𝐀n index and middle finger pinch the bud of a cigarette that rests in between perfect pink lips. The famous revenant gave a blank stare in front of him, paying no mind to the Talamasca boy who approached him from the left.
He takes a deep drag and pulls the cig from his mouth, hand gliding to the side, still holding the lit bud. He purses his lips, tilts his chin up, and blows the smoke out with a lighthearted scoff.
There was a silence that clung to their moment. Lestat was torn from keeping it or entertaining the boy with his answer, either way what fun.
" Buhh, " he breathed out the last bit of smoke from his lungs, his next words are deep and gargled from the smoke that flowed out of him, " You Talamasca are all the same. "
He turns his head to the left to finally face the brunette, a small smirk tugging at the side of his mouth that possessed a small scar, which deepened with the smile.
" However ... I have been asking myself such a question since I lived in Paris. I'd say it was never for the better, " he stares at him for a brief moment before inching his face closer to the boy, glowing glacier eyes narrowing with attitude and curiosity.
" But you probably already knew that, you people always do, " he takes another hit of his cigarette , this one more nonchalant and less dramatic than the one before. He exhales the smoke.
" I could very much ask you the same type of question, my friend. The Talamasca are filled with ... grubby little mortals who's stories are not quite the same but are the same at the same time — " his hand which held his smoke twirled about in the air to add attitude and emphasis, " — so inconsistent yet consistent, ever changing with the thrilling adventures you have. "
Lestat takes the final drag of his bud before flicking it with his claw to the ground below, using the tip of his pointed boot to snuff it out.
" If our stories stayed the same, is that truly a compelling story to tell? Hm? "
ㅤ
