[VC] Débris (4)

Nicki2

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

———-***———-

Le Violoniste

The thought of stalking had never occurred to Louis. Not in his waking time. Not in his dream. Not in his wildest imagination.

Similarly, the thought of Louis stalking someone had never occurred to Marius either.  Not in his waking time. Not in his dream. Not in his wildest imagination.

Such was the reason for the ancient vampire’s shocked expression when the request came knocking at his door in the form of silky black hair, downcast green eyes and blushes on white cheeks.

Oh Louis, sweet Louis, how devastating the effect the Brat Prince has had on you.

He obliged the young vampire nonetheless.

It was a small retro bar at Centertown he found Lestat, sitting in the darkest corner, his Martini untouched. Quietly Louis slid in, doing his best to not announce his arrival to his lover. Lestat didn’t notice his presence either, already lost in his thought as his iridescent eyes seemed to see nothing but the stage.

Securing himself a seat not far from Lestat’s, Louis ordered a Bloody Mary, his least favorite in the world since he had been able to taste it, so that he wouldn’t feel too sorry if he did not touch it.

The stage was a soft pinkish glow in the dim setting of the bar, whose center light focused on a musician, entranced by his own music from the violin. He was much young, traces of childhood still vivid despite his stiff white shirt, black tie and charcoal waistcoat. More a boy in a man’s attire than an actual man, Louis thought. He was beautiful too; like the stage, his beauty glowed in the dark.

And what music he was playing! It wasn’t delightful, not in the least. It wasn’t the kind of  music meant to bring peace and joy to its listeners, or to entertain them, to help them relax after a hard day’s work; it was meant to be the opposite! Like a blade it invaded the senses of its listeners, penetrating mercilessly until it found the deepest, softest core of the soul, and trampled it. Yet it was beautiful, so beautiful it caused a pain so acute. The violinist’s superb skill only served as its sharp edge.

Louis bought a hand to his left chest. A phantom pain, he told himself, but a pain nonetheless. His vision was tinted with red and blurring. Before the first blood tear rolled, he was struck with an appalling realization: this was the same music he had discovered in the old violin case.

He also remembered well Lestat’s rage when he heard the music, and feared tremendously for the young violinist on stage. Such talent. Such beauty. A promising bud to blossom into a splendid flower. How Lestat had loved to nip the bud!

Clenching his hand in a fist, Louis glanced at Lestat. Immediately his fear was overcome by newfound horror: red was streaming down his sculpted cheeks with no restraint, red thick and gleaming and unveiled to any mortal eyes. If anyone were to see him…

His mouth slightly agape, he stared with wide eyes at Louis’s face when the dark-haired vampire stuffed a handkerchief into his palm, and then at streaks of crimson on the back of his hand. Wordlessly he wiped the blood tears off his skin.

The small space was in grave silence when the young musician finished and bowed. Only after he had vanished behind the makeshift curtain did the audience break into wild applaud.

Neither of them spoke a word on their way home that night. As it turned out, this bar was where Lestat disappeared to every other night.

(Cont)

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