Immortal Progeny

"Stop looking at me like that”

"How? Like one does an idiot?" Nicki told him in a point blank manner, "Rock star? And you look like a canary," he had hidden in Lestat's dressing room, intent on seeing him, speaking to him at least, and the pomposity of the yellow overcoat with his feathers had halted any questions that had passed his mind.

monsieur-lemort

Lestat was caught off guard, Nicki in his dressing room, alive? Protesting his theatricals as if it were just another day at Renaud’s, “It is of the fashion, we wore more ridiculous attire at the theater,” he defended his choice, crossing his arms over his chest, feathers moving with the movement. “I…Nicolas I thought I’d lost you,” his voice cracked, but he didn’t approach him, unsure if he is real or just another ghost to haunt him, but this ghost had his Nicki’s biting wit.

#answered #conversation: Lestat

"Well the fashion is flighty and I hate the feathers," he answered back, anger forgotten for a moment as he fell into the banter they used to do, "If you cry I will leave," Nicolas meant it, he wasn't in the mood for crying, "and oui, it took me decades to find you, because you left me, with Armand, and well, fire doesn't work," he spoke bitterly, a cruel little smile on his face as he thought back to his failed attempt at immolation. "I don't know whether to slap you or degrade you, walk away or embrace you mon amour, I just want to know...why?"

#convo: lestat

"Stop looking at me like that”

"How? Like one does an idiot?" Nicki told him in a point blank manner, "Rock star? And you look like a canary," he had hidden in Lestat's dressing room, intent on seeing him, speaking to him at least, and the pomposity of the yellow overcoat with his feathers had halted any questions that had passed his mind.

gloomglimmer

› TENSION LINER PROMPTS

"I dare you to try."

"Do you always get close?"

"You’re pushing my limits."

"Stop looking at me like that."

"I’m losing control here."

"You have no idea, do you?"

"I can’t resist you anymore."

"Stay back, or don’t."

"I know what you want."

"This is getting dangerous now."

"You’re too tempting for me."

"I shouldn’t want this, but…"

"I don’t play fair, remember?"

"Careful, you’re testing me."

"You’re just making it worse."

"You’re too close for comfort."

"Do you always push buttons?"

"Stop before I kiss you."

"You’re making it too hard."

"I can’t stop thinking about you."

"I want you too much."

"You know exactly what you’re doing."

"I’m not playing games here."

"You’ve crossed the line now."

"Keep pushing, and you’ll regret it."

"This is dangerous, isn’t it?"

"I’m trying not to care."

"Don’t make me regret this."

"You’re playing with fire."

"You don’t know what’s coming."

"I shouldn’t be this close."

"We’re getting dangerously close now."

"I can feel the heat."

"Don’t test me right now."

"I want you too badly."

"Don’t make me chase you."

"You’re distracting me, you know."

"I won’t fall for this."

"I want you, but…"

"What do you want from me?"

"I’ll never give in."

"I’m trying not to care."

"You’re playing with my patience."

"Don’t make this harder, please."

"I can’t stop this feeling."

"I’m already in too deep."

"You won’t walk away unscathed."

"You’re walking a fine line."

"I’m trying to stay calm."

"What are you doing to me?"

Nicolas knew he was covered in mud, dirt, caked in his hair, and dried on his face from sleeping within the wet, heavy banks of the Mississippi, he didn't care, the light mist of rain would help wash some off at least.

This was New Orleans? He stared at the tattered book, The Vampire Lestat, fucking Lestat. Nicki had found it in the small book section of a dollar store. He had read his maker, his former lovers words over and over, obsessing, marking lies, differentiating memories that had made him rant in his shabby little apartment before he took it on himself to just come to Lestat's little Crescent City. He had walked, ending up on a boat at the docks, and having to all but hide due to the dawn coming before he realized it.

He walked in the French Quarter, getting side eyed glances from passerby's who muttered about homeless men. Rue Royale was it? Oui, he had checked. He needed..no...wanted the blonde to know he wasn't dead, he was very much alive, and needed him to know he was angry, centuries of pent up anger at Lestat leaving him, abandoning him for dead with Armand.

However, once he found himself outside of the home, the warm lights flickering off the sidewalk and cobblestone, Nicolas stood there, searching the inside of the home with his now stronger immortal gifts. A few presences, is this Louis? Home? He hadn't thought of that. Or...he knew he couldn't sense Lestat, his maker, he had to only hope his mind repeating his name would get one of the immortals within's attention, to look possibly out at the muck covered frenchman, now also soaked from a light rain, the only thing not covered in dried mud was his bag, and the battered violin case he had secured to it.

"He's probably not even here, le fou Nicki," he sat on the sidewalk, "and now every immortal knows your here..."

#open starter #vampire chronicles rp #indie rp

Nicki and ?

{OPEN STARTER}

He had broken the window, his hand healing from shoving his fist through the shops plate glass, the silent alarm not so silent to his preternatural hearing as he stood there and stared at the television and its contents. Lestat? Lestat on this screen, in technicolor, the blonde hair he had ran his fingers through so many times, those damned eyes, creator, lover, sire, enemy? Nicolas no longer knew what to call him. There had been times in his madness he had forgotten about the Brat Prince, as he had heard in other vampires minds, loudly, but he hadn't known until now that it was indeed, his old companion.

Part of him wanted to go to him, envelope him in an embrace, and sob, then another wished to strangle him with the very microphone cord he spun on his fingers in the video. He never knew which part would win out these days, but the destructive one determined the fate of the poor window.

He felt the other before he saw them, almost as if the hair on his neck stood up. Nicolas usually ran from others, never wanting to interact with anyone, he was too distrusting nowadays, and he was often overlooked unless he was playing his violin, a shabby leather coat he'd found in a dumpster gods knew how long ago, jeans with holes in them and his boots held together with what he thought was duck tape, only to find out no, it wasn't made of ducks. His black t-shirt with the collar stretched from him pulling at it, the edge worn from where he rested his violin, the one companion he still had from all those centuries ago. Nicki was easily overlooked for someone homeless, unless they knew how to look like this person did.

"I don't want to speak to anyone," he said flatly, still staring at the broken glass, "and the police will be here soon," his faint french accent still lingered on some words, he did turn to see who the other was, pulling a slice of the glass from his hand he had forgotten, not knowing another was healing in his cheek, "que veux-tu?"

Yeah, she knew. She'd read all about it but even then she wondered just how accurate Lestat's version of things were.

When he asked if she was older than she looked, her guard dropped just for a second, she thought of her time in London in the 1890's. Thought of the happier times with her family, with Jonathan....when times were hard but simple. Flashes of Jonathan came through her mind. Or....what she could remember of him. The only thing she had was a faded photograph she tried desperately to keep intact.

"no, not like you," she agreed but didn't give him the reason. She didn't want to go into it and she quickly guarded her brain again, "Mina."

No last name, nothing to connect with the book of her own life that was published without her permission and had it's facts skewed.

Maybe they were more alike than she thought.

He noticed her guard drop, a change in her demeanor, he had guessed correctly, but didn't push, she would talk about it if she wished, just as he was with his own past and problems, he didn't offer an open book into his life, and respected those who did the same.

Nicki just gave an understanding nod, "I won't pry, you've your reasons, as do I, I just...the elevated senses things and I needed to know, " he laughed, "although, most of mine is in a book by my what is it they say? Psychotic ex?" he didn't believe it, but his bitterness was still there towards the author who only knew half of what had happened to him after he left him with Armand and the Theatre, who seemed to have treated him as a footnote in his life to be forgotten and treated like a ghost of his past life. "Well, Mina, I hope you changed your mind on killing me,"

She was thankful he didn't push further, she'd have shut it down. He didn't get those memories, they were in her mind, they belonged solely to her. Not for a vampire to peek into against her wishes.

"If it makes you feel better, he does portray you quite sympathetically," she said. At least she thought so. He was simply someone who got in over his head in the throes of depression, there was a darkness and a sadness in him that was amplified and Lestat wasn't mature enough to handle it well and unfortunately Nicki paid the price for his demand.

"But it doesn't seem to be so accurate if you're alive but hell....wouldn't be the first time a vampire book was inaccurate."

Her tone was a bit too bitter, suggesting her own past with it.

"Haven't decided yet," she told him, though she was steering away from it, "Hope I don't. Hope your'e different."

Nicholas laughed, "He made me a tragedy, his love lost, but he couldn't handle what he had done, he didn't know how to deal with whatever inner demons his blood brought out," he partially understood Lestat, but was still angry, it was an anger that wouldn't be satisfied until he looked the other in the eye again and made him explain.

"What was it? Garlic? Holy Water? The Cross?" he had read Dracula, and laughed through it at how vulnerable this Count was to everyday objects. "The sun and fire, but then again that doesn't work perfectly every time, I did try, I threw myself into the flames, but like you said, I'm alive, more or less," he did pause, having caught the bitterness, "I suppose you know more about that Count, but once again, none of my business unless you want it to be," he shrugged, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat.

"I think I am, there are times I don't think I am, I've had my moments, the idea of being evil doesn't sit with me anymore I guess, so...what now if I'm not the target then?"

"You were a tragedy," she told him not unkindly, "It's always a tragedy when someone dies before their time."

And he'd been so young when everyone thought he was dead. Where was he this whole time?

"All of it," she said but she as careful. She didn't give him her last name, he had no idea she was connected to Dracula unless he was peeking in her brain and even then, she wasn't in the mood to answer his questions about why the Dracula book was so inaccurate. IT was a combination of things and Mina didn't feel like going into it.

"It's a very long sad story," she said, "And the world's got too many of those."

When he asked what now, Mina shrugged, "I dunno, what do you think?"

She wasn't sold that he wasn't dangerous, but she had no proof to back up her doubts.

He laughed, a tragedy, you could call him that, the tragedy of begging for something that made you hate yourself, throw oneself into the fire but unfortunately, tragically, it didn't work. The years everyone thought him dead, a war giving him his freedom. Details.

"I understand," he didn't push her, he knew Mina Harker from the novel, but if Mina Harker were before him, if he were her he wouldn't want to discuss it either, if she did well, she could bring it up on her own.

"The night is young," he answered, "and I've done my damage to the television store, most people have questions," he was dangerous, but not tonight, and he had decided he wouldn't be to her, she had been through enough, as had he. Plus, he didn't want her to kill him, he had survived on his own, and wasn't looking to end that soon. "and, if you still think I'm dangerous, maybe I can fix that,"

#conversation: mina

“I want to interview you.”

"I'm afraid my story isn't one of happiness and deep philosophies," he warned him, unsure of this interviewer, but Nicki was also curious, I mean he had found the vampire in his broken down apartment, the sanctum that Nicolas retreated to that reflected his mind's state at times, broken mugs, peeling wallpaper, stacks of sheet music that were turning various colors of yellow, some possibly so brittle they would fall apart, and a small portrait of Mozart, untouched and framed in a way as if on an altar. "It's a cautionary tale at most that it's not always best to get what you wish for after all,"

“That’s my specialty,” Daniel said. “I look for people in the cracks.” And this one with the dark hair and the messy apartment, this beautiful musical man with the sad eyes, he was exactly the kind of person Daniel would want to write about. He wanted to get inside this man’s brain, get to know the sadness and darkness in his heart. Daniel himself was full of darkness. Sometimes Daniel thought that all there was to him was a black hole. He was so drawn to this potential kindred spirit. “Any asshole can be a cop or a politician, but I’ve never met anyone like you before. You’re different.”

Nicolas was hesitant, but part of him wanted to see what would come of this 'interview', he often tried not to discuss his past, it brought too much back up, dark memories that he would rather keep out, and then the memories that he couldn't remember, blurred by trauma and madness that his mind had blocked out. He laughed when he said he'd never met anyone like him before, "Really?" he knew he couldn't have never met a musician, but the other, his nature, that was something not many met in their lifetime, unless Nicki targeted them for...well sustenance.

"Then why not? I'll answer all I can," he knew he'd need something to relax, "and wine, somewhere," he set his violin case down, he'd been out with it eariler and forgot it was still in his hand. He opened one of the cupboards in the small kitchn, there it was, a bottle of red from Languedoc he'd found in a liquor shop, oddly he hadn't gotten sick from drinking it like he did most mortal drinks and food, but it still had plenty of the red liquid in it. "Pinot Noir I think?" wine was wine to him, but Lestat would have known the name, the winery, even the grapes it was made of....fucking Lestat. "I have maybe one glass," he set both on a table, gesturing for the other to sit down, "you can set up whatever you need on the table? How does this work?"

Daniel was nervous but also so excited. There was something so dark and mysterious about this stranger. He was clearly a tortured creative type. Daniel himself was a tortured writer and drawn to other creative types. Most of all, the darkness inside the beautiful man called to the darkness inside himself. He knew very well that this guy could potentially be unhinged and dangerous. He loved danger though. It thrilled him to his core. It only made him attracted to the man even more.

He accepted the wine and took a sip. He wasn’t a snob when it came to alcohol. It could have come from a box and he wouldn’t care. He pulled out his recording device and his notebook. “We can start with the basics,” Daniel suggested. “Where were you born?” He looked at the other man hungrily and licked his lips. Focus, he reminded himself. He wasn’t a professional after all. He was here to get a story.

“A small village in the Auvergne region of France,” he answered, pulling the other chair out and sitting backwards, resting his arms on the back of it, “I don’t think it exists anymore,” Nicolas paused, trying to decide to reveal the year, then went why not? See if this man was serious on wanting the entire story, “about….” He made a very French noise for fake thinking, “1760, reign of le roi soleil, I also witnessed the fall of the Bourbon kings, while playing violin in a theater in Paris.” Nicki’s dark eyes glinted, watching for his reaction, taking a drink of the wine. If he wanted the whole story, why lie when the truth was so much more compelling?

Well that explained the accent that Daniel detected. He could hear it on certain words, certain consonants. He was usually a very observant person. He noticed details that others didn’t. It was part of what made him a good journalist. He usually saw right through people’s bullshit. So many people put on masks, pretending to be what they weren’t and hiding their secrets under the surface. He always dug up what they were hiding eventually. In this case, his interview subject wasn’t hiding at all.

Daniel raised an eyebrow at him when he said the year he was born. Was this man truly that crazy? He should probably leave. He should end the interview. Instead, Daniel chuckled a little and made a joke. “Wow, you look great for being so old.”

"I mean you wanted the truth?" he said, looking him up and down from across the table, he was still wary of the other, he'd never had a mortal be so forward, ask questions that actually made Nicki pause and agree to answer them. "Forever the age I was turned, but what is it I've heard? It all comes with a price," his turn to laugh, slightly bitter, examining the wine in the bottle as a connoisseur would, swirling the red liquid around before taking another drink, "I mean, if you'd met me on a bad night I probably would have drained you, blood is sweeter than any wine mortal hands could make after all," fangs showed with a small grin from the violinist, "but I won't, I promise, you got my attention with your questions,"

Daniel was still pretty sure that Nicki was crazy until he saw the fangs. His heart beat fast in his chest. This man was a vampire. He was a real life monster. This was really happening. Daniel was in danger. He was terrified, yet he was also fascinated.

He was really fucked up. He’d known that for a while. He never fit in. He didn’t belong. He wasn’t like other people. He wasn’t normal. There was a black hole inside of him always yearning for something more. That darkness, that hunger, that was what had drawn him to this vampire. There was no doubt about that.

Daniel thought about it for a second, about what it would feel like if the vampire really did kill him. He pictured it in his mind. He imagined the vampire’s fangs in his neck. He imagined the pain and the way his life would drain from him. The fucked up thing was that it excited him. He didn’t have any self-preservation instincts. He didn’t have a strong enough will to survive that would cause any normal person to run in the other direction. Daniel had been suicidal and self-destructive. He was a depressed junkie. He knew what the future held for him… a loveless marriage like his parents, a boring job teaching assholes about writing, kids who’d resent him. He’d rather die. And what a way to go…in the arms of a handsome vampire.

The man was saying he wasn’t going to kill him, but Daniel didn’t know if he could believe that. So far Nicki had been truthful with him. Still, he could change his mind. Daniel stared at him with wide eyes. He saw Nicki in a new light. He saw him for who he really was. He looked human, but he was not. Nicki was a monster. He was dangerous. He had killed people. He could kill Daniel easily. He was a predator. And yet, he was also the most beautiful thing Daniel had ever seen. Not in spite of his darkness, but because of it. It thrilled Daniel to his core.

“You’re not like… the Zodiac killer, right?” He asked, voice a little shaky. He made no move to run though. He stayed exactly where he was. “Your uh… your fangs are really pretty. I love that. I mean, uh… how did you become a vampire?” He tried to remember that he was there for an interview.

He laughed, "No, I've no interest in ciphers and misspellings of a madman, I don't have the patience, and I won't hurt you, if I wanted to, I would have already," he took another drink of the wine, bitter to his tongue but as satisfying as it could be to his heightened senses, "Without consent, well, with, but later I resented him," him, Lestat, his maker, his lover, that fucking bastard who still seemed to haunt his dreams and that he still, in his own stupid way, loved but wouldn't admit it. "I begged for it, honestly, to be turned, and Lestat obliged, but he wouldn't look at me after he brought me into the Dark Gift," he watched him for a moment, "I promise, you can relax, I won't kill you...yet," he teased with a small amused smile in the corner of his mouth.

#convo: daniel

// I didn't mean to disappear, again. My summer classes picked up and I ended up stuck in papers on literature and analysis and everything else included. I'm taking the fall off though and will be on more frequently.

#ooc #out of sheet music

"I lived through that, bombs and all," he commented, slightly bitter, bright eyes watching the others movements, raising an eyebrow at the handsome remark, "I doubt there will be much sleep after that welcome," Nicki whispered after the kiss, watching him even more closely.

He hadn't washed his clothes in ages, and was unsure some of it would even last in a washer if it weren't for a delicate cycle, he was intrigued, and attracted to the other, with his voice trapped in a box that told him information, and the apartment. He laid his violin case down carefully before pulling his jacket off, then his shirt as he handed him the clothes, pale chest and abdominal muscles like marble, lighter scars, accentuated from the vampiric blood that kept him alive, scars from the fights with his father over him giving up university to study with Mozart, fights when he had been drunk in Paris as a mortal man trying to make it on his own.

He held his own shirt out to him, "Merci," his eyes sparkled as if daring the other to touch him, something he used to do to Lestat that had driven the blonde into ravishing evenings of both of them in states of undress and heated affection. "I may need help with the shower, I don't use them much,"

winters-shadow

Adam's jaw set firmly as he watched Nicki take his shirt off. Pale skin covered with paler scars...he reached out gently to trace over one of these scars. He wanted to push Nicki against the wall. To have his way with him. But he wasn't sure how the vampire would take it. Wasn't sure if such an advance would be wanted. And with the sun soon coming, he wasn't sure how much longer Nicki would have being concious.

"Friday."

'Yes, Sir?'

"Set the shower to my preferred temperature."

'Of course, sir. The water will begin once you enter the bathroom."

Leading Nicki into the bathroom, the water started up, steam soon filling the room.

He set fresh clothes and a towel up for Nicki as well.

"Tomorrow night...I fully intend on making you mine. Just...so you know. I want you, Nicki."

His eyes are like a stormy sea as he looks at the vampire.

"And I get the things that I want."

Nicolas would have been content with it, he could stay up a little longer than some immortals, but it depended often on if he had fed and other things. He was still fascinated at Friday, listening to the voice then finding the shower going, the warmth already felt inviting, showers were dangerous, he would spend hours until he'd used the hot water up at times, it warmed his body, felt like a thousand warm kisses that he could get obsessed with if he wasn't careful.

"Tomorrow night then," his eyes watched him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he had to be attracted to him, not only for him but was also fascinated, he wanted to learn more.

Nicki spent a while in the shower, humming a childhood song to himself, taking in the warmth that made him almost look human again when he stepped out, his hair damp curls after he dried it with the towel, something they had done when he was a mortal, but seemed to enhance now.

He collapsed on the bed, enveloped in the warmth of clean clothes, a soft mattress, dozing as the day drew in and brought about the dead sleep.

He woke up to the sounds of the night, blurry vision from sleepiness as he remembered where he was. Stretching like a cat, he looked around the bedroom, "Adam?" he spoke, looking for the other male from the tangle of sheets and duvet.

#convo: adam

it's been triple digits in heat where I live, and it threw me into ocular migraines. Between my doctor, pain meds, and finally finding a migraine medication that works, I'm able to be back on Nicolas without my eyes feeling like they're being stabbed. I really hate the summer, I need it to be colder weather again.

I'll be on today working on overdue replies

#ooc #out of sheet music

Nicki allowed him to lead him to the car, to the apartment, it was a place he had played the corners at, bewitching the police into not chasing him off. He had only time to ensure the battered violin case was still on his back, stringed through with twine to make it easier to carry. He had seen the cases that were like backpacks, but didn't trust them with his treasure within that he had stolen from a lock box of Lestat's.

The disembodied voice made him start, a string of french being muttered as he looked about for the source, "does she have a body? Or is she simply a voice?" he needed to know, not wanting anymore surprises, "What sort of essay?" he trailed off, examining the windows, lightly tapping the glass with a fingernail. Such technology, he had only seen it in movies.

"Oh, I don't want to put you out of your bed, I've slept in stone tombs," dirt floors, abandoned cellars and basements of creaky old homes, a bed was just a bed, but the heaviness in his limbs was getting to him, and the idea of soft, enveloping sheets, a mattress, it did sound tempting, "and you do tend to work during the day, so I could use the bed...non?" more so convincing himself than the other.

winters-shadow

Adam smiled softly towards the vampire before moving closer to him.

"She is just a voice...and the bed is yours. As for the essay...it's history. World War Two."

He moved so close that he was just a breath away.

"You know...you are very handsome. You can crawl into my bed any time you want."

He winked before placing a soft kiss on the French vampire's cheek, and leading him to the bedroom.

He pulled back the sheets, and handed Nicolas a fresh set of clothes to change into.

"Here. I'll have your current clothes washed for you. Change and then get some sleep."

#convo: adam #It's fine I lost my login information #I'm so sorry about your pup <3

"I lived through that, bombs and all," he commented, slightly bitter, bright eyes watching the others movements, raising an eyebrow at the handsome remark, "I doubt there will be much sleep after that welcome," Nicki whispered after the kiss, watching him even more closely.

He hadn't washed his clothes in ages, and was unsure some of it would even last in a washer if it weren't for a delicate cycle, he was intrigued, and attracted to the other, with his voice trapped in a box that told him information, and the apartment. He laid his violin case down carefully before pulling his jacket off, then his shirt as he handed him the clothes, pale chest and abdominal muscles like marble, lighter scars, accentuated from the vampiric blood that kept him alive, scars from the fights with his father over him giving up university to study with Mozart, fights when he had been drunk in Paris as a mortal man trying to make it on his own.

He held his own shirt out to him, "Merci," his eyes sparkled as if daring the other to touch him, something he used to do to Lestat that had driven the blonde into ravishing evenings of both of them in states of undress and heated affection. "I may need help with the shower, I don't use them much,"

""Therapy doesn't work on me.""

"So no freudian couch, and asking how things make you feel?" he rubbed his tired eyes, "Well, there goes the discussion for tonight,"

#answered #convo: mina

Nicki and ?

{OPEN STARTER}

He had broken the window, his hand healing from shoving his fist through the shops plate glass, the silent alarm not so silent to his preternatural hearing as he stood there and stared at the television and its contents. Lestat? Lestat on this screen, in technicolor, the blonde hair he had ran his fingers through so many times, those damned eyes, creator, lover, sire, enemy? Nicolas no longer knew what to call him. There had been times in his madness he had forgotten about the Brat Prince, as he had heard in other vampires minds, loudly, but he hadn't known until now that it was indeed, his old companion.

Part of him wanted to go to him, envelope him in an embrace, and sob, then another wished to strangle him with the very microphone cord he spun on his fingers in the video. He never knew which part would win out these days, but the destructive one determined the fate of the poor window.

He felt the other before he saw them, almost as if the hair on his neck stood up. Nicolas usually ran from others, never wanting to interact with anyone, he was too distrusting nowadays, and he was often overlooked unless he was playing his violin, a shabby leather coat he'd found in a dumpster gods knew how long ago, jeans with holes in them and his boots held together with what he thought was duck tape, only to find out no, it wasn't made of ducks. His black t-shirt with the collar stretched from him pulling at it, the edge worn from where he rested his violin, the one companion he still had from all those centuries ago. Nicki was easily overlooked for someone homeless, unless they knew how to look like this person did.

"I don't want to speak to anyone," he said flatly, still staring at the broken glass, "and the police will be here soon," his faint french accent still lingered on some words, he did turn to see who the other was, pulling a slice of the glass from his hand he had forgotten, not knowing another was healing in his cheek, "que veux-tu?"

Yeah, she knew. She'd read all about it but even then she wondered just how accurate Lestat's version of things were.

When he asked if she was older than she looked, her guard dropped just for a second, she thought of her time in London in the 1890's. Thought of the happier times with her family, with Jonathan....when times were hard but simple. Flashes of Jonathan came through her mind. Or....what she could remember of him. The only thing she had was a faded photograph she tried desperately to keep intact.

"no, not like you," she agreed but didn't give him the reason. She didn't want to go into it and she quickly guarded her brain again, "Mina."

No last name, nothing to connect with the book of her own life that was published without her permission and had it's facts skewed.

Maybe they were more alike than she thought.

He noticed her guard drop, a change in her demeanor, he had guessed correctly, but didn't push, she would talk about it if she wished, just as he was with his own past and problems, he didn't offer an open book into his life, and respected those who did the same.

Nicki just gave an understanding nod, "I won't pry, you've your reasons, as do I, I just...the elevated senses things and I needed to know, " he laughed, "although, most of mine is in a book by my what is it they say? Psychotic ex?" he didn't believe it, but his bitterness was still there towards the author who only knew half of what had happened to him after he left him with Armand and the Theatre, who seemed to have treated him as a footnote in his life to be forgotten and treated like a ghost of his past life. "Well, Mina, I hope you changed your mind on killing me,"

She was thankful he didn't push further, she'd have shut it down. He didn't get those memories, they were in her mind, they belonged solely to her. Not for a vampire to peek into against her wishes.

"If it makes you feel better, he does portray you quite sympathetically," she said. At least she thought so. He was simply someone who got in over his head in the throes of depression, there was a darkness and a sadness in him that was amplified and Lestat wasn't mature enough to handle it well and unfortunately Nicki paid the price for his demand.

"But it doesn't seem to be so accurate if you're alive but hell....wouldn't be the first time a vampire book was inaccurate."

Her tone was a bit too bitter, suggesting her own past with it.

"Haven't decided yet," she told him, though she was steering away from it, "Hope I don't. Hope your'e different."

Nicholas laughed, "He made me a tragedy, his love lost, but he couldn't handle what he had done, he didn't know how to deal with whatever inner demons his blood brought out," he partially understood Lestat, but was still angry, it was an anger that wouldn't be satisfied until he looked the other in the eye again and made him explain.

"What was it? Garlic? Holy Water? The Cross?" he had read Dracula, and laughed through it at how vulnerable this Count was to everyday objects. "The sun and fire, but then again that doesn't work perfectly every time, I did try, I threw myself into the flames, but like you said, I'm alive, more or less," he did pause, having caught the bitterness, "I suppose you know more about that Count, but once again, none of my business unless you want it to be," he shrugged, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat.

"I think I am, there are times I don't think I am, I've had my moments, the idea of being evil doesn't sit with me anymore I guess, so...what now if I'm not the target then?"

“I want to interview you.”

"I'm afraid my story isn't one of happiness and deep philosophies," he warned him, unsure of this interviewer, but Nicki was also curious, I mean he had found the vampire in his broken down apartment, the sanctum that Nicolas retreated to that reflected his mind's state at times, broken mugs, peeling wallpaper, stacks of sheet music that were turning various colors of yellow, some possibly so brittle they would fall apart, and a small portrait of Mozart, untouched and framed in a way as if on an altar. "It's a cautionary tale at most that it's not always best to get what you wish for after all,"

“That’s my specialty,” Daniel said. “I look for people in the cracks.” And this one with the dark hair and the messy apartment, this beautiful musical man with the sad eyes, he was exactly the kind of person Daniel would want to write about. He wanted to get inside this man’s brain, get to know the sadness and darkness in his heart. Daniel himself was full of darkness. Sometimes Daniel thought that all there was to him was a black hole. He was so drawn to this potential kindred spirit. “Any asshole can be a cop or a politician, but I’ve never met anyone like you before. You’re different.”

Nicolas was hesitant, but part of him wanted to see what would come of this 'interview', he often tried not to discuss his past, it brought too much back up, dark memories that he would rather keep out, and then the memories that he couldn't remember, blurred by trauma and madness that his mind had blocked out. He laughed when he said he'd never met anyone like him before, "Really?" he knew he couldn't have never met a musician, but the other, his nature, that was something not many met in their lifetime, unless Nicki targeted them for...well sustenance.

"Then why not? I'll answer all I can," he knew he'd need something to relax, "and wine, somewhere," he set his violin case down, he'd been out with it eariler and forgot it was still in his hand. He opened one of the cupboards in the small kitchn, there it was, a bottle of red from Languedoc he'd found in a liquor shop, oddly he hadn't gotten sick from drinking it like he did most mortal drinks and food, but it still had plenty of the red liquid in it. "Pinot Noir I think?" wine was wine to him, but Lestat would have known the name, the winery, even the grapes it was made of....fucking Lestat. "I have maybe one glass," he set both on a table, gesturing for the other to sit down, "you can set up whatever you need on the table? How does this work?"

Daniel was nervous but also so excited. There was something so dark and mysterious about this stranger. He was clearly a tortured creative type. Daniel himself was a tortured writer and drawn to other creative types. Most of all, the darkness inside the beautiful man called to the darkness inside himself. He knew very well that this guy could potentially be unhinged and dangerous. He loved danger though. It thrilled him to his core. It only made him attracted to the man even more.

He accepted the wine and took a sip. He wasn’t a snob when it came to alcohol. It could have come from a box and he wouldn’t care. He pulled out his recording device and his notebook. “We can start with the basics,” Daniel suggested. “Where were you born?” He looked at the other man hungrily and licked his lips. Focus, he reminded himself. He wasn’t a professional after all. He was here to get a story.

“A small village in the Auvergne region of France,” he answered, pulling the other chair out and sitting backwards, resting his arms on the back of it, “I don’t think it exists anymore,” Nicolas paused, trying to decide to reveal the year, then went why not? See if this man was serious on wanting the entire story, “about….” He made a very French noise for fake thinking, “1760, reign of le roi soleil, I also witnessed the fall of the Bourbon kings, while playing violin in a theater in Paris.” Nicki’s dark eyes glinted, watching for his reaction, taking a drink of the wine. If he wanted the whole story, why lie when the truth was so much more compelling?

Well that explained the accent that Daniel detected. He could hear it on certain words, certain consonants. He was usually a very observant person. He noticed details that others didn’t. It was part of what made him a good journalist. He usually saw right through people’s bullshit. So many people put on masks, pretending to be what they weren’t and hiding their secrets under the surface. He always dug up what they were hiding eventually. In this case, his interview subject wasn’t hiding at all.

Daniel raised an eyebrow at him when he said the year he was born. Was this man truly that crazy? He should probably leave. He should end the interview. Instead, Daniel chuckled a little and made a joke. “Wow, you look great for being so old.”

"I mean you wanted the truth?" he said, looking him up and down from across the table, he was still wary of the other, he'd never had a mortal be so forward, ask questions that actually made Nicki pause and agree to answer them. "Forever the age I was turned, but what is it I've heard? It all comes with a price," his turn to laugh, slightly bitter, examining the wine in the bottle as a connoisseur would, swirling the red liquid around before taking another drink, "I mean, if you'd met me on a bad night I probably would have drained you, blood is sweeter than any wine mortal hands could make after all," fangs showed with a small grin from the violinist, "but I won't, I promise, you got my attention with your questions,"

#convo: daniel

I stupidly forgot my login information, but after dealing with my email and resetting my password I got back in. I didn't meant to disappear, I just accidentally logged out and couldn't get back in.

#ooc

beebssources

Reblog this post to let your followers know you're fine with being tagged in random starters. Additionally, reblog this post if you're all right with being sent old memes, no matter how long ago you reblogged them.

“I want to interview you.”

"I'm afraid my story isn't one of happiness and deep philosophies," he warned him, unsure of this interviewer, but Nicki was also curious, I mean he had found the vampire in his broken down apartment, the sanctum that Nicolas retreated to that reflected his mind's state at times, broken mugs, peeling wallpaper, stacks of sheet music that were turning various colors of yellow, some possibly so brittle they would fall apart, and a small portrait of Mozart, untouched and framed in a way as if on an altar. "It's a cautionary tale at most that it's not always best to get what you wish for after all,"

“That’s my specialty,” Daniel said. “I look for people in the cracks.” And this one with the dark hair and the messy apartment, this beautiful musical man with the sad eyes, he was exactly the kind of person Daniel would want to write about. He wanted to get inside this man’s brain, get to know the sadness and darkness in his heart. Daniel himself was full of darkness. Sometimes Daniel thought that all there was to him was a black hole. He was so drawn to this potential kindred spirit. “Any asshole can be a cop or a politician, but I’ve never met anyone like you before. You’re different.”

Nicolas was hesitant, but part of him wanted to see what would come of this 'interview', he often tried not to discuss his past, it brought too much back up, dark memories that he would rather keep out, and then the memories that he couldn't remember, blurred by trauma and madness that his mind had blocked out. He laughed when he said he'd never met anyone like him before, "Really?" he knew he couldn't have never met a musician, but the other, his nature, that was something not many met in their lifetime, unless Nicki targeted them for...well sustenance.

"Then why not? I'll answer all I can," he knew he'd need something to relax, "and wine, somewhere," he set his violin case down, he'd been out with it eariler and forgot it was still in his hand. He opened one of the cupboards in the small kitchn, there it was, a bottle of red from Languedoc he'd found in a liquor shop, oddly he hadn't gotten sick from drinking it like he did most mortal drinks and food, but it still had plenty of the red liquid in it. "Pinot Noir I think?" wine was wine to him, but Lestat would have known the name, the winery, even the grapes it was made of....fucking Lestat. "I have maybe one glass," he set both on a table, gesturing for the other to sit down, "you can set up whatever you need on the table? How does this work?"

Daniel was nervous but also so excited. There was something so dark and mysterious about this stranger. He was clearly a tortured creative type. Daniel himself was a tortured writer and drawn to other creative types. Most of all, the darkness inside the beautiful man called to the darkness inside himself. He knew very well that this guy could potentially be unhinged and dangerous. He loved danger though. It thrilled him to his core. It only made him attracted to the man even more.

He accepted the wine and took a sip. He wasn’t a snob when it came to alcohol. It could have come from a box and he wouldn’t care. He pulled out his recording device and his notebook. “We can start with the basics,” Daniel suggested. “Where were you born?” He looked at the other man hungrily and licked his lips. Focus, he reminded himself. He wasn’t a professional after all. He was here to get a story.