There was a thud, and not a delicate one either. Homelander landed in front of Lestat’s lair, part of him hating himself for even wanting to willingly confide in the leech. However, this was of the utmost importance and he wanted all eyes and ears on the city and beyond. No matter who they belonged to.
A bloodied gloved fist knocked on the door as the Supe stood, head to toe drenched in blood. Both old and new. This would be the first break he’d taken since his hunt began. He hadn’t stopped to eat nor sleep…or bathe. All meaningless tasks.
Lestat would be greeted with dangerously dark eyes and a set jaw. Homelander meant business and he wasn’t in the mood for any tricks or jokes. For all intents and purposes, he was dead inside with his reason for existence being taken from him.
[ @hom3land3r ]
@hom3land3r
Lestat and Stacee had been relaxing on the bus, with Lestat halfway through writing a new song, when he heard a slamming knock on the door.
“What the fuck?” Stacee said, shooting upright to answer the loud banging. When he opened the door, he was face to face with a bloody, exhausted, and angry Homelander.
“Who the fuck are you? I’m not interested in donating to the Neo-Nazi of America fund if that’s why you’re here.” Stacee said bluntly. Unless Gazelle had told Homelander about her husband, the man standing before Homelander looked like an identical copy of Lestat, albeit brunette, covered in tattoos, and with a far worse attitude than Lestat. He also wore a black leather vest with matching pants.
“Stacee who’s at the door?” Lestat called.
“Some cosplay weirdo who’s wearing an American flag as a cape.” Stacee replied and Lestat snorted a laugh.
“Tell him to fuck off, I’m not interested in dealing with his nonsense today.” Lestat said and Stacee turned with a fanged smile.
“You heard him. Fuck off.”
