the hush of the theater is a comforting quiet, differing greatly from the deafening quiet that rings in his ears so often whilst existing alone. over time, the nights quelled together into one miserable existence.
glassy nails scrape at the ridges of the intricate carving traced into the arm rest of the vintage seat. comforting is the noise, the smell, the liveliness of the space. and, louis does suppose, the palate. dining in elegance- lestat’s worst trait… well, one of them. the act, for louis, had become much easier over time (fluent- he could coast through the motions), but his self-loathing remained. it sits heavy, bitter on his conscience as he leaves his seat, ghosting through the dark, victorian halls of the upper level, through the opulence of the foyer, and out into the chill fall air.
after descending nearly half of the stone steps leading up to the establishment, he turns, black hair fraying in the wind- as if the scent of cigarette smoke from the thin man standing under the building’s terrace had caught his notice and not the sound of his heartbeat moments earlier. louis’ unused voice is raspy when he finally speaks, ❛ do you care if i join you? ❜
