tampered | Log: Completed

He'd decided on the elevator. Or rather, he'd followed Horatio who had made the decision for them. The dog always amused him with his actions. Already a beautiful animal and still just a puppy.

There is no leash since he knows that his companion won't wander far away from him. Such is the loyalty of dogs. The thought makes him smile as he stops in front of Gren's door.

Knocking politely, he steps aside to let Horatio have the first impression. It's only right, after all. With how protective he is, he'll want to make sure the musician is safe enough to be around his master.

The funny thing about anticipation is this: if you know something's going to happen and you know when it's going to happen, why is it still a surprise when it does happen? He doesn't know, but he has to laugh at himself. The sax goes right back on its floor stand; there's this last little bit of primping (shirt tucked in? check. Jeans unwrinkled? Check. Hair brushed? Teeth brushed? Check) before he opens the door onto a gorgeous lab-sized Newfoundland puppy.

"Hey, Horatio." He kneels by the dog, holding one hand out for inspection. "Wow, boy, you're really pretty." His eyes travel beyond the dog until they find Lestat. "And hi to you too."

He laughs at the reception he receives the watches as the dog eyes the hand, sniffs the hand, eyes Gren, sniffs Gren, then bumps his head against the man's hand demanding attention.

"You've passed the test I see." That brings another chuckle to his lips. "Come, Horatio. You can be lavished with affection and return it inside. Remember your manners." The comment is met with a whimper but then the dog looks past Gren, hopeful.

"I think he's saying it best really. May we come in?"

Horatio gets a pat on his head for all his trouble before he's gestured in. It's not hard to tell that he's a good dog, and it's a measure of faith that he left his sax where it is: right in puppy-destroying territory.

It will be fine. Standing, he nods Lestat in. "Come on. Make yourself comfortable. It's not much of a place, but it's mine."

The apartment's pretty tiny, really: just the living room, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. But it's big enough for one, and it's not even too slummy or shabby. What he likes best about it are the windows: grand old wooden ones that actually open up and down, and when it's nice out he does open them and let the breeze blow the curtains. He could never do that on Callisto: it was too cold.

"I'd offer you something but..." His shrug is small and just expressive enough to convey I don't know what you'd want. "I do have plenty of treats to spoil Horatio rotten, though."

The apartment is small...though, he's lived in a place smaller than this before. Still, he likes it. Walking around, he takes in all the details without letting anything pass him by. Behind him, he can hear Horatio's footsteps near Gren. Mm, his attention must have been obtained at the mention of treats.

"He will like that. And you needn't worry about trying to serve me. I don't require anything."

Returning his gaze to Gren, he smiles. "I like your apartment. It reminds me of a place I lived in many years ago."

When he was still human and living with Nicki. The place just has the feel of a musician belonging there. Why, he can't say. It's simply a certain aura that he remembers all too well.

Edited 2008-09-15 05:45 (UTC)

"Really?" Somehow, he doesn't see Lestat in small places. He sees him in large, grand rooms with high ceilings and opulently-appointed furnishings and all of that kind of thing. It's the accent, maybe: that hint of French, or a hint of royalty (not that he's ever spent time around actual royalty, only people who thought they ought to be treated like kings or queens). He reaches for a brand-new tennis ball tucked away on a shelf -- it's there just for Horatio -- and tosses it to the dog, thinks the better of the placement of his sax, and moves it out of the way.

"You must have had a lot of places over the years. This is only the third apartment I've lived in. The one on Mars, then the one on Callisto. And this one."

His prison cell certainly doesn't count, nor do the barracks he lived in during Basic, or the foxholes on Titan. And before all of that it was his mother's house in Mars Colony: that big old rambling ranch-style place and he misses it.

He misses it every single day.

Now, though, he helps himself to a seat on the couch and pats the next cushion over. "Join me?"

(Lestat's pretty.)

Surprisingly, he can easily beg to differ on that point. He hasn't had a lot of places over the years. Of course, he's traveled but there are only a choice few where he'd actually say he's lived. Others are just small points along the way.

Going over to the couch, he sits beside Gren. Not too close but not on the opposite end either. He certainly makes a point of having it be close though.

"Tell me about your places on Mars and Callisto. I can see and feel this one for myself. The others are a bit beyond my reach currently so I will have to rely on you."

He focuses all of his attention on Gren now. His gaze never wavering nor the smile. Mainly, he wants to see how much of Gren's history he can get out of the man. Even a taste would be more than he has now really. And he's always been one to indulge his curiosity.

The proximity's nice, if a little disconcerting. But this is his home; he drapes his arm casually over the back of the couch and relaxes. "Well, the one on Mars was pretty nice. It was bigger than this: it had a nice long living room with plenty of windows. Built-in shelves everywhere too, lots of wood. Big enough room for a dining table separate from the kitchen -- I don't have that here -- and two bedrooms. One of them was used as a music room; I got the place after I got my first steady gig out of high school. As soon as I was eighteen I moved into it." There's not a whole lot more to say about it, except... "It was nice. On the sixth floor of a six-story building. One of the older ones, which meant it was all of about twenty years old. There was a little balcony off the living room too, but I never really used it because crime in the area was so bad."

That makes him laugh: he'd moved from one of the safest places on Mars to one of the worst, but it was his and so he didn't care, and his whole life was before him. It was all an opportunity.

"And then the one on Callisto -- oh, hi, Horatio, here you go -- was smaller, like this one. In a pretty slummy neighborhood, but most of the places there were crappy. The planet's in financial ruin, so the infrastructure reflects that. That one was on the fifth floor just like this one. A one-bedroom, too."

It had the same apartment number, in fact: that's one of the reasons he picked this place. Creature of habit. "But that one was all steel and concrete like everything else in Blue Crow. The best thing about that place was the piano, and that wasn't easy to come by there. I miss it."

If he ever has a piano in this apartment, he knows exactly where it will go.

Maybe some day.

He reaches out and absently pets Horatio as the dog stops in front of them. Even then, his attention somehow never wavers.

It's interesting how the Mars place had more description to it. As if he were fonder of it compared to the one on Callisto. Perhaps that is the case. And if not? There's no need to worry about that really. The gaze he gives softens instantly at the mention of the piano.

"I knew there was something missing here. And now, I know."

Looking around the apartment again, he tries to see where it would be most suitable. There? No. Or...No. Not there either. Then his eyes glide back to Gren.

"I lived in a small apartment only once in my life. Since then, the places have been larger. One of the reasons why I'm pleased that Anita also desired a bigger apartment."

There's a good opening if he's ever seen one, and he's been curious.

"Tell me about Anita. About the relationship you have with her."

If he's overstepped his bounds, Lestat can tell him to go to hell and he'll be only too glad to drop it. But he gets the impression that Lestat wants him to know and this... well, it's a sure-fire way of finding out. One way or the other.

He does refer to her as his lover. And for someone who's only too free doling out luxurious and absolutely intentional kisses, this would be a good thing to know.

Hm, where to begin with that? Settling back against the couch, he studies the wall opposite him.

"I love her deeply and she loves me in return. As a vampire from my world, I cannot have sexual experiences. I could probably provide them in a manner but I cannot indulge of them myself. However, I feel things more deeply than anyone. A lover is so often described as one who would share your bed with. Shares passions with. A vampire's lover is one he cherishes. One he adores and loves. It is similar to the concept of what would call a courtship."

He pauses as he sorts through his thoughts and words. Yes, that's how he wished to describe this.

"Her passion inspires me. Her ever changing moods amuse me. I love to make her gasp and moan beneath my hands as I kiss her. I look forward to the little moments when she suddenly comes to me and just quietly holds me. Without fear or wonder. Holding her in my arms is a completion."

There's a short laugh. "Would you like me to describe my relationship with Cloud now?"

It's both more and less than he thought. Love and sex, of course, can be mutually exclusive things and one doesn't have to lead to the other. It's almost like a hesitant kid's relationship with someone he admires, really. There's an innocence to it but at the same time, it goes so far beyond that.

An intimacy on an intellectual level with only hints of the physical: it's such an intriguing concept.

He... doesn't know Cloud but he's heard the name and now he feels like an intruder. But he's already stepped in it, so he might as well keep on getting muddy.

"If you want."

There's no harm in listening.

"Cloud is so unlike Anita. He's quiet and keeps to himself. However, he's very kind...gentle. And he flusters easily. It's almost a game to make him blush."

His smile takes on a wicked twist. "Or whimper. Cloud is so very...good. It makes me want to try corrupting him. Or protect him from the shadows that haunt him. His past is so dark. It attracts me to him since my own really isn't angelic. Far from it."

Talking about his lovers seems to have become a favorite hobby of his here. The ones from home or those he has now.

Really, what's he supposed to say in response to that? The obvious question is you have them, what do you want from me? But he doesn't ask it, because he's not sure he wants to hear the answer.

"I don't know anyone with an angelic past." Not even his own personal angel, his best friend, Julia. There's no way her past can be described as angelic. But he... doesn't want to talk about Julia. She's separate, and so important, and he's always been so protective of her.

He's glad Lestat isn't reading his thoughts right now... or at least he hopes he's not.

"So you have Anita and Cloud. Is there anyone else I ought to know about?" There's a smile on his face, but he's feeling a little... well, he doesn't know what he's feeling, really. He'll have to think about putting a label on it later.

"Here? No. Everyone else is back home."

The only lovers he has currently in the City are those two. And they sort of fell into his lap in a way. Though, technically he did pursue Anita from the moment he met her. Women always have been such a distraction.

"There is Gabrielle, Louis, David, and Armand. I dearly love Marius but I cannot call him my lover."

Lestat's a busy man and he almost admires that. He's been celibate since... well, since he got to Callisto. Wouldn't even entertain the notion of love or of lovers and he's still not doing that... he thinks. He's not so sure what those kisses were about, but that's all right.

It's safer that way.

There's love and then there are lovers. And he supposes that when someone's undead or -- to put a more positive spin on things -- immortal, it only makes sense to have a variety of people at his beck and call.

"It's not as common as people think, you know. Someone who loves men and women equally." Sure, it's a popular thing to say, but it's been his experience that there's usually a preference. He's always, always liked both, not that it's done him a whole lot of favors. Women, in general, have been kinder to him but men have their moments too.

Anyway, he's not looking, even though it's been a long three years.

He's pretty sure about that.

Horatio comes by to be patted and that's one thing he can indulge in without overthinking. "Hey, you want a treat, boy? They're in the kitchen."

"Women are so very distracting and men are delicious." And he means that in a completely non-sadistic fashion. That's simply been his experience.

He loves to dominate women. How they become like contented cats to certain touches in certain places. But he also loves the way a man fights to not be dominated completely. It's such an interesting balance.

"Be careful. Horatio just might fall in love with you if he already hasn't."

The tone he uses is teasing and the look he gives man and animal very fond. Gren's love for the animal is something he enjoys watching. It's almost infectious.

"I don't know. He seems pretty devoted to you."

That stated he pets the dog fondly, not minding at all when Horatio rests his muzzle on his leg. He pats his own thigh: he grew up with dogs and they like couches just as much as the people sitting on them. "Come on up, it's okay."

As the dog hops up and settles comfortably, Gren shoots a little apologetic look at Lestat. "I'm probably teaching him all sorts of bad habits, aren't I. I had this dog when I was growing up, a big collie named Lucifer, of all things. I can't remember why we named him that, but we called him Lucy for short. I think he was confused about his gender, but he was always on the couch with me." With a laugh, he keeps petting Horatio who's actually looking pretty content, his big paws overlapping Gren's leg.

It's kind of comforting, and it always takes him a moment to realize why: he can't hear the clock's ticking any more. House plants only mute it so far.

"I'm glad you're here." It's a little abrupt, but it's honest. "I don't usually have many guests over because of working nights. So it's a treat and I think you're being awfully polite, not asking me to tell that story you wanted to hear."

It's going to come up sooner or later, so it might as well be now... not that he really wants to push himself to disclose anything. It's just better if they get it out of the way.

The story brings a laugh out of him. "He comes up on the beds, couches, and on top of my coffin at home. This is merely telling him that's alright here too."

Gren's next words make him pause though. Polite... Truthfully, he hadn't planned on asking directly. The constant 'maybes' had indicated to him that such a direct approach would gain him nothing. And when he wanted a story, he needed a method that would work.

Still, he smiles gently. "You're welcome, Gren. Though, I'm surprised it's taking you so long to dip into your curiosity about my abilities."

"I don't even know where to start." Despite that he laughs, and that sets Horatio's tail thumping. It's really nice having a dog here. If he had any sense at all that it would be the least bit fair he'd get one, but he doesn't know how long he'll be here. He doesn't know what's going on. He can't ask a pet to deal with indecision.

One of the men in this room is only human.

"I mean, I know about the whole drinking blood thing and that you have this... superhuman speed and you can play piano like you've been doing it forever and you can read minds if you choose to. Beyond that, I don't know what to ask."

None of his questions really have anything to do with vampire abilities. He's read his Bram Stoker; he knows the fictionalized version and that's it. The questions he'd ask -- if he felt comfortable enough to do it -- would be along the lines of what's your emotional commitment to someone you call your lover? How many people do you have room for? Do you have an honest preference for men or women? Are you just toying with me? When you first became a vampire, did the situation seem so absurd to you that all you could do was either laugh or cry over it? Do you even cry? What happens to your heart when you trade it all in for the Dark Gift?

He doesn't care about abilities or skills or magic. What he cares about is what makes someone else tick: what they want, what motivates them, what turns them on, what kinds of things they want to do.

Nothing fancy, and he doesn't need to turn the evening into a giant game of show-and-tell either. He just... wants to know where he stands with this man and then figure out what to do from there. If he's going to be seduced by a pair of violet eyes, he needs to know what he's getting himself into.

Trust isn't so easy for him any more.

"I can do those things. I can enchant the human mind to my will as well and all my senses are enhanced. Healing comes rapidly and actually, I can go many nights in a row without drinking a single drop of blood. I can mimic any physical action. My strength is greater than that of a human. Also, I can set fire to things as well as move them slightly with my mind. I can fly through the air...and I can kill with just a glance."

That just about covers it all. As far as gifts are concerned anyways. All of these are natural to him now despite his age.

"The sun can no longer kill me now. It still burns me but that is all. I am immortal now. One of the strongest of my kind in my world."

And yet, and perhaps it is just a false sense, he senses that perhaps there is more Gren wishes to know. Of course, he'll answer any questions. He hides nothing about himself. From anyone. He's written books about his life after all. He's announced what he is in front of the world during his concerts.

Hiding isn't something he's ever cared about.

"As for your questions, those usually start at the beginning. Whatever comes to your mind first, I will answer."

That's a lot of information and he doesn't know what to do with most of it because it's too much. Too overwhelming, too powerful, too crazy: no one person should be able to do that much and stay sane. And insanity is something he knows more than a little bit about.

How stupid is it to feel sympathy for someone like that? All the little problems that make up day-to-day existence must seem so insignificant, so pointless. The whole thing ought to be humbling, but he's not so sure it is.

He's not so sure how he feels about it.

"First thing that comes to mind, huh? All right. The other night you said that I was one who was..." How did Lestat put it? Oh, right. "That I was one who you would not harm. What does that mean, beyond the obvious?"

Are you going to read my mind anyway if I don't tell you my story? But one question at a time, and as Lestat said, first things first. This whole questioning thing reminds him uncomfortably of being interrogated after his arrest, even though Lestat hasn't asked him a single question yet aside from may we come in? and would you like me to describe my relationship with Cloud now? Everything else he's elicited has been a command, not a question, although ordered so politely that he's not sure if it's just part of normal conversation or if Lestat's fucking with his free will... if he ever had any to begin with.

That can be the next question.

Now that is an interesting question to begin with. What does it mean indeed... There are so many ways to define it. And there are so many things he's taken from many on just a whim.

"You would never be a victim to me. One of the countless I would feed upon and then dispose the body. There is no possible way you could fall into that category. And, from what I have gathered, there is no need to change you since you are already dead."

That's something that fascinates him about the City. There are those who have died in their worlds. They will never live again. So, if they leave here, where do they go? It's something he's spent nights wondering about during his seven months here.

"Also, I would not take a taste from you unless that was your wish. I can be capable of restraint when I desire it. That fact surprises many. In all completeness, I have no intention of intentionally hurting you."

That's something; when he turns his palm up his fingers go to the pulse point: testing, feeling, listening. The pulse is there, but so, so weak, so slow.

"I have no idea what it means to be dead. I don't know what the difference is."

Lestat didn't ask, but he says it anyway because it's there; it's on his mind. "If I didn't tell you the story you want to hear, would you take it from me anyway?"

Does the no harm protection go that far, or does Lestat not consider invasion of privacy intentionally hurting someone?

A gold brow rises. There are so many people that he would intentionally dip into the mind of. Without the slightest moment of hesitation. And usually? They are his prey.

"First of all, I don't even know what the story is that I want to hear. Secondly, the answer is no. If I did enter you mind, it would be unintentionally or during a curse."

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