I don't ordinarily participate in the Hallowe'en fervor, not because I find it anything but fascinating, and rather because it's something of a sensory overload. All the beautiful humans in their dazzling attire and dizzying grace. It's simply too much for an old fiend like me to abide. I'd much rather sit on my balcony overlooking the Rue Royale, and watch those below me. It's quite a sight, I promise. Maybe not what the Rue Bourbon experiences, but it's enough of a thrill to still me, keep me in for the night, rather than going out and making mischief.
But sometimes the sounds from deeper in the Vieux Carré drift to me so headily that I cannot stand by and remain the silent spectator. David would surely have chastised me, had he been home, but he and Louis both had made the mistake of leaving me alone.
Jackson Square was unusually crowded, with mortals dressed in everything from the classical gothic vampire I once styled myself as-- Gentleman Death with his cane--, to Cleopatra in nothing but lingerie I'm sure the woman herself never possessed. These are the women who frighten me, these nymphs and their lack of fear. It still strikes me as so wonderful that women frolic the way they do in these times. Sure, I've come to terms with it, as this century says. I understand their freedom and their voice, but it doesn't make it any less spectacular. Maybe I'll never truly come to accept these things, I don't know; I have other things to ponder.
Like how alive my city becomes during holidays, especially ones like this, where spirits and ghouls and vampires are reality for the eve. I could walk down any street I like, my iridescent eyes not covered by my trademark violet glasses, my nails gleaming like glass with no ash rubbed over them, my skin stark and my hair oddly reflective. I could smile at every pretty little thing I saw, evil little fangs dipping into view for a moment, and none of it would matter, no one would take a second look. I become commonplace on this holiday! My evil becomes a spectacle, and, like I did in the 1980s when I fashioned myself a rock super star, I absolutely revel in it.
On this evening I did decide to leave my balcony, which seemed too lonely without Louis or David there to keep me company, or so I told myself, to justify my adventure. Louis was off with Merrick somewhere; they've become quite friendly with each other since the debacle that created her. As for David, well, I'm not sure where he was, somewhere in the city, I believe, but I cannot glimpse his thoughts, and prefer to give him his solitude when he seems to want it, besides. The only other blood drinker routinely permitted in my city is Tarquin Blackwood, though he's been scarce of late, off scampering with the ever annoying Miss Mona Mayfair, I have no doubt.
So there I was, standing alone in a city just dying to embrace me. I felt a brief flicker of my old mischievous nature, and selected my nicest modern frock coat, a gorgeous blue garment with gold lacing on the sleeves and expensive cameo buttons, as well as my favorite grey velvet pants and large, attractive leather riding boots. I wouldn't take the Harley out that evening, but I would take my cane, a yard or so of polished ebony wood with a silver ball at the top, for me to grip. I adjusted the frills at my neck and wrists, and went out into the evening.
The Rue Bourbon, a raucous party on any day of the year, but exacerbated by holidays that seem to only serve to give humans of proper age the sterling excuse to become inebriated. Mostly I avoid it, but that night it was where I wanted to be. I longed to be at the center of the party, to weave through the crowd, unseen unless I wanted to be. I wanted to stand at the bar and buy pretty girls the drinks they wanted, and never expect anything from them in return. In short, I wanted to party! I wanted to be a part of the madness for once, instead of standing on the distant balcony, watching the droves mill toward the source of so much noise.
No one noticed me at first. I was just another finely dressed gentleman, walking down the Rue Bourbon. Maybe one or two heads were turned, but only because my style was effortless, natural, whereas the others put on a farce for the holiday. Not a single person knew who I was, and of that, I felt certain. Once I couldn’t have walked down any street in the Vieux Carré without being recognized, without some darling of a fan declaring her love of me.
It was time for an adventure, I decided in that moment, time to give myself something about which to write. The problem was, what more could I do? I’ve traveled the world, met and drank from the mother of all vampires. I’ve been a rock star, and a shadow writer for a best-selling author, whom I adore. I’ve been to Heaven and Hell, seen the crucifixion, had my body stolen and fought, through mortal means, to win it back. I tried to be a saint and failed; the Pope didn’t want me. I’ve loved and lost, as the saying goes, and I honestly don’t know what to do anymore.
Dejected somewhat, I wandered in a bar I liked, and after hours place called The Dungeon. It’s tucked behind a wonderful wrought iron door, and beyond a narrow path and a stunning little courtyard. The man at the door knows me, and allowed me to pass without anything more than a passing nod, a murmured hello.
A lovely blonde in a deep purple corset greeted me from behind the bar. We had an understanding, she and I; I’d even told her my real name, though of course she believed me a handsome trickster.
“Lestat!” She said. “Dragon’s Blood, tonight?”
“Of course, chére,” I took a seat at the bar, allowed the blaring rock music to wash over my senses, found it just as alluring as when it had roused me from my slumber, in the yard of mansion on Prytania. The bar was surprisingly empty, for Hallowe'en, and I wondered how they’d done it, how they stayed hidden. A goth bar on Hallowe'en, in New Orleans? It should have been packed; I’d hoped it would be.
The girl, Victoria is her name, though I don’t know that it matters, sat a glass of green liquor before me. It smelled of licorice, and I loved it, paid with a ten and expected no change. I sipped the drink, let it slosh around in my mouth, to really get the taste. I doubt dragon’s blood truly tasted anything like the drink, and how I wish they still existed! I could have run from the bar, found one, and seen for myself.
“Having a fun Halloween?” She asked, leaning on the bar, her breasts quite on display.
“Better than some,” I said. “I don’t usually do anything, but tonight the sounds of Bourbon called to me. But I must say, you’re not as busy as I would have expected.”
“Well, we’ve only been open like thirty minutes,” she said, smiling at me.
I could take her home, if I wanted, I thought. She was more than willing to see my bed. And why shouldn’t I? Because David wouldn’t approve? David never approves, and Louis broods even at Carnival. I could slide into bed with her, maybe enjoy the Little Drink, without her ever knowing…
Desire, I’m no stranger to that, and I pushed it aside easily enough. I could no more take her to my bed than I could kill her. No. That isn’t who I am, anymore, unfortunately. So I merely tipped back my drink, stood, not to leave, but to go upstairs, where the music was louder, and I could perhaps dance before the full-wall mirror.
Moth wings brushed against my senses, as I mounted the stairs, a warning I should have felt sooner. There was a creature upstairs, something I didn’t recognize. Not human, but not vampire either. It looked human, leaning against the bar and talking to Sally, a beauty with long, dark hair, and a haughty expression. She didn’t look amused by the thing’s advances, and no wonder; the woman is a lesbian. I know, because she turned down my favors once, quite gracefully.
“I don’t think the mademoiselle wants to talk to you,” I said, my hand on the thing’s shoulder, squeezing just enough to let it know some of my strength.
It turned on me, its features contorted, with bizarre ridges along its forehead, its eyes a feline yellow, and its teeth rows of uneven fangs. A moment later, while I stood, utterly confused, it plunged its teeth into my neck! That was my gig, what I did! It was not something that happened to me!
Sally screamed, though no one but me, and maybe the thing at my neck, could have heard her over the music. It brought me back to myself, the stunned sensation dissipating as I flung the creature from me, its back slamming into the mirror, where it cast no reflection on the fractured surface.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” I said, my voice very quiet, full of trembling fury, my neck already healed.
“No,” the thing said, spat some of my blood onto the floor. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the Vampire Lestat,” I said, and the creature burst into flame at my will, but almost as soon as it caught it exploded into dust, its clothing falling to the floor, smoldering.
Rage still flooded through me, but I turned to Sally, left quite a large sum of money on the bar. “Tell them a fight broke out, chére,” I said, forced calm in my voice. “I am sorry, but I’ll never see you again.”
She nodded, dazed, and I wondered if I had ruined another life by just being what I am.
I didn’t say farewell to Victoria, was still furiously angry when I returned to my flat on the Rue Royale, found it empty, which only served to infuriate me further.
My only thought, as I come to this conclusion, is that at least I’ve found my adventure, though I haven’t the faintest idea what to do about it, or what it means.
And my favorite frock is stained with my own blood. Ruined.
This is why I stay in on Hallowe'en.
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lebratprince) wrote on October 31st, 2012 at 10:05 am
lebratprince) wrote on October 31st, 2012 at 10:05 am
Hallowe'en in the Crescent City {Closed RP w/Buffy Summers}