ᅟᅟ ᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟ𝑏𝑒𝑡 ᅟ𝑦𝑜𝑢 ᅟ𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹 ᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟ 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 ᅟ𝑎 ᅟ𝑹☆𝑪𝑲𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹, ᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟ 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡ᅟ𝑦𝑜𝑢ᅟ𝑛𝑜𝑤? ᅟᅟ

( closer she stepped , his beckoning acting like that of a siren's call. she took the cigarette between dainty fingers , brows furrowing. )

𝐅ondness strikes his expression at Lestat's words; feeling the sheer weight of them press against his soul — or lack thereof. It's enough to compel the drummer to remove a small, ornate box tucked away in the bookshelf. Beyond the lid, a 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘦. "And what —

( cautiously approaching , a brow raised. )

oh - i mean , i've never actually tried.

so 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 where the smoke smell was coming from.

an island beyond reach. memories from other lives. dreams of suffering and loneliness. a promise. a search for something lost.

"Desperation only leads to a messy ending. I'd much prefer to give you something more. . . 𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱. Consider it a token of my gratitude." Slipping from his post, the drummer comes to a stand, brushing past the vampire with playful mischief. "It's the least that I can —

"𝑀𝘩. . . a broken bird, perhaps? Nothing left to live for, eager for the embrace of the dark." Even as digits sweep through unruly curls, Aleksi's gaze never wavers. Animalistic nature daring to seep through the cracks. "I'll make them remember your name."

𝐏ractice is long forgotten in favor of unrelenting worship, subconsciously setting aside his drumsticks and providing Lestat with his full attention. "Tell me, Mr. De Lioncourt. . . what would entice your palette?"

"Learned from the best." And he's only half joking. Hand settles there, where it's comfortable, while its twin scratches Lestat's scalp gently. Like a cat. "Sure you don't wanna go out? Early 'nough to get a decent walk."

"If 𝘎𝘰𝘥 demands sacrifice, then who am I to judge him?" Jaw tenses briefly: not out of resentment, but graciousness. 𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘬𝘴𝘪. The only one worthy of calling him such. "You value the natural order of things: adapt or perish. And so do I."

𝐒omething wicked infiltrates his gaze as the other delicately lifts his chin; pride in abundance. "It's 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 call." He emphasizes, dark devotion straining his vision. "And it'll remain that way."

"Maybe, but if there's one thing I know, it's that they don't have the 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 to try and look into it." And at that, he grins— widely amused at the thought alone. "All bark, no 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦."

𝙋ulse hammering with every beat of the drum; focused, driven. . . until it ceases altogether. "They're still 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘺 of you, you know. Larry, Tough Cookie. I see it in the way they look at you."

𝐇e's been practicing all morning for the next show. Surely, @fangedlyrics can 𝙨͟𝙚͟𝙣͟𝙨͟𝙚 it.