When I first came back, in the 1980s, I was discovering modern music through dirty, grungy, unknown little bands who would play in underground clubs, forgotten basements of warehouses, and garages of abandoned mansions, etc. They reminded me of the Commedia Players of old or of the players in the theatre–messy, cheap paint on their faces, filthy in lovely, bohemian ways. Poor, underpaid, doing it purely for the glory with no thoughts towards money or fame.
One of those nights I was listening to a band play in one of those places–an old warehouse, mostly rusted steel girders and rotting brick walls at the point, and older musicians that I usually listened to or jammed with, but they’d welcomed me in with a smile and a the offer of a cigarette–and I remember one of the members putting in a cassette tape and playing it.
I knew it was him the moment I heard it. You don’t forget his music, mortal or immortal, not once you know it. Not once he’s played it for you, only for you, and imprinted those scars underneath your skin.
If my blood could have run cold in that moment, it would have. As it was, I grew eerily still in only the way that we can, to the point where I recall one of the mortals asking me if I was okay, did I need a drink, did I need some air?
I vaguely remember mumbling some sort of excuse and leaving. I remember the room seeming blurred, not real, the mortal voices and instruments nothing but a piece of artwork dipped in water in the background of my vision as I fumbled my way out of the building.
You see, I didn’t know then that he had lived. I had no idea. It was the last thing on my mind that Nicolas might still be alive somewhere, might not have perished, and might still be making music on that thrice-damned instrument out there in the world.
I told myself that I must have been mistaken, or convinced myself that I had been hearing ghosts instead of reality. I have often suffered thus; it would not have been a new feeling for me.
It wasn’t until decades later, when I practically ran him over in Paris, that I realized that I’d actually heard him in that grungy warehouse in New Orleans. It had been him, yes. He was alive.
Lestat de Lioncourt frequently reminds the reader of his attraction to women in high-heels, particularly the distinct sound they make when walking because as similar to all vampires he has a preference for the fashions of his mortal years, and since he is a dramatic bisexual, he is most notably reminded of times when high-heels were customary fashion for men. In this essay I will,
Nicolas has come to visit Lestat and Armand after such a long long time apart… Photoshop + Pencils. I know Nicki will never return to the Vampire Chronicles but LET A MAN DREAM, OK????
Lestat is less than enthused and Armand probably has a thing for leather jackets that he is really trying to suppress.
“One of the simplest ways to make the audience like a character is to show him liking other people. One of the easiest ways to make the audience care about a character is to show him caring about other people. We care about Harry Potter in no small part because he cares so much about his friends. It’s impossible to imagine Harry seeing Hermione get hurt and feeling anything but horror and guilt, no matter how terrible a fight they might have had beforehand. Katniss is by design a more prickly and “difficult” protagonist than Harry is, or than Moss seems intended to be, but we care about her from the start because we see how deeply she loves her sister and her willingness to sacrifice herself to protect her. Bad writers, though, often make the mistake of thinking that you make a character likable by showing that other characters like him, and make the audience care about him by showing that other characters care about him. This tends to have exactly the opposite effect. At a certain point the reader starts to wonder what’s so great about this guy that everyone is showering him with praise, and starts actively wanting to see him fail or be told off.”
Maybe someone told her and that’s why Lestat is in love with every character in the VC who doesn’t actively try to kill him.
Literally Anyone: Hello
Earlier-canon Lestat: *judges them* What a pleasure it must be for you to be in my presence.
vs.
Literally Anyone: Hello
Later-canon Lestat: *attack hugs them* You haven’t tried to kill me yet I love you so much you must love me im sure you do love me say you love me back yea gods I’m so overwhelmed I’ve never felt this way before I love you I love you I love you…
I have this headcanon about Daniel and Armand trolling the Club Kid scene in the early 90′s, before they broke up. If I had more time I’d show you that Armand was wearing black wings and had electrical tape on his nipples and a ton of body glitter and was rolling his eyes because Daniel was just being a complete nuisance.
//Okay, so I find this all very interesting, so a few thoughts/canon/headcanon re: Lestat’s dialect in French and how his French changed/evolved over the years.
-Lestat is born and raised in the Auvergne, which means his French patois is ‘Auvergnat,’ which is a branch of Occitan, a dialect of mostly Provence. This dialect, if you’ve never heard it, is NOTHING like the Parisian French that most of us learn in school, nor is it similar to what would have been spoken in Paris at the time (18th century). Here is an Auvergnat lullaby, and here is what Auvergnat sounds like, around 4:17. Here is an example of L’Occitane.
-Lestat then moves to Paris with Nicolas, and spends quite some time there (I don’t have my book on me). His French of COURSE would have changed, as he’d have been mercilessly teased for his dialect, which would have sounded ‘country’ to the people of Paris. Personally, I headcanon Nicolas’ old Uni friends making fun of Lestat’s dialect and Lestat forcing Nicolas to help him with his Parisian French, but that’s not canon, just my thoughts.
-Lestat then relocates to New Orleans around 1791, a time when Louisiana actually belongs to Spain. The French that Louis de Pointe du Lac is going to be speaking here is a whole OTHER kind of French, probably colored by a number of things: Spanish colonists, French colonists, and the patois of the Haitian peoples who also live there. You can read more about Louisiana French here. I headcanon that Lestat definitely learned the patois of New Orleans, especially since he lived there for around 70 years. By the time he meets Louis, his French is an amalgam of at least two different dialects, though the French he’d speak to the Marquis would have been Auvergnat. It’s a testimony to the fact that Louis must have immigrated while very young (hilariously, Louis is NOT actually Créole), b/c I highly doubt he’d recognize the dialect.
-Lestat then learns English from, as he calls it, ‘flatboatmen’ on the Mississippi and comic books, which is hilarious, and pretty much accounts for his tone.
TL:DR; I just feel very strongly about language, especially the evolution of each of these characters, and I love imagining how their capacities for language and dialect have evolved.
I-want-my-IWTV 