ㅤㅤA surprised grunt is expelled from the back of the throat with the unexpected upheaval of unwanted contact, the uniformed gendarme shoving Lestat and a few loitering figures aside from the city square’s noticeboard, the soured stench of cornichons lingering on the other’s breath while heavy-handedly affixing a sheet of parchment over a few older announcements. Diminishing sunlight setting the waves of aureate tresses ablaze, it pours down the middle of two adjacent buildings to create a vibrant streak with a sharpness around the edges akin to a blade, heavy shadows cast on either side from stone and the comparably softened layers of the performer’s red caped bearing, opposing inked words barely visible. Blue gaze narrowing, the man can’t fully read the information, but he understands the underlying implication, illustrations of familiar faces who’d frequently walked these cobbled roads now made an example of, brought to ‘ justice ’ for recent crimes rooted in poverty ( quelle triste situation ).
ㅤㅤㅤㅤA wave of nausea grips the blond nonetheless, thoughts drifting to home Auvergne, how some villagers surrounding their land barely had enough for food or to purchase supplies for their trade of choice, opting to barter favours from one another to make ends meet, a palm instinctively brushing against his hip to where a small compartment held a few coins— “ Merde… ” Eyes screwing shut with the formation of a grimace, Lestat realises there are less present than expected, Nicki having foolishly tasked him with an errand to pick up some food while embroiled in rehearsals - he’s not good with money ( il n’a jamais prétendu être ), and it doesn’t help that the apples he’d purchased had been half eaten by stray dogs sniffing around his heels, unable to hold back a sensation of pity that wasn’t always afforded to others to the same degree. The violinist is going to threaten to skin him alive in frustrated jest, and while Lestat can turn on the charm to assuage him, it doesn’t detract from the fact that they’ll go hungry that evening barring the comfort of a cheap bottle of wine…
ㅤㅤ…that is, unless he thinks on his feet. Spine straightening to peer at his surroundings, the blond considers following his nose, the warm scent of butter drifting from a pâtisserie with the chiming of a bell tower, the sound indicating the encroachment of the shop’s imminent closure. And that meant ridding themselves of stale morsels, a factor Lestat could profit from. / @vascend
