(http://digitalmidnight.simplenet.com/archive/sosindex.html) by Lady Black Death, © April 1995 [EMAIL PROTECTED] PC POLICE STANDARD WARNING: this spec contains language some may find offensive as well as spoilers to most if not all the Vampire Chronicles. OFFICIAL STATEMENT: This is a non-profit, amateur effort and does not intend to infringe upon the rights of Random House/Knopf, Lestat de Lioncourt, Howard O'Brian or any other copyright holders which I may be unaware of. The sheets were tangled around us, neither of us caring enough to move even to unwind them. Sated for the moment, he held me, his appearance at once unconquerable strength and wistful vulnerability, as only Lestat can manage. "Louis," he whispered, "what do you really want? I mean really?" What a question. He'd never understand my answers. He rarely does. I want fewer complications from life. I want it all to do over again. Laura suggested, while still mortal, that I seek therapy. Why single me out? All of us may benefit from some sort of professional assistance. But who would we tell? What would I tell them? The last time I spoke out I started a chain of events which has yet to see completion - would Lestat have chosen to write his history had I not spoken with Daniel? Would Akasha have risen had he not tasted fame, and wanted more? For did I not challenge him to reveal his secrets, to finish the process I began in a moment of ill-thought impulse? David Talbot would be happily mortal, Akasha still alive, and we still safely anonymous. Is it any wonder I'm quiet? We know of the fans. How could we ignore them? I've seen Lestat physically accosted on the streets of New Orleans - mostly by young women but occasionally by a handsome youth. They beg him to take them, never for a moment believing in the reality of the situation. How surprised they are, at least some of them, when I come to visit later that night. While I take no joy in the hunt, I must confess a certain grim satisfaction in such cases. After all, they did ask for it. And in many minds Lestat and Louis are interchangeable. They love our movie - it is ours, for it could not have been created without us! - far from the truth, but very beautiful nonetheless. I may be the only creature in existence who thinks our movie a comedy. I was impressed by young Kirsten especially. No one can capture Lestat - no fault to Mr. Cruise. As for Brad Pitt... I am thoroughly amused by him. The man who would choose a burrito over immortality! Oh yes, I quite like him. There is no resemblance between the two of us, physically, though he is (as required by legend) breathtakingly beautiful. Lestat is quite enamored of Mr. Pitt - I know he has considered visiting him on many occasions, simply for a lark. I think it would be far more entertaining to visit Tom Cruise, personally, but fear the shock may very well kill him. How little I am known. The world of celebrity revolves around, and occasionally touches, us. What I fail to understand is why anyone would care. Laura was so astounded - delighted - to learn I am real, rather than fiction. What difference should my existence make to anyone but myself or my family? I was unremarkable when mortal. I am unremarkable now. The only thing I am known for is my "astounding beauty." What utter nonsense. I pay no attention to such trivialities. Why should anyone else? Lestat... he is altogether a different issue. He rivals the sun. Lestat moves with careless ease, knowing instinctively that the tossed object will land just so, or that the sliding papers, shoved across the table with the appropriate flourish of the wrist, will stack in a beautiful fan. Only Lestat is stubborn (or insane) enough to learn how to cook. Who knows if he possesses a talent for it? He's never had an opportunity to find out. Even so, night after night he'll concoct the most outrageous meals, Italian, Asian, French (naturally). Then dump them down the drain to find another diversion. I know for a fact he's been trying to reacquire the ability to eat - not as a replacement for blood by any means, but simply to be able to do it again. The very idea makes me ill. I've often thanked whatever supreme being may be left that Lestat chose music, rather than politics, to vent his urge for fame. Why hasn't he gone into business? Can you imagine? I'm terrified to suggest it to him - he could conceivably take over the world. Economics, not ammunition, is the real global power. Why he'd _want_ to take over the world is beyond me, but then so are many of his motivations. Having said that - what a joy to see him on stage again, both in New York and Las Vegas. The two Lestats, one intense, romantic, doomed - the other vibrant, alive, unconquerable. I love to watch him perform. He feeds off the audience as though it possessed a physical pulse he might drain to the dregs. He has no idea how closely I observe him. I may pretend to do any number of things, when all the while I watch him. It's a game Laura and I play together occasionally, pretending to do any number of things while we secretly spy on our lover. Or we'll concoct something totally ridiculous simply to see his reaction. I wonder what he'd do if I sang "You Are My Sunshine" to him? The thought amuses me. He and Laura watched "The Lion King" - I watched him. When the meerkat danced the hula he laughed so hard he got the hiccups - something I had never seen before. Naturally he favored the villain, to Laura's annoyance. He often cheers for the Los Angeles Raiders for the same reason - to annoy her. She is a true fanatic regarding her chosen sports team, the Denver Broncos. It seems the only mention of Denver she can tolerate without pain. Lestat, naturally, has no interest in this game of football. It's her reaction he feeds upon - like the audience when he takes the stage. She has not yet learned how to withhold such information from him - she supplies him with endless ammunition - "buttons" as they are called in today's American jargon. She bears watching, this one. She is more shadow than substance. While Lestat still suffers nightmares from his ordeal at White Sands (as we all do, though with decreasing frequency), Laura is additionally haunted by dreams of a different nature. She has had such dreams since coming to be with us - even before then I imagine. I will not warn Lestat against this woman dancing in shadows. To what end? There is more hidden of Laura than shown. So much should be obvious to anyone who watches her. If he chooses to ignore this... My feelings for Lestat are complicated. I love him, certainly. Why dwell on the obvious? I can live without him, but not happily. I'd prefer not to. Whether he is able to live without me is a matter of some debate. I do not question Laura's devotion to Lestat, or to myself for that matter. She is wholly willing to die for either of us, as proven conclusively in New Mexico. However, her willingness to die and the ability to live are separate issues - I remain unconvinced of her stamina for immortality. There is something fragile within her to require such fierce protection. She allows us only so close before drawing an unwavering line between herself and all else. Yet, this is not what concerns me. Rather, it is what she allows us to see - only the most normal - which alarms. She seldom loses her temper, or disagrees with either of us. She will offer opinions only when asked. What we know of her may describe millions of Americans. I see signs of panic, and worse yet, guilt, when Lestat becomes too intimate - not physically, for she is a generous lover. But she guards her emotions fiercely - nearly to the point of paranoia. I would venture to say she is closer to me than Lestat. This is perhaps understandable, for we are able to communicate heart to heart - sharing each other's feelings with the slightest impulse. I find it difficult even to hold a pen when thinking of it - the pure seduction of such an act transcends all else, save the drinking of blood. Even so, she is strong enough to hide large portions of her most inner self from me. The heart cannot lie, but it can be shielded. I am in love with her. Impossible not to be. Anything which draws his attention so completely will naturally draw mine. Lestat and I, while dissimilar creatures, have similar tastes in our affections. Claudia, David, even Armand should be ample proof of that. Is it a wonder, then, that both he and I love her? She's been good for him. Just days ago Lestat embraced me without warning and whispered "I love you, Louis.", asking nothing in return but the pleasure of watching the surprise I felt catch me off guard. He delights in provoking a response - any response. He has never understood: I love laughter. I have a sense of humor. I smile so seldom simply because I know he waits for them. They are a reward of sorts. Lestat is my indulgence - remuneration for good behavior - like a sweet one shouldn't take, but can't resist. And he's so easy! Even so, in many ways I am as much his slave as he is mine. Within the past four years he has twice faced his death without calling me. He spoke of his pain when I left, when he saw Laura and I together. He seems to know nothing of my pain at his attempted suicides. Does he truly think me so weak as to be unable to defend myself or him? If so, it was a foolish assumption before - utterly meaningless now. I am quite capable of violence, I assure you. It simply is not my first choice. I must be driven to it. Lestat often refers to me as his foil. A foil is defined as "anything serving to adorn or set off by contrast something different or superior." In my humble opinion (to borrow a recently popularized phrase) he'd do better in the future to develop my habit of observation. For, as history has proven, it is the quiet ones, the shadow dancers, who bear watching.
