[ At first Lestat is on the offensive as the arm grabs him and forcibly spins him, his fists balled and his stance aggressive right up until his eyes alight upon Armand's, and recognition softens his hardened gaze.
He'd arrived here through much the same means as he had almost every night this week - through opening a door and finding himself here through no intention or will of his own. The uncomfortable feeling of being whisked away without your permission is one that seems to linger particularly well in his chest, so forgive him for being a little more irritable. That, and Louis had not come here with him, and Lestat is all too aware of how this date in particular is making both of them a little more clingy than they might have normally been. Regardless, he'd decided to continually wear his letterman just on the off chance, and it's a lucky thing he did because, well, here he is.
He looks down at Armand's face, trying to determine if he's been taken over by one of these things - trying to ignore the way his pulse picks up in trepidation at the possibility of their influence being so great that they could overcome a mind as strong as Armand's - until realising that Armand is looking at him in much the same way; with relief and with recognition. And then he notices the outfit, and he has to press his lips together a little. ]
Ah- bon soir, mon ange. That nickname feels ever more fitting for you now.
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He'd arrived here through much the same means as he had almost every night this week - through opening a door and finding himself here through no intention or will of his own. The uncomfortable feeling of being whisked away without your permission is one that seems to linger particularly well in his chest, so forgive him for being a little more irritable. That, and Louis had not come here with him, and Lestat is all too aware of how this date in particular is making both of them a little more clingy than they might have normally been. Regardless, he'd decided to continually wear his letterman just on the off chance, and it's a lucky thing he did because, well, here he is.
He looks down at Armand's face, trying to determine if he's been taken over by one of these things - trying to ignore the way his pulse picks up in trepidation at the possibility of their influence being so great that they could overcome a mind as strong as Armand's - until realising that Armand is looking at him in much the same way; with relief and with recognition. And then he notices the outfit, and he has to press his lips together a little. ]
Ah- bon soir, mon ange. That nickname feels ever more fitting for you now.