tampered | Log; Incomplete

Log; Incomplete

When; July 29th
Rating; PG-13 (that should cover it)
Characters; Lestat

young_once
Summary; Lestat got bored one night and offered a duel...These are the results.
Log; Music from the violin floated around the air of the outdoor theater. Lestat was well aware of how upset Hook was with him but he'd decided to come anyways. As he waited, he played a haunting tune with his eyes closed. It was one he'd heard many years ago but still lingered in his mind some nights.

Hook would come. Despite the threat, he would come. His pride wouldn't allow for anything else.

Nearby his rapier rested on an empty chair with his coat beneath it. It glittered in the moonlight. He didn't have to see it to know that. Next to the chair was a Newfoundland puppy nearly as tall as the seat while sitting. Feeding Horatio well had paid off.

Smiling, he continued to play as he waited. He did a great deal of waiting it seemed but that was the price for immortality.

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Of course, he didn't stay in his room like he claimed he would do. The fact of the matter was that above all things, Hook was a man of his word, and though he'd all but resolved to never sever ties with Lestat de Lioncourt, they would have their duel first. He just waited a little longer than he should have, largely to calm himself down. Though rage had carried the weight of his claw many a time in battles against pan, he knew it would only make him sloppy tonight.

James Hook came upon the theatre and immediately knew he was not alone when he heard the violin music. Part of him had wished he would be the first to show up, but now he had to come on the scene still stoic when honestly, the minute he saw the Vampire Lestat, he felt that same lump of pain in his chest that'd struck him at the start of their argument earlier that evening. He remembered vividly how that feeling swelled as the realization came to him that there really was no friendly consideration between the two of them.

He came to a stop before him, wearing his blue coat tonight, sword gleaming, and the hook, itself, of course. Were they handling older swords, heavier ones, it would have served the same function as a parrying dagger, and in Neverland it had been an edge he needed when facing a foe who could fly.

Perhaps against a preternatural enemy, still, it would serve to balance things. Though it was promised that no powers would be involved, he'd begun to doubt that would be the case.

Eyes that flashed violet opened as the last note was pulled out. Then he lowered the violin and gave his companion a bow. An amused smile was on his face but he said nothing. Instead, he went over to the chair to set the instrument down. Taking his time, he scratched his dog's ears before picking up the blade.

"Merci, Horatio. You've done your duty well." Lestat received a serious bark in return to which he chuckled lightly.

Turning to the other man, he strode over with an aura of confidence that easily came across as cocky. In truth, it was partially an act.

"Good evening, mon ami."

"Less talk, Monsieur de Lioncourt," Hook said shortly, drawing his own sword. He'd had to relearn swordplay when Pan cut off his right hand, but it was a task he set to with the utmost diligence, and part of him wished he had done so before it was a necessity; it would have given him a remarkable edge.

He drew back into the proper stance, deciding the best way to finish this was to keep a stiff upper lip and play it by the rules. He would have good form. He would have better form.

But the best form, memory reminded him, in the voices of chiding classmates, was that which was achieved without effort, and if Hook was guilty of anything, it was trying too hard.

Lestat laughed softly but didn't fall into any sort of stance. Everything about him was relaxed.

No powers. That was the deal for this. He would be fighting as a mortal. Such a pity he couldn't really remember what that was like. However, a promise was a promise. Therefore, no great speed or strength or reading minds.

It was sure to be fun.

"Very well, mon ami. Let us begin then." And without further hesitation, he gave a steep bow then clashed his sword with Hook's.

Perhaps it was the light, or Hook's utter determination to keep his mind as separate from this place as possible while he fought, but either way, it had both a desired and an undesired effect. He met the first clash of blades with a flourish, and the battle was begun. His footwork was expert, each parry and each thrust is in practiced form, but his opponent met every slash, every attempt to take more ground.

Now each reply with the blade was met with more force, and his right hand began to move. The odd attack that got past his own sword was caught with his hook, and he began moving faster, with more determination, more sheer will to land a blow, to do damage.

It was not long before the brat prince he faced was not the enemy he saw. He felt again like he was faced against someone much smaller, with the cocky glance, a mouth gnashing all its first teeth at him.

The red began to glow in his eyes.

He merely played the defense, adding his own thrusts every so often. But by doing this he noticed the change in his opponent. The strength grew, the movements became faster, and the eyes...red. A furious glow that could turn blood cold most.

This was the infamous Captain Hook and Lestat de Lioncourt was no longer his opponent. How insulting. With a pout, he side-stepped a thrust his direction and watched as the hooked hand came sweeping his way. There were some abilities he could not avoid. His advanced senses being one of them.

Ducking low, he made a cheap but extremely elegant flourish at Hook's legs.

In an attempt to avoid it, he lost his footing. One couldn't blame the man; he was hardly as young as he used to be, and not quite so agile. Being in this place hadn't helped; that was for certain. If this had remained a duel between friends, he might have allowed that he'd gotten a little too hasty, and that he was winding himself. But reflex demanded that it wasn't, and with the mind of a man who assumes his opponent will kill him if he does not move, he is on his feet again in one swift motion, parrying again as he comes up, and following familiar footwork long enough to grant him his second wind.

From there, he soon began to realize he was growing tired -- far too quicky, far far too quickly -- and his maneuvers became more desperate the more ground he lost.

Another power Lestat could not control, Hook would grow tired long before he did. He could see the man already was. Perhaps he had pushed too hard too soon. Not that he could say for certain.

His eye caught the flash of the sword sweeping towards him and he muttered a curse in French. The tone he used was calm and quiet. It may have been years since he'd done anything like this but Hook was suffering from it more.

Sighing, he narrowed his eyes and took some steps back for no particular reason.

Still keeping his speed under control, he ran forward then dodged to the side intent on knocking the sword from Hook's hand.

The move took him by surprise, and his hand jerked the wrong way at the wrong second.

"Ah--!"

Lestat's blade managed to catch his palm just beneath where this grip closed over the handle of his rapier, effectively prying the weapon from his hand. What it also did, however, thanks to an instinctive jerk that pulled in a bad direction on Hook's part, was lay his palm open. He stumbled back, hissing in pain, but unable to respond to the injury the same way a normal person would. Someone else would have grasped at their own wrist to steady themselves, after all, or cover the wound at least.

The trance was broken when Hook saw the blood; he'd always been faint at the sight of it. Thick and unusual in color, it hadn't earned him many friends in school, that was certain, and made still more pirates fear him in his earlier years.

Pulling his hand in toward himself, he dropped to one knee.

The scent of blood filled the air but Lestat didn't react to it. Instead, he walked over to the fallen blade and picked it up. Striding over to Hook, he studied the blood on the tip of his sword.

"Your hand is hurt then. I believe this is done unless you feel stubborn enough to rise again."

Holding both swords in one hand, he knelt before Hook with his eyes focused on the small injust.

"That needs to be healed. It is small but I can close that wound."

James felt his stomach turn when Lestat came down to his level. Was that real concern or just a formality? What he wouldn't have given to be able to read the man's mind the same way he could his. His hand shot out, palm face up, though he could not look at it without his vision swimming.

However, it was not an offer for the vampire to do what he was offering.

"My sword," he said shortly.

Lestat nodded without any surprise in his eyes. The stubbornness of man would always fascinate him. If that was this was of course. Flicking one forward, he extended Hook's sword towards him.

His eyes never left the blood though and his expression lacked its usual flicker of amusement. True he'd fed recently but that scent still intoxicated him. He wanted to drink from that injury. Years of practice allowed him to restrain himself and he pulled his gaze away to look at the other man's face.

"Your sword, mon ami."

James looked down at the hand that offered his sword; his right arm twitched, and for a moment he considered it, drawn by how stark the veins stood out on his skin. Bad form, he told himself, and he took his sword in hand before rising. He paused once he got to his feet, for a moment seeming to debate continuing -- even returning to the place where he'd originally stood at the start of the duel -- despite the fact that by all fair rules he'd already lost.

Finally, he sheathed his sword and turned to go.

A frown appeared on his face as he rose to his feet. The duel was over then. He could use his powers once more.

He suddenly appeared in front of Hook with his arms crossed. Lestat glanced down at the bleeding hand.

"That needs to be taken care of."

Lestat had never done that before, so Hook felt a swell of further humiliation redden his cheeks when the vampire appeared before him, and he failed to stop a noise of surprise from escaping him. He retreated a step, glancing back at where Lestat had been, then forward again.

The pirate glowered. "I'll take care of it myself," he affirmed. "Now if you'll excuse me --" He moved to pass him.

His hand was suddenly on Hook's shoulder and unmovable. "I will not, mon ami."

Lestat walked in front of the pirate again without making a single sound. It was nice to no longer be restricting himself to that of a mortal man. He'd grown to hate it after the body switch.

"Though, I wonder. Will you tie it with your teeth? Give me your hand."

Lestat was strong; feeling just how strong, now, after a duel when he'd been holding himself back, sent a wave of panic through James' body for an instant.

He had a point. Blast him, but he did.

James watched him, wary, at first worried. The man was a vampire; he'd admitted that, and while he'd offered his hand before because he had been impatient to depart, he now wondered if he was wise to do that at all. But he was right. If he left it alone, it could become infected, and he'd never been so stupid to let injuries go undressed aboard the roger. Smee had been the one to handle every injury he would have needed another hand to dress by himself.

Relenting and glowering hatefully, he finally offered it.

Taking the hand, he studied the injury before removing a handkerchief from his pants pocket. Rather than wrapping it up though, Lestat cleaned away some of the blood. Satisfied that it was clean enough, he brought his index finger to his lips and bit until his own blood surfaced.

He focused on the cut and drew his bleeding finger across it. Then he took the cloth to clean away the blood once again revealing that the injury had vanished.

Calmly he folded the cloth and pocketed it.

"There. I am done now."

He would have been lying if he'd claimed that as he stood there waiting and watching he wasn't tense with fear. When Lestat released him, he lifted his palm to examine his handiwork. Nothing so much as a scar remained.

That was certainly something they left out of the stories.

"...Thank you," he managed. Eager though he was to get away, he did not forget his manners.

"It is what friends do, mon ami. Besides, if I could smell your blood like that any number of predators here would have."

Lestat glanced at Hook as he made his way over to his violin. "And I believe I am the only predator here who would actually restrain from harming you when the scent flooded the air."

He smiled suddenly and started playing. This time it had the hints of an old lullaby. Lost to time.

"I care, mon ami. No matter what I may do."

"Of course," James said morosely. Just not as much as I do, apparently. The thought appeared in his head without warning, but it summed up his feelings accurately. The fact was -- he never would have done what Lestat had done if he had any inkling that it would bother him.

The vampire returned to his violin, and James felt a tinge of nostalgia. He'd been learning to play back at school, but he'd hated it; he never really did have a gentle enough touch to play it properly. In the end he did better with other stringed instruments, and once he lost one hand, the harpsichord was really the only option he had.

But this was his opportunity to leave; choosing to go back to his music, Lestat did not press the issue of his prize, and since they had resolved to never speak of it again, it meant that asking for it later would have been a difficulty. It gave him more time to avoid it.

And that suited Hook just fine.

Now that wasn't part of the deal. His prize had yet to be obtained. Flowing into a light dance piece, he nodded to Horatio who instantly ran after Hook and stopped in front of him.

The dog growled and moved side to side to keep Hook from getting past him.

Smiling he walked forward and set the instrument aside when the tune was done.

"Mon ami, mon ami..." Lestat's tone was scolding but playful. "You are forgetting something. I won after all. Even Horatio can see that." Instantly the growling stopped and the dog sat there patiently with ears perked.

When the dog barred his way, Hook did not feel nearly so patient as when Lestat did so. Stopping, but keeping his distance, he drawled loud enough so that he could be heard, "Call off the animal before I call it off for you."

Lestat approached, bringing up unfinished business, of course. Hook almost wished the man would infect him, because he was tired of having his mind read.

He sighed in frustration. "Then just get it over with so I can go home!" he snapped.

"Such impatience."

A soft whistle brought the dog back to his side. "Though I would appreciate it if you did not harm my animal. He is a treasure to me."

As he talked, he finished walking over to Hook. The frustration really shouldn't have been so amusing. But the reality was otherwise.

Closing the distance between them, he wrapped a hand around the back of Hook's neck to bring him closer. With a smile, Lestat leaned in and pressed his lips to the other man's.

Hook had to try not to stumble when he was pulled closer. Though he knew what was coming, the moment it happened it felt as though there really hadn't been any preparing for it. The hand on the back of his neck was cold, as were the lips, and trying to pull away resulted in no movement whatsoever.

He shut his eyes, choking back on an uncomfortable sound that tried to crawl up his throat. It wasn't horrible, but he also didn't want to linger there long enough for that realization to sink too far into his psyche. It might not have been harrowing but it was still not something he should have been doing.

Lestat pulled back with a satisfied expression on his face. He really should feed more often. Then he wouldn't be so cold. Studying his hand, he sighed then sat on the stage floor to play with his dog.

"I apologize, mon ami." But whether it was for the cold hand or telling Anita was left open. He didn't feel like explaining tonight.

"Have a good evening. And as promised, we will never speak of this again."

And it was over.

James came away from it feeling only partially relieved. The rest was marred by confusion. He watched Lestat a moment, not expecting an apology, but he chooses to take it as meaning what was said before.

He turned to finally take his leave, but hesitated.

"Before I leave," he began, glancing back, "tell me why you wanted that."

Lestat looked over at Hook then up at the sky.

"I liked the idea." Studying the stars he leaned back and for a change his body actually looked like the 21 year old it was eternally trapped as.

"As interesting as it would have been to have a taste be what I won, you fear me. Despite friendship, you fear me. And I have no need for any material good no matter how much I love them." He paused for a moment. "Besides that, I like you, mon ami. You are stubborn and rash. You tell me you do not like something no matter how much you may fear me."

Smiling to himself, he brought up one hand to trace a pattern in the sky. "I think...for the most part...that I'm lonely. Surrounded by many and alone at the same time. That is why I wanted that."

Some pang of guilt struck him, then. "You know I don't want to be afraid of you, Lestat," he murmured. "But it's safer if I am." And that was the truth. Because when he wasn't, he walked into situations like this, where another man was kissing him and he was trying his best not to flail and collapse.

The vampire said he was lonely, and he could definitely sympathize. Here, it wasn't so bad. On the Roger, though, he'd been a man who wept many times in private just for need of someone to talk to who could understand him.

"So you wanted to kiss me because you were lonely," he repeated. "You wanted to do what you have openly admitted doing with other men, with me, because you were lonely."

"Because I like you. Yes." He didn't bother to look at Hook. It wasn't up to him if the man understood what he was talking about or not. "And I've done the same with women too, by the way."

The last part was added as an afterthought. Horatio came up and rested his head on Lestat's lap. He quietly scratched the animal's ears for a moment.

"I have no intentions of hurting you, you know. Sometimes, one has to do what is not safest."

Because he liked him. Sometimes the man was so French, it hurt. Hook didn't feel as surprised as he should have when Lestat admitted to being free with women, too. He supposed that was just fortunate for him.

"I know you don't intend to." But sometimes he did, anyway. "And I died in my other world by taking chances. I want to be more careful, now."

Lestat didn't respond at first. Instead he gave his attention the dog. He'd always loved the animals.

Licking his lips, he glanced over at Hook. "You choices sometimes baffle me, mon ami."

"Why?" he asked. He approached and sat out of reach, watching him. "I accept that I led a horrible life before I came here, and I do my best to avoid those things that made them that way. How is that confusing?"

"Because I forget what it is to be mortal."

Lestat fell back and rested his head on his hands. "I have done many terrible things as well. But that does not stop me."

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Log; Incomplete

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