Here lies Dobby, a free elf

Since Lestat had always lived close by water, he did love to be there. Being a vampire mad you immortal, but it made you also sense all the things mortals didn't. Like the smell of the sea, he'd never experienced it in the way he did as a vampire. Which was for seventy-two years now. It still felt rather intense. As a vampire he appreciated all the small things in the world much better than he used to do as a mortal. It didn't make him a good person, though. No. Lestat was the cause of many deaths in Rhoynar. All those mysterious, inexpiable deaths. He enjoyed it.

Who is this murderer? Where does he live? How does he do it?

Lestat ripped the throats apart, or sliced it open before he was going to drink, so that it wasn't clear that it was a vampire bite. The blonde vampire wasn't waiting for a Vampire Hunt. And at times, when it came close to that, Lestat would leave Brightwater Keep, or whichever place he used to be at that moment, to let the suspicions drift away. The manor where Lestat lived was relatively unknown and he wanted to keep it that way, although his impulsiveness did not help at all.

Lestat had left Brightwater Keep for now and wandered around at the border with Nymmerwell. The moon reflected in the sea and lighted his surroundings. It was a rather magnificent view and he enjoyed it, until he sensed something. A presence, to be exact. He went for it and then the man came into the picture. Another vampire, for what he could see. He knew the other vampire would have sensed his presence as well, so Lestat stayed where he was.

Of course Lestat knew about the vampire Achilles. Not much, but he knew him. He was older, way older then Lestat was. And he belonged in the Cult of Avanti. Lestat was not so familiar with the cult, but he knew about them and knew that the leader was probably the eldest vampire among them all. Lestat was aware that he didn't want them as his enemy, but he definitely did not fear them. The blonde vampire also knew that many vampires saw him as a Brat Prince. Since he dressed like a Prince, lived like a Prince and acted like one, in addition to the fact that he was an actor. His role as an actor was meant to be a way of getting his meal, to stay hidden among humans and other mortal creatures. In the eyes of others, he was just a joke, a Brat Prince. And Lestat did not care at all.

So, when Achilles approached him, Lestat only lifted a thick blonde eyebrow. He suspected that Lestat would be the entertainment for Achilles tonight. The first thing that was remarkable about Achilles were his pale white eyes. It almost seemed like they were giving light and Lestat felt rather touched by them, the beauty of those eyes. The blonde vampire did not stare in them for to long. The big weakness of Lestat might be the beauty of things, taking his eyes for example. The words Achilles spoke ruined the whole beauty of it all. Lestat smirked. "Moviestar," he repeated. "That's something different, I though 'Brat Prince' was what others called me," he continued with a touch of self-mockery. "So, how is the great Achlles doing?" Lestad asked rather sensational, glancing right in those white eyes. Both vampires had exceptional eye colors, as the eyes of Lestat had a pale violet colour.

The cult. Lestat did not know much about them, but who did? They were as secretive as any kind of elite with power, like kings and queens. Lestat respected them, but also despised them. They saw themselves as superiors under the vampire. The better vampires, the perfect vampires. Only because they were older? Because they had each other? Because they had a leader? Lestat did not care much, if they let him be. But now one of those cultists stood right before him. Lestat was rather fascinated by his presence. By his looks, be the way he moved. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he wondered, whether he could learn something from him. This vampire was way older then he was and had more experiences. And isn’t that what life was all about? Learning?

But then, Lestat wouldn’t feed his ego. If something was stupid, utterly dump about those vampires, it was that they believed to be the superior monsters. The pure breeds, the true beasts. Sure, they were powerful and Lestat would never underestimate them. But their egos were so big, you just had to play along with it and it was all about the effect of surpise. They weren’t invincible, if they believed so. These vampires were blinded by it and judged only on what they saw, not on what they knew, they didn’t even try to. What was to know about Lestat? The blonde vampire was so much more than what he had just shown. But then again, it was all about surprises.

“Oh sure, I’ll give you that. That nickname is original,” he replied. Not for long, though. He was kinda done with being the star of the play. He would end, soon enough. And he would make it magnificent. He stayed where he was when the big vampire came closer. He surveyed him and he made himself well aware of his surroundings. “My curiosity will probably get me killed, but yes, of course I want to know,” he then said, still staying where he was standing with all his senses on sharp. He meant what he’d said and it was true.

There were more reasons for Lestat to despise the cult. It wasn’t only because of their arrogance. Lestat was rather arrogant himself. It was also the fact that they were stronger, older and more dangerous than he was. They had lived a hundred of lives. As a mortal Lestat could still have been alive at this very moment. Achilles would have died a hundred times repeatedly. This was also the moment that he realized that he was being utterly dump. He was talking to a Vampire who belonged to the cult, who saw a Vampire like Lestat as filth. A Vampire Achilles would gladly kill him, one vampire less to pollute their monstrous name. That was the exact reason why Lestat spited those Vampires. It was rather ironic, since he was ‘immortal.’ But what did immortality mean when there were always creatures which were stronger and had a way to wipe them of the face of the earth. Immortality was an illusion. Though, ‘killing’ a vampire was possible, you just had to find out how it was done.

His maker, Magnus, had killed himself. He had burnt himself to ashes and left Lestat to figure out his new life on his own. So, dying permanently was possible for an immortal vampire. Yes, immortality was just an illusion.

It was something Lestat resented, being weak, being outmatched and feeling this way. Discomfort, uncertainty, some kind of fear, flowed through his body like a poison that had entered his veins. With those feelings came anger, hatred and spite. Not necessarily towards Achilles, but toward himself too. But he tried to hide those feelings, tried keeping to sustain his mask strong. The way Achilles grinned, how his facial expression changed didn’t help and that was the moment that Achilles might have spotted a flicker of those feelings in his eyes. He backed away one step, but he kept playing the game along.

‘Shiny boy.’ Lestat rolled his eyes and snorted when Achilled had called him that. He raised one eyebrow, “glad to hear that you’re doing marvelous,” he reacted, ignoring his comment. “I wouldn’t mind hearing your reason, so if you feel like telling it, do as you wish,” he continued, narrowing his eyes a bit while keeping his distance. It was true that Lestat was interested in Achilles ‘reason of doing marvelous,’ but since there was a possibility that Lestat would die at the end of his telling, he wasn’t that sure that he wanted to hear it. It was rather wise to fear those Vampires of the Cult, stay away from them, despite how much he hated to fear.

Lestat has never been a healthy man. Just think about the fact that he had dreamed about killing his father and brothers when he was a mortal, a young mortal. He had told his mother about it. The tension had grown strong and Lestat had ran away several times. It was his mother who’d convinced him every time to come back. The last time she’d sold all her jewelry, to buy him hunting gear, horses and dogs for hunting. Dispite his hatred toward his family, he provided them an income with the hunting. But it was not the income for which he had hunted. He had done it to be busy, to kill, to feel satisfied. But he’d never felt satisfied.

Until his lover Nicolas had come into his life. With him he’d left home for good. That time he’d felt satisfied, until Magnus had set his eyes on him. Lestat was an artist at that time and just before he had to perform he’d seen Nicolas for the last time. After his performance he was kidnapped by Magnus, that night he was made into a Vampire, against his will. Everything was done against his will.

It had taken several days until he felt comfortable with Magnus. And another number of days later he started to love the vampire who’d abused and forced him. He felt satisfied with life, with Magnus. A few days later Magnus had taken his own immortal life and Lestat was left to figure out his new nature all by himself.

And now he was who he was, a trouble maker, arrogant, a murderer, a kidnapper, a joker. Whether he was happy? Whether this was all a mask? That was all just the question.

One thing was for sure. He hated being weak, he hated to fear. That was precisely the situation he was finding himself in, right at this very moment.
He should not have responded to Achilles' question. Lestat narrowed his eyes and when Achilles replied to his answer, he started to plan to get away from here. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But since I’m quite attached to my head and skin, I’d like to keep it myself.” He was keeping his mask on, assuming Achilles was a man who liked to play with his prey, which would give him time to make the perfect plan to leave. Lestat waved his hand, “let's spend this meeting differently, such as looking for a wonderful mortal and enjoying it.” He took a few steps away from Achilles, as if he was already planning to go searching for a meal. He laughed. “My head and skin wouldn’t add any value to your furniture, I’m sure about that.”