interviewings | malicieux;

Daniel hears 'yes to being interviewed' despite Lestat saying the exact opposite. It's what cuts through the danger of Lestat's words--being alone with the vampire should make him nervous. He knows it despite the altered state he's currently in, the world feeling a little more pleasant a little less shit-stained. Lestat's a predator, and Daniel is prey.

He survived Louis. He can survive another. He's still got so much to do. He doesn't even mind being invited to Lestat's place: the same as before. Different, more thrilling, but the same as Louis.

The two vampires echo each other. Maybe more than they think.

Lestat's words pull Daniel out of it, and his face pulls into a wide grin as he laughs, genuinely surprised. Complimented, too, though more at the absurdity of the situation.

"Happens to me all the time," he deadpans. "Lead the way."

Lestat, of course, lives in a more discerning part of the city. Outside the bar, he gets them a cab, and on the drive he makes polite small talk to fill the silence. Mostly it's commentary on people they pass by, or something that reminds him of France, or asking the cab driver to change the music.

The building Lestat's chosen to rent rooms in is an elegant relic from earlier in the century. It still boasts it's fine art deco facade and an impressive courtard, and a doorman to greet them in a lobby that's tiled in marble. Lestat's room is a penthouse near the top floor, with a balcony that overlooks the heart of the city. He motions generally to the flat once they step inside.

"Please, make yourself at home. The bar cart should be stocked enough to your liking."

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?"

"I have means, why should I not live within them?"

Lestat turns on the lamps in the living room and turns off the harsher, brighter overhead lights. He enjoys a certain softer ambiance, but finds it hard to shun light entirely. He sits in a plush arm chair and crosses his legs. As his fingers tap on the arm, it's evident by the purse of his lips that something is on his mind.

"Was there someone else with Louis, when you went to his home? A teenage girl?"

Naturally if Claudia is still hanging around, it will make things harder. He can't imagine that a mere three decades would separate her and Louis, though, given the way she had buried herself in his heart and the way the two of them clung to one another.

The softer light suits how stoned he is, anyway: Daniel is eager, and after a brief moment he's grabbing the bag he'd just set down and moves to a couch directly opposite of Lestat. He all but sinks into it inspite of himself, and pulls out what he needs. His well worn note book, a pencil. A few blank tapes, which he sets on the coffee table in front of them, and finally the recorder itself. It gets set with a special kind of reverence; Daniel Molloy's holy relic, his sacrament, and he's digging for those cheap American Spirits once more.

"Just him and some rats," Daniel confirms, and his brow knits. A girl. That's interesting. Daniel never heard about someone like that from Louis, nor had he seen anyone. It had just been them, holed up for days, talking, takeout. His gut twinges, and he's not sure if it's because his instincts are telling him to go for this line of questioning or if it's because Louis and him had done a lot more than just talk.

"A mutual companion? One that knows about you and Louis'... Un-nature?"

A vaguely thoughtful hum comes from Lestat at the answer. His lips press together as he wonders what happened. Given that Claudia had been the mastermind behind the attempt to kill him, Lestat finds himself annoyed that she and Louis parted ways within three decades. What a blip in the life of a vampire.

But he watches Daniel start to get comfortable. He sees the equipment come out and settles further back into his chair.

"As I told you, Mr. Molloy, I cannot possibly continue or amend a story if I'm not privy to the original. I do not even know what you're so keen to interview me for. Vampire Town And Country magazine, perhaps?"

He nearly forgets to actually plug the recorder in, but manages to to so smoothly and without much fuss. Despite his somewhat calm exterior Daniel can already feel the giddiness inside of him rising, the weird itch he gets to scratch whenever he gets to do this. There's an added layer to this as well: this is Lestat.

Even high, he knows it's probably smarter to play this honestly. It's not like he's got any reason to lie in the first place, and maybe--just maybe--he's more pissed off at Louis than he's ready to admit to himself.

"It's what I do," he answers easily, and with every word he's finding it easy to forget where exactly he is or the situation's danger. He leans forward, interested, passionate, and grabs a cassette box to open it with a satisfying clack. "I'm a journalist--I interview people. Interesting people, people that really make things go, you know? The ones that actually matter." It's hard not to be proud or excited about what he does. One man's arrogance is another's confidence.

"And so you just interview people because you enjoy living vicariously through the lives of others?" Lestat's eyebrows raise, and his expression turns thin-lipped and wide as he seems to silently judge the notion. "What is the intended purpose for such things? Flattered though I am that you consider me a person who matters."

Daniel can continue to repeat the words like a mantra all he wants. I'm a journalist, it's what I do seems to be the only defining personality trait Daniel has and the spark of amusement Lestat felt at the bar is starting to dim. Boring. Nosey. A man whose own life likely lacks so much that he must find fulfillment through others.

"Do you believe that Louis makes things go, as you put it? You do not need to answer me, you've thought about the moment so often now that I know exactly what you were seeking under the guise of doing your job." Lestat waves a hand dismissively. "But your intention is still a bit clouded to me. Is his tale to go to print or was your scheme for a fix so elaborate that you lost the plot of your own plan?"

Lestat's awfully expressive. Daniel follows the way his eyebrows raise, takes in the blunt but flippant way the other speaks, elegant in his sudden petulance. Lestat doesn't like when he doesn't have immediate answers. Fair, Daniel supposes. What he doesn't appreciate is how that flippancy is directed towards him. There's something off in the way the other talks, too, something the younger man can't exactly put a finger on or place quite yet. He slides the cassette into the recorder, finger lightly on the play button but not pressing it down, and purposefully looks over with the express intent to make eye contact with Lestat after he finishes speaking.

The vampire's read his mind. It's a sharp, piercing reminder that Lestat is an apex predator, senses keen and alert in ways beyond Daniel's full comprehension. He's reminded once more that honesty is the best policy, and offers a slight smile. It's humourless.

"He did the same thing you just did just now, only he offered some to me." Is that a trick Lestat taught Louis go do? Read minds? Is Lestat aware he's echoing his former lover? The only reason Daniel's hand doesn't reflexively move to his bitten neck is because it's still hovering over the record button. He inhales slightly.

"A wealthy, good looking guy in Polynesian Mary's that I've never clocked before reading my mind and asking if I want drugs? I asked if he was a narc, he responded he was a vampire, the rest..." He shrugs offhandedly. It's history. Louis had been absolute catnip for someone like Daniel.

"He didn't seem to have a very high opinion of you."

Edited 2022-11-15 07:29 (UTC)

Lestat is expressive, which is why even though the flicker of displeasure is brief it’s undoubtedly obvious. The seemingly genuine hurt that lingers might only be evident to someone as observant as Daniel, too, though Lestat attempts to play it off nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulder and a vague flap of his hand.

“Considering the last time he and I saw one another he cut open my throat, you can imagine that the lingering animosity goes both ways.”

And yet Lestat has more or less forgiven Louis. In his mind, the whole scheme of it had been Claudia’s, and Louis was powerless to deny her anything. Lestat remembers the last night with a remarkable clarity considering the delirium from fasting. For all the fights and disagreements, there had been, at least to Lestat, real love. People who weren’t in love simply didn’t look at one another the way he and Louis had while they danced. Was it simply foolish optimism that had convinced Lestat that Louis would be pining for him as well?

“Is your desire then to have some sordid exposé about vampire romance? Two accounts of who said or did what so the intrepid journalist can piece together the truth in all of it?”

Daniel can't help himself. He laughs again at Lestat's words, face brightening considerably.

"Something like that. A book, maybe. You're more than a puff piece in a newspaper, that's for sure." And the issue of Louis. Daniel tilts his head to the side for a moment, and finally his hand moves away from the tape recorder and back to the pack of cigarettes he'd been reaching for a short moment ago. He sticks one between his lips casually as he talks, again defaulting to honesty. It's working so far. Lestat's easy enough to read, anyway. He keeps his voice light and information--just casual facts, nothing accusatory.

"Louis and I spent a while talking. Hours, days. It's hard to tell." he'd been euphoric, hopped up on drugs and lust and the feel of Louis' teeth puncturing his neck. It had felt greater than any high he'd experienced. The whole thing had been a maddening, heavenly fever dream, a whirling dervish that Daniel would do again in a heartbeat.

Maybe that's why he's so adamant to interview Lestat. Maybe it's not just the bite. Daniel uses a cheap lighter to light his Camel cigarette, shortly exchanging the bic in his right hand for the glass he'd poured earlier.

"And at the end," he confesses, "he got upset. Took my tapes."

"Then I suppose I can neither corroborate nor contradict whatever story it is he might have told you."

At that, Lestat stands from his chair and moves the short distance to sit beside Daniel. He's close enough that barely a breath separates them, and as he rests his arm on the back of the couch behind Daniel, he looks at the man with and expression that seems earnestly curious.

"Tell me, Daniel, do I live up to your expectations? Am I the monster he undoubtedly told you I am? He always seemed so scared of me. You could not care less."

His head tilts and he smiles, gazing at Daniel unblinkingly and yet somehow seeming pleased.

Of course Daniel jumps: Lestat was across the room and now he's here with a capital H, like he'd been before when that claw-like finger had ghosted across his neck, reminding them both that Louis had drank from him. He swallows, lump thick in his throat, realizing it's a miracle that he hadn't dropped or spilled the contents of his glass with how quickly the other's shifted over.

Daniel doesn't laugh this time, despite his startled surprise. He's still half-grinning, finding it surprisingly easy to move back to being still: the natural reaction to the euphoric effect of shooting up.

"I care, man." Lestat is close. Beautiful, more so out of the dingy bar where it's difficult to cut through the noise. Now that he's up close, now that Daniel's not jonesing or pissed off about how his night with Louis had ended. The Frenchman's eyes are hauntingly beautiful and his blonde hair seems to genuinely shimmer in the light; picturesque and locked into the visage of a stunning young man despite years beyond Daniel's comprehension. Daniel briefly forgets what he's saying with the other's like this, with the other smiling in a way that denotes a sultry kind of danger. The vampire doesn't blink but Daniel has to in order to clear his head, doing so rapidly for a brief moment.

"I guess I care about learning about you more. One person's story, one person's version of a relationship ending... There's another side, dig?" That smile is back, curious eyes sharp. He leans up, facing Lestat head on, reckless. Alive.

I'm not scared of you. This is the most interesting thing that's ever going to happen to me. I have to write. I have to know.

"I don't think you're a monster, either. Not in the way that he thinks."

"That may be the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a very long time. I can see why he liked you. You're an honest man."

And he can see, too, how Louis may have gotten so annoyed by the same trait. Lestat gets the impression that Daniel's bluntness may have gotten under Louis's skin. It hardly matters at the moment, though, because Lestat is preening under the attention and the idea of someone enjoying his company.

He teases some of the curls at the nape of Daniel's neck, continuing to give him an easy smile.

"Answer a question for me, and I will answer a question for you." It seems a fair trade as far as he's concerned. "Do you merely pursue the company of other men to get your precious drugs, or is it a perk you genuinely enjoy?"

malicieux;

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american spirits werent invented yet oh nooooo shhh

wow this thread is ruined

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