“In the spring of 1988, I returned to New Orleans, and as soon as I smelled the air, I knew I was home. It was rich, almost sweet, like the scent of jasmine and roses around our old courtyard. I walked the streets, savoring that long lost perfume.”
You have a light in you that’s almost blinding. But in me there’s only darkness. Sometimes I think it’s like the darkness that infected you that night in the inn when you began to cry and to tremble. You were so helpless, so unprepared for it. I try to keep the darkness from you because I need your light. I need it desperately, but you don’t need the darkness.
Nicolas de Lenfent The Vampire Lestat (via garama)
Yes, it’s so sweet, Lestat’s happy bc Louis is happy. Awwww…
Skimming Interview with the Vampire, found this:
“‘Rest easy,’ she said abruptly, her voice still low.’I tell you that as much as I hated Lestat… ’ She stopped.
” ‘Yes… ’ I whispered.’Yes…. ’
“ ‘As much as I hated him, with him we were… complete.’ She looked at me, her eyelids quivering, as if the slight rise in her voice had disturbed her even as it had disturbed me.
” ‘No, only you were complete… ’ I said to her.’Because there were two of us, one on either side of you, from the beginning.’
“I thought I saw her smile then, but I was not certain. She bowed her head, but I could see her eyes moving beneath the lashes, back and forth, back and forth. Then she said,’The two of you at my side. Do you picture that as you say it, as you picture everything else?’ ”
“When you found me under Les Innocents,” he said, “you wanted to bathe me with perfume and dress me in velvet with great embroidered sleeves.”
“Yes,” I said, “and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair.” My tone was angry. “You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.”
We eyed each other for a moment. And then he surprised me, rising and coming towards me just as I moved to take him in my arms. His gesture wasn’t tentative, but it was extremely gentle. I could have backed away. I didn’t. We held each other tight for a moment. The cold embracing the cold. The hard embracing the hard.
…“I can’t remember anything bad between us,” I said.
“You will,” he responded. “And so will I. But what does it matter what we remember?”
“Yes,” I said, “we’re both still here.”
From Memnoch the Devil
*cries*
(More of this scene under the cut.)
This was Armand.
He sat on the stone park bench, boylike, casual, with one knee crooked, looking up at me with the predictable innocence, dusty all over, naturally, hair a long, tangled mess of auburn curls.
Dressed in heavy denim garments, tight pants, and a zippered jacket, he surely passed for human, a street vagabond maybe, though his face was now parchment white, and even smoother than it had been when last we met.
In a way, he made me think of a child doll, with brilliant faintly red-brown glass eyes; a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radiant than he was.
“That’s what you always want,” he said softly. His voice shocked me. If he had any French or Italian accent left, I couldn’t hear it. His tone was melancholy and had no meanness in it at all.
“When you found me under Les Innocents,” he said, “you wanted to bathe me with perfume and dress me in velvet with great embroidered sleeves.”
“Yes,” I said, “and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair.” My tone was angry. “You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.”
We eyed each other for a moment. And then he surprised me, rising and coming towards me just as I moved to take him in my arms. His gesture wasn’t tentative, but it was extremely gentle. I could have backed away. I didn’t. We held each other tight for a moment. The cold embracing the cold. The hard embracing the hard.
“Cherub child,” I said. I did a bold thing, maybe even a defiant thing. I reached out and mussed his snaggled curls.
He is smaller than me physically, but he didn’t seem to mind this gesture.
In fact, he smiled, shook his head, and reclaimed his hair with a few casual strokes of his hand. His cheeks went apple-perfect suddenly, and his mouth softened, and then he lifted his right fist, and teasingly struck me hard on the chest.
Really hard. Show-off. Now it was my turn to smile and I did.
“I can’t remember anything bad between us,” I said.
“You will,” he responded. “And so will I. But what does it matter what we remember?”
“Yes,” I said, “we’re both still here.”
He laughed outright, though it was very low, and he shook his head, flashing a glance on David that implied they knew each other very well, maybe too well. I didn’t like it that they knew each other at all. David was my David, and Armand was my Armand.
I sat down on the bench.
“So David’s told you the whole story,” I said, glancing up at Armand and then over at David.
David gave a negative shake of the head.
“Not without your permission, Brat Prince,” David said, a little disdainfully. “I would never have taken the liberty. But the only thing that’s brought Armand here is worry for you.”
“Is that so?” I said. I raised my eyebrows. “Well?”
“You know damned good and well it is,” said Armand. His whole posture was casual; he’d learned, beating about the world, I guess. He didn’t look so much like a church ornament anymore. He had his hands in his pockets. Little tough guy.
“What I remember of that evening still produces in me a certain amount of guilt. I did drink far too much of the delicious aromatic rum. At some point, I remember lying back on my bed and looking up into the face of Merrick, who had come to sit beside me. Then Merrick leant down to kiss me and I pulled her very close, responding a little more rashly perhaps than she had expected. But she was not displeased. Now, I was a person for whom sexuality had pretty much lost its appeal. When I had been occasionally aroused, during those last twenty years of my mortal life, it was almost always by a young man. But the attraction of Merrick seemed somehow to have nothing to do with gender. I found myself overly excited and eager to consummate what had so haphazardly begun. Only as I shifted to let her lie beneath me, where I wanted her to be, did I gain some control over myself, and rise from the cot. “David,” she whispered. I heard my name echo: David, David. I couldn’t move. I saw her shadowy form there waiting for me. And for the first time I realized that the lanterns had been put out. A little light came from the nearest house, barely penetrating the fabric of the tent, and of course it was quite sufficient for me to see that she had taken off her clothes. “Damn it, I can’t do this,” I said. But in truth I was afraid that I couldn’t finish it. I was afraid that I was too old. She rose with that same suddenness which had startled me when she began to summon Honey in her little seance, and she wrapped her naked arms around me and began to kiss me in earnest, her skilled hand going directly to the root of my desire. I do believe I hesitated, but that I don’t recall. What is vivid still is that we lay together and that, though I failed myself morally, I did not fail her at all. I did not fail the two of us as a man and a woman, and there was afterwards both a drowsiness and a sense of exultation that left no room for shame.”
—
—David concerned his penis is too old for Merrick and can’t keep up
Why am I reading Merrick again
Why are u torturing yourself, no need to self-harm, are u ok? PUT THE BOOK DOWN.
Actually, tho there is quite alot of inexplicable Louis stuff in Merrick, I was initially very WTF?! with several items in particular, but over time, sort of made peace with those events… siiiigh… should discuss at some point…
… Now that I’m thinking of it, I bet the dialogue between Louis and Merrick was similar during their major WTF?!event, I don’t remember that it was explicitly written out, but I think it would have included:
Louis p.o.v.: …the attraction of Merrick seemed somehow to have nothing to do with gender. I found myself overly excited and eager to consummate what had so haphazardly begun….What I remember of that evening still produces in me a certain amount of guilt.
Merrick: “Louis,” she whispered.
Louis p.o.v: I heard my name echo: Louis, Louis. I couldn’t move. I saw her shadowy form there waiting for me.
Louis: “Damn it, I can’t do this,” I said. But in truth I was afraid that I couldn’t finish it. I was afraid [insert Louis concerns here]…
Merrick: rose with that same suddenness which had startled me when she began to summon Honey in her little seance… and began to kiss me in earnest…
[Not gonna spoil what happens here]
Louis p.o.v.: though I failed myself morally, I did not fail her at all. I did not fail the two of us as a man and a woman, and there was afterwards both a drowsiness and a sense of exultation that left no room for shame.
This is all i-want-my-iwtv’s fault. 😛 She pointed out a particularly horrifying passage in The Vampire Armand (no spoilers, but… Claudia), but on the way to it I found another quote during Armand’s ramble about how his life as a Satanist got ruined. And my partner and I were watching Staying Alive at the time and shit just happened:
“It came swaggering and camping through the lighted streets of Paris as though God had made it.”
“It came swaggering and camping through the lighted streets of Paris as though God had made it.”
“IT CAME SWAGGERING AND CAMPING THROUGH THE LIGHTED STREETS OF PARIS AS THOUGH GOD HAD MADE IT.”
The Vampire Lestat, as described by the Vampire Armand, everybody.
*DYING* I have had some adult beverages, so that may be influencing me a little teensy bit here, but dammit, NICE WORK cloudsinvenice!!!
…Louis grabs his pistol from the table and cocks it.
LOUIS: Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?
LESTAT: And a beautiful house it is too. Yours is a good life, isn’t it?
Louis takes aim. Lestat puts his hand over the barrel. Louis fires. The bullet tears a hole in Lestat’s hand. Lestat is unfazed. He takes the gun from Louis’ hand and throws it away. His hand begins to heal.
LESTAT: You’re not afraid of anything, are you?
LOUIS: Why should I be?
Louis reaches for his sword, hanging by the bed, and point it. Lestat laughs indulgently. He draws closer.
LESTAT: Are you going to put that through me too? Ruin my beautiful clothes?
He comes closer to Louis, right up to his face, so the sword passes through his waistcoat.
LESTAT: Were all last night’s promises for nothing?
He reaches out with his now-healed hand and plucks out the sword.
LOUIS: What do you want from me?
LESTAT: I’ve come to answer your prayers. You want to die, don’t you? Life has no meaning anymore, does it?
Lestat sits down on the bed, drawing up one knee. Louis is becoming spellbound.
LESTAT: The wine has no taste. The food sickens you. There seems no reason for any of it, does there? But what if I could give it back to you? Pluck out the pain and give you another life? And it would be for all time? And sickness and death could never touch you again?
The vampire theme rises, with the sound of a heartbeat.
Ellen Tracy as Lady Macbeth by John Singer Sargent, close up
Ellen Tracy as Lady Macbeth by John Singer Sargent,
Ellen Tracy as Lady Macbeth by Anna Bernal
Ellen Tracy as Lady Macbeth by John Singer Sargent, and fanart by Anna Bernal (she also has a blog here)
This painting always reminds me of the Queen of the Damned:
… I saw them in the thickening gloom-the two of them, their red hair catching the hazy glow of the fire; the one holding the bloody brain in her mud-covered fingers, and the other, the dripping heart. … Mekare lifted the brain to her mouth; Maharet put the heart in her other hand; Mekare took them both into herself.
And the twins turned around and stood up now, Maharet’s arm around Mekare. And Mekare stared forward, expressionless, uncomprehending, the living statue; and Maharet said:
“Behold. The The Queen Of The Damned.”
There is an enormous difference between Mekare and Lady MacBeth, obviously. But still. Look at the passion in Lady MacBeth’s eyes… She already knows that the means of obtaining this crown were absolutely poisonously wrong, the crippling guilt is setting in, but she’s still consumed with the desire for it all the same.
Whereas, Maharet, together with Mekare, must destroy & replace the mad Akasha, the original Queen of the Damned. Looking at this painting, it seems more that the woman (I guess this would be Mekare) is horror-stricken at having to take on such a burden, but she’s willing to make the sacrifice it requires for the good of the coven, and, the world.
Also I love the fanart by Anna Bernal, so I threw that in for comparison. She reads more as Jesse Reeves to me.
I-want-my-IWTV 