[ Lestat can't help but think back to the amount of times under the thumb of the blood that he's been able to do things simply because he wanted to - read and write, scale buildings, read minds, more recently fly - but the most poignant of them all right now is, of course, the violin. It had come to him in that shrine simply from watching Nicki play, from watching his hands fly over the strings and the way he held his body taut against the instrument as though he were willing the sounds from it with his heart alone.

Lestat pushes his head toward Louis', his forehead nuzzling his temple slightly, eking out the comfort it brings without really knowing why he's craving it so. ]

I'll stretch out my thin patience as far as it will go for you, mon coeur, though I'm sure you won't test it.

[ Playfully, he slides himself a little closer to Louis and then lifts his arms around him into a position like he's playing the guitar against his chest; one hand taking the one that isn't toying with his knee (because Lestat would never force Louis' hand away from touching him) and holding it in his like he's holding the neck of the instrument, while Lestat's painted fingernails mime strumming across Louis' stomach where the mouth of the guitar would sit. ]

You're studious and frustratingly precise. [ He says, tucking his chin over his shoulder as he continues his little charade. ] Both are things you need to play music, if you didn't have my blood in you, of course. I'm sure if you put your mind to it now, you could play a song back to me. Perhaps I could teach you one of mine. There's a few I never got the chance to release.