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"Make more. " Those were her words, tapping on her pulse point with a confident smile, bangs over her eyes. Playful defiance. Even after his cautionary tale about Akasha and the blood he carried he couldn't scare that out of her.
Fine. What was a third fledgeling of his walking the world at this point?
Sofia already had her fangs out, ready to make a pick. He knew he wouldn't go for her, but still, he felt the need go claim his new baggage. "I'll take the girl. "
They were all very determined, he'll give them that. Salamander hadnt seemed bothered at all by the reveal that he was a vampire, rather just read the book with whimsical curiousity and, funny enough, asked questions about Armand. Now he was to be taken into immortality by the only vampire that survived the wreckage of the gremlins little cult. Funny indeed. And Alex, despite his brothers sentiment, had surprisingly decided to stay. He had seemed as confident as TC when he took the crystal off the floor and opened his own hand with it and asked for the gift. Well, not really confident. More like desperate, vividly so as the blood reached the floor. He tried not to dwell in the imagery of it for too long. The thing is, as he realised the impending reality of Sofia's fangs on his neck, he just looked plain scared. Well, too late for cold feet.
Lestat dragged TC out of the recording room, into the corridor, and into one of the rooms they used to rest in between sessions. He didn't know why, but he always felt a turning should be something private. Thats part of why he killed the priests in the church for Louis, why he closed the doors of his room for Nicki, why he was quietly greatful for the wall Louis kept staring at when he made Claudia. A birth is an intimate thing. Clearly, his vampire fellows didn't feel the same, given the sounds that were already coming out of the mixing room. TC looked at him confused too, unsure why he separated her form her bandmates. "I don't think three toddler vampires waking up in the same room is a good idea." He simply said.
"Whatever you say, singer." She draped herself on the couch carelessly, trying to hide the fear that was just now beginning to blossom at the bottom of her stomach. She distracted herself by looking at the debauchery on top of the little table beside her: half smoked blunts, empty cheeto bags, dry red nail polish, traces of cocaine. Messy, the life of the rockstar. "I'm aaall yours. " She was really struggling to keep the fachade up now, starting to think about if she really wanted the shitty chinese takout she had an hour ago to be her last meal. Thinking maybe she needed just one more hour to think it through.
Lestat decided to act quickly, spare her the suspense. Before she noticed what was happening, he already had his fangs on her. She let out a sharp breath, followed by a nervous laugh. "Fuck, that hurts. " More nervous laughter. She was starting to feel lightheaded, he was draining her really fast. She closed her eyes.
"I know. Just remember to breathe." He commanded telepathically, with as much gentleness as he could muster. Those would be the last words she would ever hear from him inside her head.
Then, as expected, memories started to flood in.
An early childhood in New Jersey, a jobhopping father coming home with a sour expression on his face, always with a headache to complain about as he tells his daugther to stop making so much damn noise stop being so fucking loud why can't you just play with dolls for a while like girls your age what do you need a tambourine for. An exhausted mother, watching tv -some one a.m. spanish soap opera in a three digit number channel- as she caresses her hair with one hand and holds a cigarette in another. Not so much watching as just looking, staring, brown eyes lost in the bright dusty pixels. A drawn-out divorce, but he doesn't even fight for her custody, just drives off into the night once he's gathered all his things.
A lot of picking. Picking up drawing, picking up a drumstick, picking up her moms needle and opening up her own piercings. Picking at her skin as she picks a dress for prom night and hates how her body looks in every single one of them and besides no one has yet offered to pick her up for the event. A full ashtray, picks up smoking at sixteen, just like her mom. Art school, a degree in liberal arts, a dorm mate in need of a drummer. The Montreal rock scene, a guitarist, Bert is his name. Exchanging Muse cds, exchanging cigarettes and stories about addict parents. A fist drunken kiss to David Bowie's "Changes". They quickly move in together, adopt a black cat, fuck like bunnies after shows with their bands. Explosive arguments, a twisted and slurred "you're just like your mother". She doesn't understand why that's an insult, keeps hopping bands as they dissolve around her, leaving her standing alone in the wreckage. Keeps running.
Down on one knee at a local band opening concert surrounded by friends, nothing special, unpremeditated. Says yes. Her mom hides concern in the corner of her mouth trying out white dresses. Sex a little too rough to just blame it on the alcohol. Can't contact him for three days before the wedding. Shows up, then makes the run halfway through the ceremony. She understands then, what he meant, she is just like her mother: infuriatingly passive as she lets the man that never loved her run away and leave her to deal with the mess. He knew something about them she didnt. Or rather she knew but always hoped she was wrong, that maybe this time she got to have something for herself.
A month long breakdown, an identity crisis. Less self restraint, more flirting with kerosene, with hard drugs and men who don't have more intentions than one good night of fun. Fun. Thats right. She's fun TC now. Cut your hair, go back to playing live, meet a chamingly dumb bassist in need of a drummer. Satan's night out. The rest is history.
He sees himself though her eyes for a second. Singer. Mysterious and alluring at first, then the curtain falls; controlling. She didnt mind it much, she had been in enough bands to know how to deal with divas. Curtain falls again, then fun. Using cocaine as makeup and dyeing strands of his hair blue after a car crash kind of fun. Curtain, total train wreck. The kind of train wreck abandonment makes you into. Acting out, on impulse, as a constant. Thinking abandoning the self that was abandoned will maybe fix you, as if two negatives make a positive.
They were similar, him and her. He was glad she was his.
When he finally let go of her neck her cocky smile was gone, her face all pale and inexpressive. He opened his own wrist and held it close to her mouth. No matter how many times he did this -six, counting this one- he couldn't stop the feeling of extreme fondness taking over him. Awe, in it's purest form, at the sight of his fledgeling drinking the life that they need out of his own life. Is this how mothers felt? Is this how his mother felt, about him and his siblings? Had Gabriella made any more vampires, was Alex the first?
Her eyes had turned a dangerous yellow. None of his fledgelings had that colour. She was special, in her own way.
She didn't even suffer the transformation for too long, took death on the chin and was quickly overcome by hunger. So Lestat slowly took her out of the room, letting her eyes adapt to how overwhelming the world had just become for her, and guided her into the night.
"Are you ready to hunt?" She took a second to process his question, but her eyes left no question to just how ready she was. Even as the world spun around her, she had a strong bloodlust to guide her as a compass, and she didn't seem to get scared at herself for wanting what she wanted. Good signs, so far.
He let her instincts guide her, choosing her first victim of her own: a middle aged man returning home though a park with headphones on, listening to Kanye in the big 2025. For that reason alone TC decided he needed to die, and he was proud. He directed her to a dark empty alley, so she could drain him undisturbed. Also, so she wouldnt draw too much attention given the mess she was making. But that was normal the first times.
Satisfied, she let go of the man. "Will you teach me how to read minds? How to communicate with Alex and Salamander? " Blood dripping from her chin, like ice cream from an infant as she asked. Equally as happy as a sticky cold sugar covered infant, must be added. She would take to the gift beautifully. The man made a noise again, and TC dove right bag into his arterie.
"All in its due time, dear. " He did wonder what talents he must have inherited from him. She was the third fledgeling he had made with the blood of the Queen in his veins, he supposed it would be a little diluted now. Not as strong as Claudia, certainly not as strong as Louis, but she would be powerful. She already looked it. He stepped close to her, getting ready to teach her how to hide the body.
"You were always my favourite, TC. You will make a fierce vampire." He said, with impossible fondness. Slowly, she let go of her victim and beamed at him, then threw herself into his arms, locking him in a hug. She was getting used to her new strength, not hurting her, but not confortable either. He let her have it anyway, slowly raising his arms to pet her in the back and head. They stayed like that for a while.