#i feel like etiquette re: posting fic snippets varies by fandom so i'm sticking it under the readmore in case that's not really a thing her

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

i just remembered that i wrote the first 3 paragraphs of an iwtv fic right after the finale, but what i Do Not remember is what the rest of the plot was supposed to be, so i'm just sticking it here, completely unedited, for your viewing enjoyment. or viewing non-enjoyment, as the case may be:

Louis didn't mean to introduce Lestat to Daniel Molloy — if anything, he intended the opposite, tactfully avoiding the subject of each in the other's presence, not because he was afraid of what Lestat might say about their time together, but the because the thought of the pair of them in the same room gives him the type of headache that immortality was supposed to make impossible. When Lestat made it through the whole of the audiobook of Daniel's Interview with the Vampire — he didn't have any more patience for reading physical books than he had when they'd been together — without asking for a meeting, he figured he was in the clear. Which was stupid of him, because in focusing on Lestat, he'd forgotten about the other side of the equation. Daniel called him often enough, to ask after Armand or nag him about a sequel or ask about the mechanics of vampirism or just to tell him about some asshole he'd run into in the Arby's parking lot the other day. It's annoying, but also kind of nice. Louis' been married twice and had (and lost) a daughter but he hadn't had a friend since he was a mortal man. So he talks to Daniel all the time and every few weeks he or Lestat will fly out to see each other, and of course it's only a matter of time before they overlap. It happens in the Dubai penthouse. Lestat's been there three days by that point, lounging around and practicing for the tour that is, apparently, an actual thing that is happening and not just a product of his half-starved imagination. He's freshly groomed, his own army of hair product's crowded next to Louis' in the bathroom; changed out of his ratty robe and into a clean button-down shirt and slacks — more subdued than his usual (or what had been his usual, eight decades ago), and the worry niggles in Louis' head, remembering how his own wardrobe had faded in his years with Armand, colours and patterns leeching to a litany of flat black. (He'd replaced it all while Armand dug up the magnolia tree and whatever happened between him and Daniel, well, happened, come back to the penthouse hours later when he was sure he was gone and tossed out any trace of their life together save the concrete detritus strewn across the floor).