Open RP || Rockstar Lestat de Lioncourt, modern day (18+ ONLY)
It was great to be back in New Orleans.
Lestat’s tour had been a roaring success so far, a glorious bacchanal of sound and adoration. He was no stranger to sold-out shows, but all his prior performances were pale imitations of the warm, fevered welcome of his beloved city. The crowd was unlike anything he’d ever seen before: thousands of screaming, adoring fans, all clamoring for just a fleeting moment of his attention. Their fervor was invigorating, and he loved every minute of it. It was a potent drug, enough to temporarily silence the cavernous echo of his own loneliness. Beneath the searing glare of the stage lights, he was a god. He was loved, worshipped, and adored, at least until the performance ended.
As the concert came to a close and the band played their final encore, Lestat stood center stage, letting the lingering screams and chants wash over him, numbing the dull, persistent ache that had already begun to stir in the hollows of his chest. The last notes of the song died out, and he lingered in the wings backstage, watching as the audience shuffled out of the concert hall in hordes, until every last seat in the house was empty.
An eerie, suffocating silence descended over the venue as he made his way back to his dressing room. His bandmates were already back on the tour bus, but Lestat could not shake the prickling sensation of being watched. Something told him he was not alone.
He dismissed this feeling, redirecting his attention to his reflection in the dressing room mirror. The glass showed a vision of rock-star perfection, sweat-slicked and radiant, but it was nothing more than another performance. He used the hem of his silk shirt to wipe away the glittering sheen of blood-sweat from his brow. As he examined his reflection, a flicker of movement in the darkness behind him made his still heart skip a beat. There, nestled between a rack of sequined jackets and leather trousers, a familiar pair of eyes peered back at him from the shadows, studying his every move. Lestat would recognize those eyes anywhere. His lips curled slowly into a knowing smile as he addressed the presence watching him. “You can come out now, mon petit voyeur. I already know you’re here. Did you enjoy the show?”