[ Lestat watches Louis assess himself, and also takes note of the way his skin has a faint sheen to it, blood sweat clinging to him enough to make the fine wisps of hair by his temple and under his ears look sodden with it. He's pale, paler than the usual pallor of their undead state, clearly weakened by the assault and nowhere near as revitalised by Lestat's blood as he should be. It sits strangely in him, the uncertainty of how they've been changed, but then Louis speaks again, and what he says renders Lestat so blissful that he can't waste another moment thinking about anything other than him. ]
Anything for you, mon seule.
[ He doesn't give Louis an opportunity to stand, though. How could he?
The hand in Louis' hair moves to his shoulders. The one with the wound he puts to his mouth and runs the flat of his suddenly bleeding tongue across it to help it heal, before he's sliding that hand under Louis' knees. ]
A deep breath, Louis, that's itโฆ
[ He guides him, despite the fact that breathing is useless to them, he knows all too well how comforting the ritual of it can be, and then lifts Louis into his arms. He steels himself for any sound of pain that might escape him, and then wastes no time keeping him close to his chest - tight, secure, protective - as he turns and moves out into the corridor.
The spectres in the hall haven't seemed to notice their closed door, but when it opens a few faces turn to look with absent interest, a few even approach. Lestat spares a glance down the hallway - feeling no small throb of alarm when he sees Dorian's body has disappeared - but then turns and races with preternatural speed toward the staircase, growling and baring his fangs at any creature - ghost in the corridors or human at the party - that might come close until they are safely out in the rain and on their way home. ]
no subject
Anything for you, mon seule.
[ He doesn't give Louis an opportunity to stand, though. How could he?
The hand in Louis' hair moves to his shoulders. The one with the wound he puts to his mouth and runs the flat of his suddenly bleeding tongue across it to help it heal, before he's sliding that hand under Louis' knees. ]
A deep breath, Louis, that's itโฆ
[ He guides him, despite the fact that breathing is useless to them, he knows all too well how comforting the ritual of it can be, and then lifts Louis into his arms. He steels himself for any sound of pain that might escape him, and then wastes no time keeping him close to his chest - tight, secure, protective - as he turns and moves out into the corridor.
The spectres in the hall haven't seemed to notice their closed door, but when it opens a few faces turn to look with absent interest, a few even approach. Lestat spares a glance down the hallway - feeling no small throb of alarm when he sees Dorian's body has disappeared - but then turns and races with preternatural speed toward the staircase, growling and baring his fangs at any creature - ghost in the corridors or human at the party - that might come close until they are safely out in the rain and on their way home. ]