[VC] Débris (1)

 

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Disclaimer : Characters belong to their respectful owners

Fandoms : The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice

Rating : T

Pairing : Lestat de Lioncourt x Louis de Pointe du Lac, Lestat de Lioncourt x Nicolas de Lenfent,

Genres : Fanfiction, slash, angst

Characters : Lestat de Lioncourt, Louis de Pointe du Lac

Warnings: character’s death

Summary :

Louis knew Nicolas de Lenfent, or rather knew him from Lestats words. He also knew Nicolas had been Lestats first and greatest regret.

Cleansed from this earth by the fire, now his ghost had come back.

 

———-***———-

And now his life slips through my hands.

His gentle soul leaves on the wind.

A broken angel finds release

From all my selfish dreams the darkness brings.

So what do I do now?

He’s gone. I’m left alone and so unsure.

Guide me now and give me tears to cry

When all I loved died right before my eyes.

Right Before My Eyes (Reprise) – Lestat the Musical

———-***———-

Partition

One of the few things Louis loved was cleaning up. Because while cleaning up, he was bound to discover things – interesting things – things which were unfortunately buried beneath the dust of time, things which could bring back fondling memories or unearth a fragment of the past.

It was an old worn violin case he found while rummaging through the dusty junks in the attic of their home. Thrilled as if he had dug up a long-lost treasure, Louis pried open the lid, gingerly, carefully, so that his vampiric strength would not destroy the delicate thing.

Even better than a treasure. Louis’s eyes lit up at the sight of stained yellow papers on which words and notes were scribbled, the handwriting too familiar for him to mistake with anyone’s. Lestat’s music sheets of the short time he’d spent with The Vampire Lestat band back in the 8o’s.

Sitting cross-legged on the dirty floor, Louis lost track of time in the nostalgia. Unknown to his immortal lover, Louis had listened to his songs countless times – the music videos on his tiny TV screen, recorded on the video tapes so that he could have them played over and over again, surrounding himself with Lestat’s voice while he laid clutching The Vampire Lestat to his chest. Even without the music sheets he was still able to sing all of them. The reason he never sang in front of Lestat was because his voice, he admitted, wasn’t half as good as his lover’s.

Softly he sang, song after song, each sheet smoothed and placed neatly to one side. He giggled to the lyrics Lestat had written about Gabrielle. “My daughter” he had addressed her, his mortal mother and very first fledging. That’d make Louis what, his son? Now that was just wacky, the incestuous undertone of their relationship. They were, after all, blood-related, weren’t they?

When he got to the song Lestat had written for him, for their struggling and stormy romance spanning for centuries, his cheeks colored a lovely shade of pink. Some of the expressions were rather explicit, even to today’s standard. He remembered this had been notoriously dubbed one of the most controversial songs of the twentieth century, causing a great ruckus amongst music critics then. The music was electric, as expected from the Vampire Lestat, but the homoeroticism was blatant and thus frowned upon by many. Too much homophobia it seemed.

Still, “deprived from delight as I thirst for you”, those were Louis’s gems. Anyone who wanted to argue could do it with Lucifer for all he cared.

He was pretty sure he had gone over all Lestat’s songs but then, there was a crumpled music sheet – the last piece – he had never heard before. Frowning just a little, he held it to the light for better examination, a mortal’s habit. It was distinguished from its brothers; it was older, as the color suggested, with dark blotches scattering here and there, sometimes obscuring the notes. Rather than a song, it was a piece written for an instrument since there was no lyric. Drawing a link to the old case, Louis assumed it was for the violin. And the handwriting, bold and elegant as it weaved the title ‘Fragments’, was certainly not Lestat’s.

Who had written it? Why had it been here, hidden in the old violin case like something forgotten, something not supposed to see the light? Who was its composer to Lestat?

Louis briefly recalled the musician, the poor unfortunate soul that had probably perished in the Hell’s fire at Rue Royale that fateful night. But if his memory served, that young man had mainly played the piano. Besides, from a few stealing glances at the sheets Lestat’d brought home, Louis could tell the young man’s handwriting was starkly different from the one on this sheet.

Curiosity kills the cat, perhaps a vampire too. Before his instinct raised its voice against his prying into Lestat’s past, he had had in his hand a violin – taken from the shop across the street, a thick wad of dollar bills left anonymously on the counter. Louis had had music lessons in the past and it took him only a short while to rejuvenate the flow, with a little help from his preternatural skills.

Closing his eyes, he let himself to the hypnotizing music brought to life by the violin.

(Cont)

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