Daniel's quiet during the cab ride, letting Lestat do most of the conversation, absorbing the little bits and pieces he can. He's caught in between either watching the neon lights blur by in a pleasant, drug fueled haze or rummaging for a pen and his notebook in a bid to start jotting everything down. He decides to opt for the window if only because he wants to stay relatively on the blonde vampire's good side for now. He'll use up the other's patience when he inevitably pushes at a topic the other doesn't want to discuss.
It's only a matter of time.
Clubs turn into upscale restaurants, turn into office buildings, turn into much posher neighbourhoods as they go up the hills and slopes of San Francisco. Daniel can't really say what he was expecting--Louis was richer than sin, but he lived in just a shabby run down place, cluttered and permeating with an air of loneliness. Lestat's place--a penthouse--is substantially different. Immaculately clean, classily decorated. Anachronistic in a chic, bougie, trendy sort of way, with just enough of it being sheer surface level aesthetic.
Daniel can feel an opening line start to bubble up inside him.
Lestat de Lioncourt lives in a building that resembles himself: beautiful, somewhat antiquated, and filled with character only on the surface level upon first inspection. He'll have to work on it, of course, but it's starting. Or maybe that's the heroin flowing through his veins telling him it's genius.
"It's a beautiful place," he states, genuine in his appreciation. He doesn't think he's ever been in a place like this. Rich homes, yes, but this? A completely different level. He sets his bag down by the bar cart, helping himself with a hastily murmured thank you. He purposefully doesn't go for top shelf--doesn't want to presume--but it's not like the vampire carries any rails or mixers around. He settles himself for some whiskey, pouring a drink, pressing his lips into a thin line.
"Gotta say, it's a lot different from the place Louis's rented. You're more of a fan of keeping up appearances?"
no subject
It's only a matter of time.
Clubs turn into upscale restaurants, turn into office buildings, turn into much posher neighbourhoods as they go up the hills and slopes of San Francisco. Daniel can't really say what he was expecting--Louis was richer than sin, but he lived in just a shabby run down place, cluttered and permeating with an air of loneliness. Lestat's place--a penthouse--is substantially different. Immaculately clean, classily decorated. Anachronistic in a chic, bougie, trendy sort of way, with just enough of it being sheer surface level aesthetic.
Daniel can feel an opening line start to bubble up inside him.
Lestat de Lioncourt lives in a building that resembles himself: beautiful, somewhat antiquated, and filled with character only on the surface level upon first inspection. He'll have to work on it, of course, but it's starting. Or maybe that's the heroin flowing through his veins telling him it's genius.
"It's a beautiful place," he states, genuine in his appreciation. He doesn't think he's ever been in a place like this. Rich homes, yes, but this? A completely different level. He sets his bag down by the bar cart, helping himself with a hastily murmured thank you. He purposefully doesn't go for top shelf--doesn't want to presume--but it's not like the vampire carries any rails or mixers around. He settles himself for some whiskey, pouring a drink, pressing his lips into a thin line.
"Gotta say, it's a lot different from the place Louis's rented. You're more of a fan of keeping up appearances?"