There's something to be said about how a place can feel both familiar and foreign all at once. It's been well over a century since Lestat had graced the streets of Paris, much has changed since the days of the Reign of Terror. Still, his feet seem to know what streets to walk to find the things that time couldn't cover, and the homecoming (of sorts) is invigorating after everything.
The distance between here and the life he quite literally left behind is nice, too, of course. An entire ocean separating him from all that happened, and, best of all, the companionship he has at his side now. Reid remains endlessly indulgent, which delights Lestat still to no end. It's enough to make Lestat be less insistent that they visit the opera and the theatre ever night.
For now, though, he stands at the Place du Trocadéro, nose scrunched up as he regards the Eiffel Tower, which he hasn't had the pleasure to see in person yet.
"Quite frankly, I don't see the appeal," he admits.
Reid has been to Paris before, has done an extended apprenticeship in France but he can't help but look at the world afresh and new give the change in time and world.
And company.
"I've never looked into it, I'm afraid. Do you know what it was made for, my love?"
"Then I see no reason why we ought not do that very thing."
He has never been the sort for frivolous risk, but this is hardly that. Unless they bring a firecracker or a number of torches up there, he doubts anyone could see, let alone would. And they would be gone before the constable had been called.
Not so long ago, had anyone tried to stop Lestat from doing something he wanted, it wouldn't have ended well for that someone. But it is unlikely anyone will try to stop them, and if they do, then they'll simply become victim to some vampire mesmerization and move on.
Lestat links their arms and starts the walk across the plaza, towards the tower, absently listening to the tourists and people mingling around at this hour. Then a voice hits his ears, unexpected and enough to startle him into slowing his steps.
That shocks him most of all, and Reid's hand will reach out as the arm entwined with Lestat's gives a slight squeeze. Something about the expression on his face, the way that he paused, seemed less than amused or pleased.
Lestat was aware upon coming here that there was some chance of running into someone familiar. The reasons he left Paris in the first place likely still linger, and it's something he's come to terms with should they happen across each other. Hell, he assumes they knew the moment he stepped foot within city limits.
But this one is unexpected, and at first he thinks it might just be his mind playing tricks on him.
He walks them away from the path to the tower, moving towards one of the streets where tourists are flocking for late night coffees and aperitifs. This would have made a lovely hunting ground where he not turning over a new leaf.
Johnny never came to think of such places as hunting grounds, so most of his thoughts are centered on concern for Lestat and a faint half-thought that this spot smells lovely given his new senses. It is only here, in a real place, a real city, one not saturated with plague and death that he's really come to appreciate his newfound abilities in that regard.
But he will not say anything, instead, watching Lestat to provide whatever support he might need. A blood lance is just a thought away, after all.
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@ transfundere
The distance between here and the life he quite literally left behind is nice, too, of course. An entire ocean separating him from all that happened, and, best of all, the companionship he has at his side now. Reid remains endlessly indulgent, which delights Lestat still to no end. It's enough to make Lestat be less insistent that they visit the opera and the theatre ever night.
For now, though, he stands at the Place du Trocadéro, nose scrunched up as he regards the Eiffel Tower, which he hasn't had the pleasure to see in person yet.
"Quite frankly, I don't see the appeal," he admits.
Re: @ transfundere
And company.
"I've never looked into it, I'm afraid. Do you know what it was made for, my love?"
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The look of distaste leaves, replaced by a brief look of contemplation.
"Still, I would like to see the city from the top of it. It's much larger than it was a century and a half ago."
no subject
He has never been the sort for frivolous risk, but this is hardly that. Unless they bring a firecracker or a number of torches up there, he doubts anyone could see, let alone would. And they would be gone before the constable had been called.
no subject
Not so long ago, had anyone tried to stop Lestat from doing something he wanted, it wouldn't have ended well for that someone. But it is unlikely anyone will try to stop them, and if they do, then they'll simply become victim to some vampire mesmerization and move on.
Lestat links their arms and starts the walk across the plaza, towards the tower, absently listening to the tourists and people mingling around at this hour. Then a voice hits his ears, unexpected and enough to startle him into slowing his steps.
no subject
no subject
But this one is unexpected, and at first he thinks it might just be his mind playing tricks on him.
"Forgive me. A slight detour may be in order."
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"I am happy to follow you, dearheart. Always."
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He walks them away from the path to the tower, moving towards one of the streets where tourists are flocking for late night coffees and aperitifs. This would have made a lovely hunting ground where he not turning over a new leaf.
no subject
But he will not say anything, instead, watching Lestat to provide whatever support he might need. A blood lance is just a thought away, after all.