Lover of the light
@farewelltolight
Nicolas had gone exactly two hundred years without seeing his maker, and would gladly have gone two hundred years more, at least. But Lestat had a way of making himself seen. It seemed that Nicolas could not turn a corner without hearing his songs, or seeing his book, or being bombarded with the chatter of obsessed fans. Lestat was calling out to every vampire on earth- so Nicolas would answer.
Nicolas read the eponymous novel on the flight to the new world. He managed not to tear the book to shreds only by filling its margins with notes, comments, and a great deal of profanity. He brought nothing with him except a case of fine clothing, and his violin. Perhaps he would join Lestat on stage? It would be poetic. But Nicolas suspected their reunion was far more likely to start and end with a brawl.
New Orleans was a riot to the senses. There were flowers everywhere, and the scent of them made his head swim. He had no plan from this point forward- Lestat’s mind was silent to him, and vice versa. But the fool wasn’t exactly being subtle- Nicolas was sure he would find him eventually. He wandered the winding streets aimlessly, taking in the noise, the lights, the smells.