❧ Locked to Louis ❧ stillwhining & angelo

[tinkertank]

"You must tell me everything, then." Armand insisted, running his palm again against the habit hung up by the door of the hotel room; the justaucorps, the jacket, and breeches, he repeated to himself inwardly, memorizing their names as well as their feel; and marveling in a quiet, detached way at the downfall of velvets to silks. They mainly ran in the industry of costumes at his ill-fated theatre, and dressing again for public society was vaguely exciting, in the way that a shut-in might be excited to read of the outside world-- hungry for it, but still viewing it as slightly a fiction, however real.

"Why the heels are shorter now, and why the toes are squarer. Why men carry canes, and why black ribbons are in preference to red. I would hear it all, Louis."

Comments

[angelo]

"Yes, there is; to better see the neck with, and to imagine ruining the bow by pulling at its ends, and letting the hair back out." He mused. He always carried the edge of mischief inherent of the age he'd died at... so he did indeed feel that the best part of tying a perfect bow might be pulling it out when the wearer least expected it.

"Simply because I bought it." He repeated, eyes flicking over to Louis, dark and pleased. He had liked that answer very much. "I would forgive you for anything. You know that." He was not, after all, Lestat.