citylogs | [open] a birthday celebration

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[open] a birthday celebration

WHO: lestat & all of you~
WHAT: lestat is hosting a party for a certain someone's birthday!
WHERE: a bistro in district 3
WHEN: october 4th
WARNINGS: N/A so far. will update as needed!

[ In the early morning hours of the 4th of October, a photograph of a handwritten notice goes up on the network. It’s in flowery but surprisingly legible script, as if he’s learnt to create letters purely by reading them and has jumbled together an amalgamation of different typefaces to make each letter he writes as interesting as possible. The details are as follows: ]

This is an invitation to any and all, to attend a soirée this evening, in celebration of my companion’s birthday.

I’ve attached a photograph of the location; a fashionable little bistro highly recommended to me by someone who clearly knows a thing or two about style. Festivities start at 6 o’clock this evening, though you are more than welcome to be fashionably late. We will go until sunrise. The dress code is: eye-catching.

There will be food, there will be wine, there will be merriment. Games, dancing, live music. Who amongst you could turn their nose up at a free bar and the chance to boogie? I know that technically this entire place is a free bar, what with the distinct lack of economy, but I’ve acquired the assistance of a bartender, just to tempt you…

And, failing all else, there’s the certainty of stunning conversation - and isn’t that something that we all can enjoy, even those of us who don’t groove with the party scene?

Be there, or be square.

xoxo

[ Some of you might remember him posting asking for help planning this little get together, and it’s going ahead with all of Lestat’s best intentions for a night to remember. Whether you know him or don’t (and haven’t been put off by his hip use of old slang he still thinks makes him sound cool) you’ll be welcomed to the festivities with open arms and a warm, sharp smile.

Come on down, don’t be shy. Have a little dance with the devil. ]

The Bar

[ Gleaming in hard wood painted a stunning chic black, the bar is the first thing to delight your eyes with upon entering the bistro. Bottles line the back wall, shining in the low amber lights, and so too the bottles lined up in front as your gracious bartender for the evening, Daan, sets up shop. Perhaps you have a drink in mind, or would like him to surprise you (with varying results), or maybe you’re here for the crowd gathered around and chatting amicably as they nurse their chosen poison.

Lestat himself has taken up prime position there, often with a rather steadfast arm around Louis, whose expression isn’t exactly dour but isn’t particularly placid, either. He gives off the very clear expression of someone who’s been tricked into coming here under false pretences. Probably because Lestat had been positively evasive of even mentioning the B word (birthday) all evening, even going as far as to ignore completely any mention of Louis discovering his plotting before tonight… though whether that be from embarrassment over failing to make his post private despite Armand’s very clear instructions, or simply down to his impish nature, isn’t clear.

What is clear, is that Lestat is having a lovely time in wonderful company, and is a veritable font of energy. He’s usually pretty upbeat, of course, but tonight there’s a particular vigour about him that is clearly different, though not in a strictly bad way. When he’s not hanging off Louis’ side or parading him around to introduce him to people he hasn't met yet, Lestat is leaning over the bar to watch Daan work, or perhaps butting into a nearby conversation or starting a fresh one up with someone looking a little too quiet. ]

The Stage & Dancefloor

[ Great care and attention has been made to stagger the assortment of tables in the room so that each one has a perfect view of the man-made stage and its attached square of space serving as a dance floor. It’s nothing more than a few flat platforms on which the players can stand along with a wall of lined up instruments and some speakers Lestat found at the music store in the mall, but it’s unmistakably the intended highlight of the evening's entertainment.

A dark blue electric guitar beside an acoustic one, a simple spruce violin, a small drum set, a standing keyboard and three microphones is his haul, and they are left available for anyone who'd like to jam. If Lestat sees you looking with the barest hint of interest, even if there is not a single musical bone in your body, if he will pull you over to try something out - what better way to learn than in a room full of people watching you? :)

Toward the middle of the evening, Lestat will take Louis' hands in his own and kiss them, and then kiss him, and leave to climb up onto the stage himself. He’s dressed in a burgundy corduroy jacket over a crisp black shirt; the collar undone to reveal a host of twisted chains at his throat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his wrists and fingers adorned with similar finery. Tight leather pants, and black boots with a red sole. His nails are painted black, and there’s a smudge of dark red around his eyes, which makes the pale silver-blue of them look almost eerie in the spotlight. (Well, he did say eye-catching was the dress code.)

He’ll take the microphone, lift the electric guitar into his arms and begins to play, and to sing. It’s a cover arrangement, of course, as anyone who enjoys 70s rock music will be able to tell.. but he sings it well, with a practised and enchanting stage presence that is hard to look away from; snaking hips, spectacular crowd work. No, it’s not his vampiric thrall (probably), it’s just that Lestat really was born to perform and he knows it.

He also picks out another song to play a little later on, assuring the crowd very loudly that they must keep this song's existence a complete secret and then "accidentally" name-dropping Steve Tyler as the guy he was jamming with when the song was created. ]

Party Games

[ Lestat has assigned a little space toward the back of the room and has littered the tables with a handful of silly party games, packages of cards, even a small set of plastic chips for gambling (though what exactly the ante will be is entirely up to you). It looks very much like he’s raided the toy aisle in a supermarket which… isn’t untrue, but he’s done so with at least a little care and attention for what kind of party he’d like this to be. There’s no board games, put it that way.

Who Am I?: Take a sticky-note and ask someone to write the name of a famous figure on it, and stick it on your back. You must walk around and ask the other patrons of the party yes/no questions in order to figure out who you are.
Treasure Hunt: Take a paper from the table; on it you'll find a series of descriptions such as "Someone who's favourite colour is blue" or "Someone who has siblings", "someone who's broken someone's heart" etc. Talk to party goers until you find a person who matches each prompt. You may only use one person once. The winner gets a prize!

Bulla has graciously offered to host a round or two of games for all in attendance; the assortment will be varied and both she and Lestat will be no doubt open to any suggestions of things to play. If you aren’t the type to get involved in such things, it’s quite unfortunate because oh, it looks like this one needs a partner and here is Lestat without one! ]

The Veranda

[The way outside through the large glass doors at the back of the bistro is lit in an almost storybook manner, with lights pinned from the doorway to the exterior fence in loose criss-crosses. The furniture has been moved to accommodate a large table running down the centre of the floor, full to bursting with plates of food. It seems the intention here is similar to a “pot-luck” - a concept that has Lestat gleeful as a child over the absurdity of such a thing - only as this place has no real necessity for cooking and as Lestat has no idea what kind of food typically is seen at parties, the guidance is simply to go into the kitchen and take advantage of its seemingly unending capabilities in order to emerge with a bowl, plate or tray of whatever you deem appropriate for a party such as this.

Obviously, this has resulted in the table being full of an incredibly disorganised array of treats in all shapes and colour - which naturally has attracted Lesat into staring at it all like a magpie, asking questions of every meal that people pick at, questioning the flavour and the method of preparation, all the while twisting a glass bottle of some thick scarlet substance around and around in his hands. ]

--
[ happy birthday louis!!! feel free to mingle, thread-hop, eavesdrop, do whatever you'd like. go wild. it's a party!

lestat is down for anything, so if you want to assume your character has made a playlist, brought a game along, has suggested a party game and is bullying people into playing it, or even if you want to assume that lestat saw you in the street nearby and whisked you in to the bistro against your will, please go for it. literally anything goes, i am SO easy and so is lestat. :) ]

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[Dorian grins at seeing how relieved Louis is to be out of the more crowded, noisy room. He takes a flask from his pocket and offers it.]

I've no idea if vampires drink spirits, but if you do, this might help you brace yourself before going back in.

( Louis stiffens, his heart speeding up at the word vampires. Once again he has that dreadful sensation of being at an informational disadvantage, and he desperately wishes that he and Lestat had actually talked about that night instead of avoiding it like something unspeakable had happened. )

Then you already know...

( Of course Louis hadn't been able to hide what he was while handcuffed in the death sleep, either, but he's still unsettled to be on this end of it. )

[A quick shift to a sympathetic expression.]

Nothing to worry about. [Though Dorian files away the fact that Lestat didn't tell Louis about that. Did he also not tell him Dorian is immortal? Meanwhile, Dorian doesn't just know Louis is a vampire--he knows he's had difficulty accepting what his new life means.] You'll get no judgment from me. To the contrary, I know what it is to be different.

I see. Then your discretion is much appreciated.

( thisisfine.jpg

The sympathetic response is... well, Louis doesn't know what to make of it. On one hand, it's a better reaction than it could have been; it's good that Dorian knows the value of their secret. But it makes Louis instinctively wary, and that wariness leads to a vague guilt — is he just being jealous again?

He wrestles with himself a moment, then: )

What exactly do you mean by different?

You are undead; I am undying. [A bittersweet smile.] We have eternity in common, you might say. Although I lack a satisfactory answer as to the why.

( It's less of a shock this time, but not particularly more illuminating. Louis looks at Dorian as if he were some sort of puzzle, albeit one with a spring-loaded trap ready to catch his fingers. )

Now that is a riddle. You mean to say you're immortal? ( A small, astonished shake of his head. ) How can you not know the reason why? Do you mean you don't know how it was done, or you don't understand the magic in it, or...

The latter. [A tiny shrug, as if this is some kind of relatable problem.] I suppose I ought to have said I don't know how, but that is immaterial. Before coming here, I had only ever met one other immortal. Here, I've met at least two more. It's been an interesting time.

Only one?

( Some of Louis' suspicion falters, tempered by compassion and a recognition of something that he'd once known all too well himself. He had quested for answers once, searching for more of his own kind in a world that, for all he knew, contained no other vampires at all. In the end, even when he did find the vampires he'd been searching for, he was only left with more questions, more darkness. )

That must have been terribly lonely. I presume it's something that you keep a secret in your world?

[A wide smile.] You don't find a secret like ours keeps itself?

[Who would believe him, even if he told them? Anyone who's seen him gravely injured, in short, but he generally tries not to do that sort of thing in public. Pulling a knife out of your own heart like it's a thorn in your hand tends to clear a room. Quickly.]

( Another discomforting spark of recognition, the feeling of being seen and known by someone he hasn't yet figured out. It's something like the disadvantage he feels when he feels his mind being read by another vampire — oh, everyone wishes to communicate without words, he's sure, to have their thoughts understood without the fear of miscommunication, but it leaves him so vulnerable.

He presses his lips together and nods, rather solemn. )

Yes... yes, that is true. One person might come to believe something so impossible— there are always those who are prepared to believe in spirits and the supernatural, those who are naturally in tune with such things...

But most people don't want to exist in a world with beings like us. Why would they? They would rather reach for an explanation that they think is rational, in spite of all the evidence before them.

It allows them to keep their comfortable place atop the hierarchy of creatures. [Since Louis doesn't seem interested in drinking, Dorian takes a drink from his flask.] If I may be so bold, might I ask a question about your kind?

( Louis has his own opinions about where his kind belongs on the hierarchy of creatures, but that is, as they say, a whole can of worms. Besides, he doesn't feel particularly in the mood for a philosophical argument, though he knows how easy it would be for him to be drawn into one.

Unconsciously, Louis' green eyes flit down to the bob of Dorian's throat as he drinks, there for but the briefest moment before he pulls his gaze away. He's fed tonight, but artificial blood is nothing like the real thing, and he has to suppress a shiver at the thought of it. )

You may.

[Dorian barely finishes swallowing in time to glimpse Louis quickly looking away. Interesting. When people do that, it means either they were looking at something they shouldn't, or they're not the sort for eye contact. Dorian has some idea which this is.]

Monsieur de Lioncourt told me vampires cannot abide their own kind for long, yet you and he are companions. Why is this?

He told you that?

( It isn't the first time Louis has heard such a thing. There have been times when he's even believed it himself, though he desperately wished for it not to be true. Louis' brows pinch together, uncertainty written on his face and a strange bruised feeling somewhere just beneath his ribs.

How had it even come up? Louis had argued with Lestat that night— was it somehow related to him, did Lestat think about things like that when they were cross with each other? )

Lestat exaggerates, but there is truth to it. We are immortal, but the truth is that most of us don't live very long lives at all. What we must do to survive takes a toll that no human being can imagine. Compassion, empathy, self-sacrifice... these are rare qualities for a vampire.

( He hesitates, struggling to find the words for the rest of it. Lestat has certainly praised him enough by now, but Louis still finds it so difficult to repeat. )

... Lestat has a good heart. Good intentions. He's forgiving, and he isn't cynical, in spite of everything. I believe I'm better off for being in his company.

[Rare qualities for any immortal, save for the very young ones.]

He tells me you don't have to kill to survive, [he muses.] That, in fact, you choose not to. Is that difficult for you?

( And now he's touched a nerve. Louis can only make that choice here, where he has access to the blood in bottles. He's too weak, his self-control too poor to take the little drink the way Lestat does. )

It sounds like the two of you had quite a stimulating conversation.

[Dorian has rather enjoyed this prodding, testing how much more he knows about Louis than vice versa. When he was very young, he might have been upset Lestat didn't talk about him to the most important person in his life, but today, he understands that being the one spoken to is more important than being the one spoken of.

But he has taken it further than he really ought, judging by Louis' irritation. Time to do a little repair. He raises an eyebrow.]

He could not stop talking about you. I daresay three out of every four thoughts in his head are about you, and some of it must naturally spill out of his mouth when he speaks, as there is no room for it all elsewhere. You were sprinkled into our conversation because you occupy him so. That is truly all it was.

( Oh, this has been a bit of a rollercoaster for Louis. Hearing that, too, is a surprise, and it mollifies him somewhat — though he feels just as vulnerable as before. Moreso, perhaps. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, feeling off-kilter, wondering whether he's been too sensitive, read too much into things. )

... Forgive me. I don't speak of such matters easily.

That night the two of you spent handcuffed together... I was worried for him. I behaved coldly. I'm certain that had some effect on what proportion of his thoughts I occupied. But he called you good company, before all of that happened.

( There. He can be nice. )

I try to be so, [Dorian says with a soft laugh. As amusing as it is to confuse Louis into apologizing for Dorian's own mind games, he'd better play things by the book now.] No, I think it is I who should apologize. This is your party and here I am interrogating you. I'm sorry if I overstepped.

( Louis shakes his head, though he does in fact feel like Dorian has overstepped. The fact is... )

You did ask for my permission, and I gave it. I should have expected such a question would arise.

And yet, you are permitted to decline to answer. Especially on your birthday.

[Dorian's tone is lightly teasing, a humorous glint in his eye.]

Indeed, I should even say you are entitled to tell me to sod off, if you wish it.

( Louis returns the smile, but it's thin and tired-looking and mostly humorless. )

Oh, my birthday means very little to me, as I'm sure you must understand. And I do wish to be familiar with Lestat's acquaintances.

[Dorian gives an understanding nod. He isn't even entirely sure when his own birthday is; a number of centuries and at least one calendar change have happened since he was born.]

I'm your acquaintance now, I'm afraid, [he points out.]

( Ah. True. )

I hope I haven't made too poor an impression. Whatever portrait he painted of me is embellished, I'm sure.

[There is, perhaps, the tiniest private smile in one corner of Dorian's mouth.]

Every good portrait is. [He gestures toward the door.] Shall we? It would be terrible form to spend too long absent.

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deathoftheauthor - 2023-10-20 00:21 (UTC) - Expand

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