so·li·lac·quist
/ˌsɒl-ɪ-ˈlaː-kwɪst/
noun
1. one who speaks to himself as if the world were listening; a creature of confession, unreliable narration memory, and unanswered prayer
2. (proper, rare) the compulsive need to narrate one’s own damnation
" what is memory, if not a haunting? "
an independent and selective roleplay blog for louis de pointe du lac. primarily amc’s interview with the vampire, with selective influence from the vampire chronicles. portrayal blends show canon, book canon (where applicable), and personal loathing interpretation. mature themes will appear, including (but not limited to): horror, blood, violence, gore, religious trauma, moral corruption, and toxic relationships. follow at thine own risk.
001. 30+, O+, she/her. on tumblr for 12+ years, roleplaying for 20+. this is a long-term hobby and a creative outlet i take too seriously, but not stressfully.
002. this blog explores louis in all his contradictions: devotion and cruelty, tenderness and violence, faith and damnation. slow-burn dynamics, long-form threads, and character-driven writing are my comfort zone.
003. plotting is fine and welcome (especially for heavier or long-term threads) but i strongly prefer organic tension and character-driven development. i enjoy letting dynamics unfold naturally in-thread rather than scripting everything start to finish. surprise is the spice of life etc. etc.
004. my writing style tends to be third person and present tense, para to novella (depending on the thread), prose-leaning, introspective, and heavily character-focused. sometimes icons, sometimes not. i'm crazy like that. i will match effort and tone where i reasonably can, but i won’t force a style that doesn’t feel natural.
005. i’m friendly, but not a chatterbox or a dm dweller. replies come when they come. real life always wins. nudging is okay after a reasonable time; pestering is not.
je suis alive, i promise, and being held at proverbial gunpoint by ldpdl to write drafts soon Or Else. life be life'ing, i miss writing, ty for being patient with me and my too full yet too empty brain.
By the time we left Italy I was playing dangerous little games with mortals. I’d see a man, or a woman—a human being who looked perfect to me spiritually—and I would follow the human about. Maybe for a week I’d do this, then a month, sometimes even longer than that. I’d fall in love with the being. I’d imagine friendship, conversation, intimacy that we could never have. In some magical and imaginary moment I would say: “But you see what I am,” and this human being, in supreme spiritual understanding, would say: “Yes, I see. I understand.”
— Who are you, Louis? Who are you outside of me? If there was no me, and there was no him, who would you be? What do you want? How you gon' get there? (Interview with the Vampire, Season 2 Episode 2)
— I walked into the sun... I'm remembering it now... I walked out into the sun. Pieces of my life, gone. I knew who I was without those pieces. (Interview with the Vampire, Season 2 Episode 5)
“ Only 45%. Mm. Seems tame for you. Is this what pity looks like? ”
@evilanew
it’d be a lie to say louis isn’t savoring this to the very hollowed marrow of him. something spoiled and sweet in it. something that reaches down into the old ruined chambers of his soul and lights candles everywhere. because for all the theater of it, the meeting, the lawyers, the polished conference room, lestat is still right there across from him. still reacting in ways that has louis’s body sing. the tiny flares of offense. the vanity. the restless little shifts of posture when annoyance is close to reaching a crescendo. louis can’t quite suppress the pleasure of it.
so he doesn’t. because this is his arena, as much as the stage is lestat’s.
lemuel’s disapproval vibrates loud beside him, thick enough to touch. louis feels it pressing at his shoulder like static before a storm. doesn’t matter. lemuel is paid well for his presence, and whatever retribution he imagines lemuel insists on delivering later can be settled privately. mutually. louis suspects they’ll both survive the experience feeling better for it. he lifts one hand in a loose gesture, easy, dismissive. unbothered. lestat never cared for infrastructure. never understood the machinery underneath the spectacle. love the murano chandelier, not the wiring hidden behind the walls.
“nah, the merch’s just one channel of many.”
there. that minute flicker in the eyes of lestat’s lawyer. louis catches it the way a predator catches movement in tall grass. immediate. instinctive. delicious. has to work overtime not to grin. his gaze drifts between lestat and the drainage system side piece, lets his own expression open slowly into exaggerated surprise.
“oh, i’m sorry, did– did you not know you’re playing at my venues and staying in my hotels the whole tour?”
