics of the theatre and miles away from the rags of the crypt, even more foreign compared to his more recent favour for denim and cotton. He looks as though he might have stepped out into the ballroom of one of the grand parties Lestat would drag Louis to attend with him, a young man of wealth and beauty and power, his eyes alighting only upon those who took his fancy and oh, how Lestat would have burned the whole room to cinders to get attention from him looking like this.
Would he have been greeted by this sight every evening had he allowed Armand to accompany him and Gabrielle? Was there another universe somewhere where such a thing was real, where he and Armand hadn't parted...? His mind makes it very clear how badly it yearns to careen out of control, and feeling a strange mixture of trepidation and horror at the fantasies, Lestat has to physically grip hold of something to anchor himself back into the present. Said thing just so happens to be Armand's shoulders. He feels so broad like this, so regal. Lestat feels his heart flip. It's all he can do to allow himself to lean down and forward, and kiss Armand's sweet mouth; just once, just a few seconds of pressure and then gone, and even Lestat isn't sure why he did it other than an unknowable instinct in his soul telling him to. Out of love, of course, but appraising too. Maybe even an apology. ]
Louis is right. [ He says, voice a little far away, eyes fixed on Armand like they were crafted to do it and seemingly unable to do anything else at this moment. ] I could never hope to imagine such a sight as perfect as this one.
[ He holds his shoulders a little longer, then seems to remember something and tucks his fingers into the pocket of the jacket he'd been wearing before he changed. He produces from it a sleek black ribbon, the one he often ties his own hair back with, and reaches around to sweep Armand's curls up into a perfect little low ponytail. He finishes the bow, then nods his approval. ]
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Would he have been greeted by this sight every evening had he allowed Armand to accompany him and Gabrielle? Was there another universe somewhere where such a thing was real, where he and Armand hadn't parted...? His mind makes it very clear how badly it yearns to careen out of control, and feeling a strange mixture of trepidation and horror at the fantasies, Lestat has to physically grip hold of something to anchor himself back into the present. Said thing just so happens to be Armand's shoulders. He feels so broad like this, so regal. Lestat feels his heart flip. It's all he can do to allow himself to lean down and forward, and kiss Armand's sweet mouth; just once, just a few seconds of pressure and then gone, and even Lestat isn't sure why he did it other than an unknowable instinct in his soul telling him to. Out of love, of course, but appraising too. Maybe even an apology. ]
Louis is right. [ He says, voice a little far away, eyes fixed on Armand like they were crafted to do it and seemingly unable to do anything else at this moment. ] I could never hope to imagine such a sight as perfect as this one.
[ He holds his shoulders a little longer, then seems to remember something and tucks his fingers into the pocket of the jacket he'd been wearing before he changed. He produces from it a sleek black ribbon, the one he often ties his own hair back with, and reaches around to sweep Armand's curls up into a perfect little low ponytail. He finishes the bow, then nods his approval. ]
Now it's perfect.