Anonymity Enthroned
Thank you Claudia.
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2nd Place - 1999 Immortality Award for BEST LOUIS/LESTATDisclaimer: Louis, Lestat, Armand, Daniel, the other Daniel, Paul, Lestat's father and Claudia are all characters belonging to SOME CRAZY BITCH WHO SUES HER FANS. No infringement upon her rights nor the legal rights of anyone else lucky enough to have their hooks into them, is intended.
Spoilers: VampChron to TotBT
Anonymity Enthroned
by DarkAngel
22 Février 1999
"Dear Lord, Lestat! What do you think you are up to?"
I turned to see my fledgling standing under a spreading live oak, staring at me.
"I am attempting to place at least one decent piece of furniture in this hovel so that I will have someplace to sit. Are you going to help me, or just stand there and watch me labor like the bourgeois pseudo-aristocrat you are?"
He sighed and walked closer. He had hunted, less than 20 minutes ago by the heat and the color of his skin. I put the bergère down and pulled him into my arms to hug and kiss him. He responded politely. He does everything politely, my little gentleman. No passion to be shown out-of-doors. It isn't proper. Unseemly, in fact.
And this from the same young letch who tomcatted around New Orleans nightly, whipping it out in any back room, empty carriage or dark alley that was handy.
Oh yes, dear reader, please do jump to his defense. 'He was drunk!' 'He was grieving!' 'He was mad!' 'Poor Louis!'
Well, let me reveal to you this little secret. Louis de Pointe du Lac was nearly addicted to sex from age 14. And you can be sure he never left a party nor a ball without dropping his pants at least once.
Shocked? I assure you it is quite true. Of course young Louis's public conduct, that is to say mother-observed and chaperone-scrutinized behavior, was above reproach. And he had all of the manners of a prudish Victorian gentleman, yes. But he also had all of the self-control of a bitch in heat.
I am not implying so much that my Louis was unduly, frantically, uncontrollably lustful. Only that he was not the little marble saint that you may believe him to have been. He had the fairly common thought processes of a boy in the throes of puberty. These thought processes lead the budding young man, and woman, too, as I have found, to approach every situation with this particular mindset: 'I'm a boy and you are a girl, I want to take your clothes off;' I'm a boy and so are you, I want to take your clothes off;' I'm a boy and you're a lamppost, I want to take your clothes off;' ect. You see the pattern.
And he was at no loss for partners-in-crime. Let me dispel yet another long held myth, adolescent girls of wealth and class were no more immune to debauchery than in the present day. Louis's paramours were all more than willingly deflowered, do not think otherwise. And he didn't exactly have to look for opportunities, either. He was a 'good catch' you understand. Wealthy owner of two plantations and several town houses, with only a mother to support. The whole parish was well-aware that the younger heir, Paul, would certainly be going to the church, and his sister was of near marriage age herself.
And beautiful, God yes, unbelievably beautiful. He truly was, even as a mortal. It would be no hardship to see him everyday for the rest of one's life, and the mademoiselles were well aware of this fact. Yet he, incredible as it sounds, did not know it. You see, to his mind, there were many young Creole men with dark hair and dark eyes, who also possessed noses mouths and chins, and he was but another of them. Ordinary, regular, dime a dozen even. Which was completely untrue. He was exquisite, as he is now. He was slender, though hardly thin and certainly not bony and he was rather smooth skinned, with delicate features, whereas most of his contemporaries were of the hulking, hairy variety. And his coloring was unusual, such dark green eyes, jet black hair and light skin. The others were mostly blue or brown eyed, with ruddy complexions and hair in shades of blond and brown. Which, I suppose is fine, if you like that sort of thing. Comparatively though, Louis actually thought himself to be rather bland. His crazy brother Paul, whom he idealizes shamelessly in his memoir, was much more ordinary. He looked exactly like all the others, with perhaps prettier features, allowing for family resemblance. Louis would never admit this, but when he looked in the mirror then, he longed for thick hair that would bleach with the sun, sky blue eyes, wide shoulders and heavy eyebrows and beard. Can you imagine that?! Like a Monet wanting to be a Velvet Elvis! Ridiculous!
Luckily, I myself have always known I was unusually gorgeous. It is a blessing to look into a mirror and see the same beauty that others see.
"This will never fit through the door, Lestat." Louis measured the doorway with his hands and held the width to the chair.
"Of course it will. We just need to angle it some way." I had been visiting him fairly regularly for almost a month and the conditions he lived in were absolutely intolerable. Believe me, that chair WAS going into that house!
"What is this?" Louis lifted a corner of the black plastic covering.
"Don't do that!" I slapped his hand. "It is a bergere. You can see it once we get it inside."
He gave me an irritated glare, which was seductive as hell.
"Take that side," I directed him. He sighed and took the side nearest his door. "Alright, lift it and point the back down."
The weight was nothing to him and even less for me. I really only needed him because of the sheer unwieldyness of the thing. We turned the chair. He walked backward through his doorway, and the chair had just narrowly slid through, as I was entering. Suddenly his end dropped. I heard a loud crack, like a pistol shot, then a rustle and a soft, "Ow! Merde!"
I looked around the bergere. He had apparently slipped on a pile of newspapers, fallen, taken an extremely hard blow to the head as it hit his desk corner, and was pinned under the my new throne.
"Louis! Really! You are going to get my chair filthy before I even have a chance to sit in it!" I scolded him.
He rubbed his head and looked wearily up at me. "Would it be too much for you to lift this monstrosity so that I could stand up, monsieur?"
I sighed, loudly and dramatically, which I am very good at. "Louis, Louis, you really are the most exasperating child!" I lifted the chair and set it aside, then pulled him up as well. I turned him around to look at his head. "Oh, cher," I said consolingly as I parted his hair with my fingers. I felt him wince. "You've broken the skin, this is deep." I felt the wound, he pulled a hissing breath through his clenched teeth. "I think you cracked the bone. Does it hurt much?"
"Non," he lied. "It's fine."
I quickly licked the blood from my fingers. "You'll probably have a headache for an hour or so, at least." I took up the chair and planted it across from his desk. I ripped off the plastic to reveal the luxurious red velvet. "But it is worth it, isn't it!"
He said nothing but went to sit at his desk. I chuckled and seated myself. "Ah, perfect!" I basked in the feel of the soft lush material. He was looking at me with the most indulgent smile, and, I noticed, stroking his forehead.
"You know, if you didn't leave these disgusting heaps of refuse about the place, this sort of thing wouldn't happen," I told him.
For one second he looked offended, perhaps even hurt, but then it was gone. "You know if you would not take such liberties with my decor such things wouldn't happen either."
I waved off that comment. "You didn't really expect me to continue coming to this rat hole without some sort of civilized comfort, did you?"
He shook his head at me, then regretted it. He put both hands to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut.
"You ARE hurt. I thought so." I said, patronizingly. He ignored me. I stood and went behind him. Gently I moved his hands and began rubbing his temples. He relaxed and allowed me to do it.
"Merci beaucoup," he mumbled.
"Louis, you know, I could take away that pain." I kissed the gash. He flinched.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
I came around and knelt by his desk. "I have the oldest and the strongest blood in me, Beautiful One. That would be nothing but a scratch to me, already gone."
He looked at me suspiciously. "What are you suggesting?"
I held my wrist out to him. "Drink, Louis. Take this strength, this power!"
He pulled back from me. His eyes flickered down to my wrist and then away as if it were a distasteful thing. He looked back to my face. "Non, Lestat. I need not become any more of a monster than I am."
"Louis," I caressed his cheek. "It will help you. I worry for you, you know. You are the very weakest of us now. You could be attacked, hurt, destroyed. Take the blood, Louis," I kissed his forehead. "It will end the pain."
"That is what you promised before," he said quietly, and there was disappointment in it, betrayal.
I laughed, and rose to sit on his desk. "Well, it worked for me, Louis. How was I to know that your melancholy was stronger even than the Dark Gift? How was I to know that your guilt and gloom would stick to you like molasses and tar?"
He looked down. He gave his eyes a rough swipe. Had there been tears in them? I hadn't noticed. "I know that you offer this from your heart, but I cannot take it, Lestat."
"Oh fine! Be stubborn and willful! I'm not going to beg you! Defy every compassionate, protective and loving gesture I make toward you! Rebel against me, you spiteful whelp! Be sanctimonious, be a martyr, if you take some sick comfort in it!" I slammed my fist down on his desk. The noise must have hurt his head because cried out. I admit, I got some small satisfaction out of that. It proved my point perfectly.
I went back to my chair and sat sulking. After a time, he drew a candle out of the desk and lit it, placing it in a holder before him.
I blew it out.
Patiently, he lit it again.
I blew it out once more
Without even a glance at me, he lit it a third time.
I blew again, but he put a hand up, shielding the flame.
I grinned.
He dropped his hand . . .I blew out the candle.
This time, he grinned. But he got out the matches once more. Before he even reached the wick, I blew out the match. He suppressed a giggle. He lit another match, just as the wick was catching, I blew it out. We both giggled. He struck one more, lit the candle, and then held it out to me. Obligingly, I blew out the flame. We both laughed. It was insipid, ludicrous really, but it dispelled the tension. And I so loved to see him laugh. His face completely transforms, the same but different. Louis has dimples you know. Small ones, but if he smiles wide enough, or laughs hard enough, they are there. I doubt anyone but me, anyone still living that is, has ever seen them. Oh, perhaps David.
He was looking at me, looking at my chair. "I hope you are comfortable, monsieur."
I looked about myself. "Well, I suppose it is too much to ask for a crystal glass," I glanced at the cold hearth, "or a fire to throw it into."
The divine laughter again. "Oui, far too much."
"I thought so." I performed for him a sustained long-suffering sigh.
He handed me a book. I read the title. "Tales from the Black Mask: the collected fiction of Black Mask magazine." I looked at him. "Louis! I didn't know you read such trash!"
"I don't. It is for you."
"For me?"
"Yes."
"Why Louis, I am touched, really! You bought it just for me?"
"Of course."
I smiled. I opened the book eagerly. "Have you read it?"
"No."
"You don't know what you're missing, Precious Charm."
"I am reading another book at present."
"Dickens?"
"No."
"Not that convoluted Joyce?"
"No."
"Hmmm, Wilde?"
"It is new."
"You're kidding! Modern fiction? How thrilling for you!"
"I don't know that it is fiction." He pulled the tome from his desk. "Queen of the Damned," he read. "Heard of it? It was released yesterday."
I chuckled, taking the book. His bookmark was more than halfway through. "Well, what do you think?"
"I think you should be ashamed of yourself prying into other people's private memories in such a way."
"Hell's Bells, Louis, don't be so damned respectful! They pry into mine, and even into yours! I put it in the book, Marius and Khayman both! Spying on you, listening to your thoughts. What about them?"
He took the book back and laid it on his desk. He stood then and came to the front, leaning on the edge, looking down at me. "This darkness, after such a bright spotlight, must hurt you so deeply."
"Don't act as if you would have it any other way." I snapped at him.
"Anonymity is safer."
"But far less fun."
He held his hand out to me. "Come with me."
I took his hand. We walked out into his overgrown yard.
"Where are we going?" I asked him, loving the feel of his hand in mine.
"I want to show you something about anonymity."
We continued walking, hand in hand, as is possible in cities like New Orleans in these more tolerant times, through the Garden District to First and Chestnut. You, my sweet public, know what we saw. Your fellow aficionados, your brothers and sisters, perhaps even yourselves. Several mortal children, swathed in velvet and lace, all with fangs, some even permanent. Their hair dyed black, or white, blonde or auburn, their skin pale with night life or clown white. They were calmly milling about, communing with each other, speaking of our books, carrying copies of my newest, referring to each other by our names.
We ascended to a nearby roof. We could see and hear everything from there.
"There you are." Louis pointed to a tall youth with a wild blond mane.
"What are you talking about?"
"Him, there. He is Lestat, don't you see?"
"Louis, you aren't serious."
"But he is. Quite serious. And there is another." He indicated a girl who had painted her hair a shiny white gold.
I looked at them amazed. And they were here in hopes of seeing me. Me! Lestat de Lioncourt, the vampire! They believed. More than that, they knew.
"There you are." I showed him a smallish waif with long straight black hair, wrapped in a black velvet cape.
He gave a small smile. "Yes, and there." It was a boy with black hair, clothing, and copious amounts of eyeliner surrounding his eyes which sported neon green contact lenses.
I surveyed the group. "More Lestats than Louises!" I announced, as if it were a great triumph.
"Well, certainly, what would you expect?" Louis answered completely without envy, which was maddening.
"They're here to meet me. I suppose I shouldn't disappoint them." I baited him.
He nodded. "Have fun."
"Louis? You don't mean you are encouraging me?!"
"That is why I brought you here. I knew you would have to talk to them as soon as you saw them."
I searched his face. " You mean it?"
"Yes, go on." He pretended to push me off of the roof.
"Aren't you coming too?"
"I think one mythical figure is enough for tonight, don't you?"
"Not at all! Aren't you listening? 'Lestat and Louis', 'Louis and Lestat'. We are a matched set. Come on."
"No, I'd hate to take any attention away from you," he demurred.
I laughed. "Oh you think you know all my weak spots, don't you?"
"Don't I?" he asked, feigning surprise.
"You, sir, are impertinent, rude and irritating," I informed him imperiously.
"That is what I thought," he answered. "But honestly, I would prefer to watch."
I sighed. "Alright, little voyeur, have it your own way." Under my breath, I added, "Spoiled and obstinate. Bashful and uncooperative. I don't know where I went wrong."
I jumped from the roof into the center of the group. "Bonsoir!" I greeted them.
They looked at me with interest. "Where did you come from?" one asked warily.
"The Auvergne, France," I answered her, mesmerizing her with my brilliant eyes.
A boy approached me, one of the Louises. "Lestat?" he asked reverently.
"Oui, and you are Gabriel," I answered, stunning him.
He turned to the boy with him, an Armand, I guessed. "It's him!"
"It's pretty good," Pseudo-Armand answered.
"Thank you, Xander." I laughed, letting my fangs glint in the moonlight.
"Hey, are those fangs permanent?" asked shiny hair girl.
"Quite permanent, chere." I grinned at her.
"What was the deal with all those fires at your concert?" inquired what must have been a Daniel, judging by the tape recorder.
"Pyrotechnics," a slightly drunk-sounding Lestat-clone answered him.
"Yeah, but how were they set up outside?" asked a Louis in ripped jeans and a Vampire Lestat T-shirt.
"Didn't you read my book?" I asked, thumping the copy in his hand.
They looked at each other, excited and nervous. Was I for real? I really was, wasn't I?
"Will you sign my book . . .Lestat?" said the little Louis.
"Of course, beautiful one." I took the book. From a distance I had thought it was a girl, but it was actually a boy child. "To Kieran, mon petit ange noir." I signed my proper name and handed back his book and pen, with a kiss. I think he could have died happy right there and then. And don't think I wasn't tempted. In fact, just as this thought was crossing my mind, another one made the request.
"Lestat, please, give me the Dark Gift!" It was a Lestat, of course, who else?
"I don't think we need more than one Lestat in eternity." Louis put a hand on my shoulder. He must have suspected what was going through my mind, and decided to join us before any blood got spilt, so to speak. As if he could stop me.
"LOUIS!" burst out another Louis.
"Non, child," Louis denied. "Come." He tried to pull me away.
"Yes you are!" exclaimed what might have been a tall Claudia. "Drink my blood!"
Louis stared at her.
"Drink mine . . ." whispered a female Lestat, as her hand made its way up my thigh.
"Drink!"
"Drain me!"
"Bring me into it!"
"Lestat, please!"
"Louis, make me your fledgling!"
They crowded around us, and I must tell you, they smelled delicious.
Louis was nearly in a panic. "Les-" he stopped. No point in encouraging them, I suppose. "We should go now."
"Yes, yes, Louis." Why not encourage them? "In a minute." I grinned at him, loving their adulation, loving his indignance.
"Now!" Louis commanded, through clenched teeth.
"Who wants to die?" I called out merrily.
"ME!"
"I do!"
"Kill me, Lestat!"
"Take me!"
Louis was rubbing his temples again, but I am sure the wound had healed by then.
"Oh, so sorry, mes cheres," I said. "I am afraid I am not very hungry tonight."
I bestowed quick kisses on a few, and then Louis and I disappeared. I took him to my apartment.
"So," I said, "not so anonymous after all, am I?"
"Do you feel better now?" He was pouting, oh my devoted fans, if you could see him pout! It is rapture.
"Oh, Louis, it was pure heaven! They believed! It was like a visitation!" I was in ecstasy.
"'And the word was made flesh,'" he quoted at me.
I laughed and hugged him close.
"Now don't make a habit out of this," he said in a warning tone.
"No, never. We cannot have some sort of vampiric Lourdes developing can we?" I was intoxicated with the thought, actually.
"No. This is already the 'Holy City' you know. They make pilgrimages to New Orleans from all over the world." He sat on my couch. "Many of them came here straight from the concert, seeking you, seeking us. Searching for the truth."
"Mecca!" I exclaimed delightedly. "Do they kneel every sundown, facing New Orleans and chant my songs?"
"I am sure there is at least one somewhere who does. I know that they have scoured the St. Louis cemetery looking for tombs; mine, Paul's, your father's."
"Who ever said my father had a tomb in New Orleans?"
"They extrapolated it. Why would you send him back to France if the rest of your family was dead? Who would bury him? And knowing he was a Marquis, so soon after the revolution, his body would probably have been desecrated at the very dock. What would be the point?" Louis explained.
"Very clever." I was impressed.
"Yes, they are. Of course some say his body was burned in the fire, and there was nothing left to dispose of. Some say his remains were taken for mine and are in my tomb. But some say the same of Daniel," Louis added.
"Daniel?" I asked. "I don't understand."
"No, not that Daniel. My steward, he took over for the overseer," Louis said. "His body was in the fire too, of course."
"And they take all of that into account. It is quite shrewd. Almost dangerously shrewd."
"It's your own fault. You told them to read between the lines."
"Yes, but I only wanted them to see what YOU were covering up, not what I was covering up!" I said in mock frustration.
He smiled. "Oh, I see, I alone get to be seen as a liar."
"Yes, exactly. That's precisely it."
He stood and walked to my window, looking out at the night sky. "I must be getting back." He turned to me.
"Louis." I stood next to him. I rubbed his back lightly with one hand. "Thank you for taking me there. For showing me that my 'anonymity' is merely notoriety, worship in fact, masking itself as an underground cult." I grinned at him.
"You're welcome," he answered, though I know he must have been dismayed at feeding what he considers my 'rampant vanity' and possibly creating a full-blown God complex. He hugged me warmly, and brushed my lips with his.
I caught his chin and brought his face back around for a real kiss. "Meet me there tomorrow night?"
He laughed. "Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline. I have plans tomorrow night."
I was bitterly disappointed. "What sort of plans?"
"I need to call one of those charitable societies that takes away furniture and gives it to the poor," he said, walking to my door and opening it. "Some idiot has left an absolutely hideous chair at my house. Bonsoir, Lestat."
"Bonsoir, Louis." I slammed the door behind him, as if I were very insulted. But I am sure he was still near enough to hear me laugh.
FINIS
The End
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