Maybe indeed, in a time when I could have been nothing more than the son of a Marquis who went out hunting every few days in the snow, just to put food on the table, with lofty dreams of being an actor in the Big City.

[ It's oddly specific, he knows, but he doesn't care too much; if Hob picks up on his truth, so be it. He likes this guy, which is probably all the explanation that's needed for why he's standing so close and being so handsy. Lestat's just also kind of Like This, honestly. He gives him a grin, and then a surveying upwards tilt of his head. ]

And what about you, my friend? What's your story? Spin me a little tale.