Since memories triggered by scent are the strongest... Send my muse a scent and see how they’ll react to it.I do not “snuggle” animals.
But I enjoy the scent of dogs, actually. Dogs smell like they understand you.
And yes, I wore perfume. Santa Maria Novella, from the Officina Profumo Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella. You can still buy it today in the original store in Firenze, Italia.
Once, on a ‘vacation’ of sorts after his time on the chapel floor, I took Lestat there and told him to smell the signature scent. I was quite shocked at his reaction—he broke down weeping at the smell.
Tag Archives: gabrielle de lioncourt
what was your daughter’s name? did you name her, or was it someone else’s choice?
Mireille.
I named her.
☆ – happy headcanon
Lestat came earlier than he should have, born in November, a full month and a half before he’d come to term. Her body, exhausted after so many fully realised and failed births, simply could not carry him any longer.
Convinced that the babe would not survive, like so many others, the Marquis left the castle on what he loosely termed ‘business,’ leaving her alone with the priest, the midwife, and the pain.
He was born at night. Tiny, wailing, the priest advised they baptize him immediately, in case he did not make it until morning.
For the first time, she found herself in a unique position: this child would be named by her, claimed by her, perfectly clean of her husband’s touch or thought.
She named him Lestat. It seemed to suit him—his birth had been urgent, and so then might his name.
Later, the Marquis, furious that the child, both male and living, had not been named by him, went to the village priest and had the names “Christophe” and “Marie” added to the birth record.
But it didn’t matter. Lestat she had named him, and Lestat he remained. Hers.
And that had never changed.
Folks have called you cold (especially as a mother), maybe sometimes unfairly, so I was wondering if you might share a happy memory of Lestat as a wee boy? Pretty please?
-sighs wearily-
I have shared many already, have I not? But, then, you want a happy memory. There were so few in that house.
Lestat mentioned briefly in his book that I used to show him picture books of the places where I’d travelled before I was wed to the Marquis: Rome, Paris, Madrid, Athens, etc. And I do remember doing this, when he was very, very young—his little body tucked into my lap as I sat, cross-legged, upon my bed, a large book spread open before us.
He was always very taken with the colours of the paintings in the books—he has always had a great love for colour—and his small fingers would trace the images of ships, mountains, animals, running down and over the pages as I explained to him (sometimes in French, sometimes in Italian) what each place was and what it was like there.
Can you imagine it? Are you a mother? That sweet weight of his little body against my own, the smell of babyhood still in his hair, his voice forming words that were a charming amalgamation of French and Italian as he attempted, as toddlers do, to ask questions of me. The small gasps he might elicit at certain images as the pages turned, the trills of laughter at the animals, the way his body would shift as he would lean back to look in my face, as if searching to make sure these places were truly real and not some fairy tale I was constructing.
Very few of his companions are aware, I think, that that child still exists. That child is ever-present, hidden just behind the eyes of the man, waiting to be thrilled or wounded. I’d hazard to surmise that the few who see it are the ones who tend to stay by his side, despite his failings.
What is your favorite type of animal to kill and why?
Bears. And jungle cats.
With creatures like that (especially the former), the struggle is formidable, not to mention that the process of stalking with the latter is quite enjoyable.
Cats know when they are being hunted, and they do not like it.
I’m curious about how Gabrielle seems to go back and forth between being your lover and your mother. How does that play out in everyday life? It was must get kinda awkward sometimes.
Ah, and here we are. I just knew this would come up eventually.
What you must understand is, as a vampire your relationships to others are not so clean-cut as they might have once been as a mortal. There are nuances and subtleties that exist beyond the human scope. You stop seeing things as being taboo or immoral. You simply love a being for what they have to offer you.
Yes, Gabrielle is my biological mother, but when I turned her she became something else to me as well. She was less of a caregiver and more of a companion. I can see how you might misconstrue our relationship as potentially awkward if you are thinking of us as a mortal mother and son. Yes, that would indeed be strange. But that is not the case let me assure you.
And no part of our relationship affects me day-to-day. This is mostly because I see her only every several decades.
Ever considered murdering your husband and making it look like an accident? if so, how would you have ended his life?
Yes.
Belladonna. Then, in his death throws, removing his manhood with a stiletto. I would feed it to him, but really, who has the time?
how come nobody ever talks about that time Gabrielle and Lestat scared the shit out of those poor people in the church?
“All right, listen to me!” I hissed. I could control this no longer. “We are going out. But we shall do it like proper vampires, do you hear! There are one thousand people in the church and we are going to scare them to death. I will lift the stone and we will rise up together, and when we do, raise your arms and make the most horrible face you can muster and cry out if you can. That will make them fall back, instead of pouncing upon us and dragging us off to prison, and then we’ll rush to the door.” – The Vampire Lestat
‘I want the K.’
12. Wet Kiss
It was raining when it happened.
Lestat is awake again, but this time she hasn’t left. And Armand means to criticize her, demean her of her motherly rights because she has never been there out of all the beings on this planet and above that Lestat could ever cry for. No, it’s always been her. She ignores him when he brings it up, spits acidic words back at him when he comes forward out of the safety of the Rue Royale and joins her soaked form beneath the stormy skies.
“You are a liar and a bitch, for lack of a better word, if you think you can use the veil as an excuse for not hearing him after all these years. Once in the chapel and not again since!”
She is opening her mouth to spit back, or avoid answering to her crime when Armand adds, “It’s hard to believe he still loves you…when no one else has the heart to.”
Thunder cracks in the distance, and Gabrielle, always unnervingly honest in her expressions, is stunned. And yet..so is he. As if they had both opened a plane of understanding in just that moment—yes, you were once unloved by all but him too.
He forgets what happened after the next thunder crack, but his hands are caressing her back and cupping her cheek, her head tilted gently into him when Armand realizes he’s kissing Lestat’s mother. The woman who turned him away after her son redeemed him, their mouths open and wet against each other and devolving into smaller, almost apologetic kisses. He For a brief moment, he forgets he hates this woman down to the very marrow of her bones.
That’s where the memory stops. They’ve never spoken of it, but somehow it pops into Armand’s head whenever she turns her cold, icy glare on him.
When is your birthday? Do you do anything special for it? What is the greatest gift you’ve ever received (can be a non-birthday present)?
My birthday is November 28th. Very rarely have I had cause to celebrate this day, and most of the time it passes without my knowledge—though there are times when I find myself in a place in the world where Lestat’s text messages do reach me on this day, and then I am reminded.
There was one year where I happened (purely by accident on my part, though as much cannot be said for Lestat) to be visiting New Orleans on this date, and much to my chagrin, Lestat did insist on celebrating the anniversary of my birth. To be very honest, I remember little of the night itself, there being quite a few inebriated mortals involved.
The greatest gift I ever received?
The Dark Gift.
I-want-my-IWTV 