@fopvamp
It’s a familiar face in the crowd -- one he most certainly did not expect to see at this particular charity gala. He’s been a patron to the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra for many years now, is aware of practically everyone who runs in the same social circles -- as aware of them as they are of him, perhaps more so, considering the little rayskin box occupying his kitchen. This one, though, he knows he’s never seen here at one of the Gala’s --
Knows, because he has not seen him in YEARS. Unfathomable and briefly befuddling, Lestat seems untouched by the years. Golden curls halo his shoulders, a glass of chardonnay untouched in his hand that seems there purely for ceremony. ( impossible, isn’t it ? How many years have passed since that night in Paris ? How many years has it been ? 30? Something like it, it has to be -- Impossible for Lestat to look so ... as he does. Beyond time. Immortal. Untouchable. )
Eyes that meet amidst the crowd but show no outward recognition. Eyes, impossibly blue and ethereal, burned into his memory --- find him and drift away just as quickly. It isn’t possible for that to be Lestat, it isn’t, logically, he knows that. Hannibal lets his eyes drift away, tries to put it from mind, enjoy the gala. ( Find a new business card for his box. )
It’s difficult to shake the specter of the past, though. It clings to him, reminds him of ages past now -- of the lithuanian hillside and how Lestat had not shied from violence, had taken part of his delicacy offered without question. His first feast.
He can’t help but gravitate back to the stranger before the night is through --
“ Good evening. Forgive me, I don’t believe I’ve seen you at one of these events before. I’m Dr. Hannibal Lecter. “ The introductions is perfunctory and rehearsed, as second nature as the rest of his meticulous suit. He kindly prays that this newfound stranger won’t be one more rude person to be added to the list -- he isn’t certain he could resist killing them recklessly, right here, in the crowd, for daring to spew filth with the face of someone so beloved. ( What would give them the right, after all ? )
“ Are you from Baltimore ? “
