@symphoniepourlediable / symphoniepourlediable.tumblr.com

Lestat had been the one to suggest performing in such a small venue. He liked the closeness of it all, he liked the general intimacy of a small group of people enjoying his music. Stacee was being a little whiny bitch about it though since he preferred the big, loud stadium performances he was used to. In the end, Lestat won of course since he was far older and far stronger than Stacee was.
With Stacee belting out the lyrics to their song and him on the electric violin, Lestat was having the time of his life. He could hear the thoughts of every single person in the room and it was delightful hearing so many people praising him as a God. He heard hundreds of women AND men wondering if he was single, wondering if he was into them and willing to fuck them. Lestat couldn’t help but smile at the sheer admiration he was receiving.
However, when he opened his eyes to look down at the crowd, his sharp blue eyes came in contact with a familiar face.
One he thought was long dead.
It was Nicolas… His Nicki… And he was standing not ten feet in front of him. 
He knew it was him, he would recognize that face and that gaze ANYWHERE. Lestat immediately felt tears in his eyes and the second the man turned around, Lestat dropped his violin in the middle of the song.


Lestat’s broken scream echoed in the microphone, not giving two shits about the reverberations that hurt everyone else’s ears.  He didn’t care that Stacee was now glaring at him with a look that would kill. All he cared about was that the man he once loved was running away from him. Lestat bolted from the stage, using his vampire speed to catch up with Nicki and yank him into a back alley. He pinned him to the wall, staring at him for a moment, before claiming his mouth in a firm kiss.
Lestat kissed him like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His hand tangled in Nicolas’s dark hair and Lestat felt bloody tears streaming down his cheeks as he held him close.
Nicki… mon dieu, Nicki…. you’re alive! How are you alive?!” He breathed once he pulled away, his eyes scanning the other man’s face for some kind of recognition.

[ ♫ ♪ 𝔡𝔢 𝔏𝔢𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔫𝔱: @manyimaginativemuses ]

     — Nicolas flew down the street, desperate to escape the madness he was so certain was closing in on him. No mortal eye could see nor hear him, so quick was the preternatural movement of the speed at which he fled— that is until he felt hands plucking him from the very air itself and knocking the oxygen from his lungs as he found himself yanked into an alleyway and pinned up against the brick wall by another unyielding immortal body— Lestat's body— although he refused to believe it was really him. "S'il vous plaît, monsieur, laissez-moi partir!" he cried in their mother tongue, desperately struggling to escape the other male but was useless against his strength. "You are not real! Let me go this ins—" Nicolas's indignant protest was silenced by the feeling of Lestat's generous mouth upon his own, his beloved’s long slender fingers so familiar even after three centuries were now tangled in his long silken waves as Nicki suddenly found himself drowning in the blond's touch and kisses as he had all those many years ago, icy lips from not having fed recently becoming pliant and responsive and warm as he returned Lestat's kiss, the struggling ceased, all fight draining from his limbs, his body sagging as a soft whimper escaped him.

By the time Lestat pulled away all the fight in him had evaporated, leaving the vampire spent and dark hues staring at the ground, unfocused and w i d e as he silently wept, the blood tears carving twin fissures as they coursed paths down Nicki's pale cheeks. "A misunderstanding, my love." he murmured bitterly, his voice carrying only a trace of the French accent it had once possessed which was now nearly erased by time and absence from his homeland. One corner of Nicolas's mouth quirked into a haunted half-smile, booted feet carrying him forward a step, away from the brick wall and towards Lestat whom he reached out to touch in disbelieving wonder, the pads of his fingers ghosting over a pale cheek and smearing the other’s bloody tears in his search for the certainty that he really was there and not some apparition sent from the devil himself. "Are you real or a figment sent to torture me further? Mon Dieu, I do not even know anymore." he sighed wearily, hanging his head and going silent for a long moment. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally proceeded to answer Lestat's question— albeit with all the sarcasm he could muster. "Armand failed to scatter my remains, and now here I am. I live once more." Nicolas grimaced, visibly cringing as he recalled the agony in which he lived— if it could be called such—  for nearly a month below ground while his immortal body rebuilt itself.

[ ♫ ♪ 𝔡𝔢 𝔏𝔢𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔫𝔱: @blackthumbed ]

     — The violin’s exquisite sound could make angels weep in heaven and send devils clawing their way up from the bowels of hell and Nicolas was as certain of that fact as he was in knowing he was one of the latter; a demonic fiend carved from alabaster marble and plucked from the very fabric of time itself to be left standing among mortals— alone now— without his companion and caretaker, Eleni. Nicki still refused to think of her as truly being gone— dust in the wind. She was merely away, running an errand. He couldn’t fathom it otherwise. Wouldn’t believe it. Dead. Mon Eleni, it cannot be.

Seduced by the mortal's playing of the beloved instrument, the vampire followed, beckoned as the violinist’s lamenting song guided him around a street corner and up an alleyway where he spied the virtuoso as she performed, her petite frame swaying with every note and crescendo that cascaded up into the heavens from the violin which was held as tenderly as a lover within her arms. 

And then she was unconsciously turning towards him so the street lamp created a halo of the mane of raven curls framing her pale face and Nicki's dark hues finally fell upon Clarke's facets which caused him to let out an audible gasp, heart clenching painfully beneath his ribs as a detached sort of recognition dawned— 

— She was the spitting image of Eleni. Mon Dieu!

The vampire watched from the shadows, not daring to approach her but admiring her from afar instead. He knew he loved her in that moment, a feeling that only intensified as the minutes ticked by in his observation of the mortal, his desire for her all-consuming, to taste the nectar flowing through her veins, to make her heart part of his own for all eternity. It was a rare thing, this feeling for a human, one he didn’t usually experience, and for now, he'd bide his time and simply observe.

Not caring to notice how much time had passed, Nicki remained hidden by the darkness until the mortal beauty packed up her violin in its case and headed in what he assumed to be the direction of her home, only then did he silently pursue her, allowing her steps to take her farther away from the crowded quarter before he approached, unable to restrain himself any longer. Nicolas appeared suddenly from behind like an apparition out of a penny dreadful and reached for her, slender fingers grasping and biting into the yielding flesh of her shoulders as he held her in a vice-like grip,  his head bowing, savoring the scent of her up close. “Pardon me, ma chérie..” was whispered against the shell of Clarke’s ear and then he struck like a snake, needle sharp fangs piercing the pale flesh of the noirette’s throat, twin knives sinking into the carotid artery to release the fountain that ran just beneath the surface.

He did a double take as he walked past one of the lounging areas inside his bookstore. He knew it was past closing time and there need be no reason for a young man to be there by himself…particularly not making himself known or breaking some very powerful enchantments in the process.
He held, it appeared, one of his best books. One of the books which were reserved for very important individuals. Yet the young man held it with ease. It was one of those that turned not only into whatever book the person wanted, but it also displayed more peculiar abilities such as bestowing wishes, as well as storing beings and creatures more powerful than any others and controlling time.
It was, in many ways, exceedingly dangerous. Slowly, the wizard set foot inside the room.  Isidore inquired, quite aware of how most of the time his own tomes had a mind of their own; it did not matter that no Muggle would have been able to see the entrance into this particular section of his store. He would allow for the other to feel his presence before acting.

[ ♫ ♪ 𝔡𝔢 𝔏𝔢𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔫𝔱: @meslivressouvrentpourtoi

     — Slender digits devoured and turned each page of the precious tome held with such careful reverence, brown eyes wide with an almost child-like wonder of the things he saw within its pages—  the few happy memories of his past that didn't cause suffering of the heart and head. But surely his mind was playing tricks? How long had it been since he was studying the violin under Mozart? Watching from the doorway of the dressing room in Renaud's little house of thespians as his beloved Lestat applied his greasepaint in preparation to take the stage for the evening's performance? These things couldn't be real. Nicolas realized— thought really— that he must be having an episode. Where oh where had Eleni gone? (Of course, he didn’t understand that she would never be coming back, that she was dead and had been for nearly a year now.) Why had she left him? Mon Dieu, I do not believe I can do this alone. But then another visual within the book's pages was drawing him in and all of the painful thoughts were swirling away with the exquisite beauty of the Auvergne mountains and the mouthwatering smell of his mother's sweet bread.

So lost was he in the contents of the magical pages that Nicolas had not realized Isidore was watching him until he slowly turned to lower himself into a nearby chair and caught sight of the wizard. He stared at him stupidly for a moment as he processed it, looking almost like a child caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar— and then a rushed apology of embarrassment in his mother tongue flooded past his lips, brown eyes averting to the floor. "Ah, pardon, monsieur! I-I-" he stammered, his tone not carrying much of an accent anymore, the years having heavily stripped it from his voice. Now looking flustered and almost pained, a hand lifted to anxiously tuck a stray wave of dark hair behind an ear while his features pinched as he silently admonished himself and rose from the chair to appear in a blink before Isidore— quite literallythrusting the now closed book at the man.

[ ♫ ♪ 𝔡𝔢 𝔏𝔢𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔫𝔱: @manyimaginativemuses ]

     — It was the frontman's voice that had initially guided his attention to the little concert being performed in the small venue across the street, but it was the sound of the violin that truly drew Nicki in and pulled him like a bee to pollen from the boulevard and into the small nightclub. Hundreds of mortals milled about inside the cramped hot space, their warm, pliant bodies twisting beautifully as they danced and sung along to the lyrics, their eyes rarely leaving the pair on the stage, entranced by the vocalist and practically in thrall with the blond who wielded the violin so expertly, wringing such exquisite notes from the instrument such as Nicolas had never heard before. He should have recognized the pair as immortals but his fractured mind had yet to piece it all together. As it were there was something achingly familiar about the way the blond male moved and swayed with the music— almost theatrically dramatic— and utterly beguiling. Sunlight. Even in darkness. Beams of light emanated from him to chase away the proverbial shadows. Panic was building alongside the curiosity, a blackness of engulfing pain that had become a dearly demonic friend over the years devouring his mind which was now keenly threatening to send him into an episode of madness. Nicki was unknowingly treading on very thin ice and was about to fall into frigid black waters yet again. 

Nicolas drifted closer, parting the small sea of mortals like Moses in his quest to get closer to the stage and better examine the pair. He was no more than ten feet away when he clearly saw the blond's facets for the first time and his heart clenched painfully beneath his ribs before it plummeted and fell to the floor. Lestat! Mon Dieu! But was his fractured mind playing tricks? Or was he really up there on that little stage? Nicolas's features became pinched, dark eyes wild as they darted about, his breathing hitching, heart thudding loudly in his chest as the hysterics began. How could this be real? It was not. You're having an episode, you must go, now! Oh, Eleni, how could you have left me? A hand lifted, slender digits trembling as they were pressed to his forehead and then a soft cry of distress left his slightly parted lips before he turned on a booted heel and fled, vaguely hearing what he thought was his name being desperately shouted.

☛ GET INSIDE YOUR CHARACTER'S HEAD! aka The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Meme

Ask a question, any question! Because I have nothing better to do than to answer your questions. ... No, really. I don't. D:
1: What does their bedroom look like?
2: Do they have any daily rituals?
3: Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?
4: What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?
5: Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)
6: Eating habits and sample daily menu
7: Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time
8: Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging
9: Makeup?
10: Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?
11: Intellectual pursuits?
12: Favorite book genre?
13: Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?
14: Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)
15: Biggest and smallest short term goal?
16: Biggest and smallest long term goal?
17: Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress
18: Favorite beverage?
19: What do they think about before falling asleep at night?
20: Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?
21: Turn-ons? Turn-offs?
22: Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?
23: How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?
24: Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?
25: How do they see themselves 5 years from today?
26: Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?
27: What is their biggest regret?
28: Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?
29: Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)
30: Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)
31: Most prized possession?
32: Thoughts on material possessions in general?
33: Concept of home and family?
34: Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)
35: What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?
36: What makes them feel guilty?
37: Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?
38: What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?
39: Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?
40: How misanthropic are they?
41: Hobbies?
42: How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?
43: Religion?
44: Superstitions or views on the occult?
45: Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?
46: If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?
47: How do they express love?
48: If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?
49: Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

                                       𝙴𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡...                              𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝓶𝒆𝓵𝓸𝓭𝔂𝚒𝚜 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇         𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 ᵈᵉᵉᵖᵉˢᵗ ᶠᵉᵃʳˢ 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝔑𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔰.

                                                         ᴵᶰᵈᶤᵉˑ | ˢᵉˡᵉᶜᵗᶤᵛᵉ | ᵂʳᶤᵗᵗᵉᶰ ᵇʸ: ˢᵃᵐ

                                        𝙴𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡...                               𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝓶𝒆𝓵𝓸𝓭𝔂𝚒𝚜 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇          𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 ᵈᵉᵉᵖᵉˢᵗ ᶠᵉᵃʳˢ 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝔑𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔰.

                                                          ᴵᶰᵈᶤᵉˑ | ˢᵉˡᵉᶜᵗᶤᵛᵉ | ᵂʳᶤᵗᵗᵉᶰ ᵇʸ: ˢᵃᵐ