◢ La Sonate de Mort [Closed]
The dark and dingy room of the bar that also served as a small, underground venue for independent musicians reminded him off his youth in Paris, when he took lessons from Mozart and played to small crowds in smokey taverns just for the sheer joy of having an audience. This place was far removed from there however, nestled down an alley just off Canal and Lafayette, not too far away from his apartment in Lower Manhattan.
The gloomy ambiance and lighting afforded him the ability to blend in with the mortals with ease after feeding, and he found himself returning somewhat frequently for the open mic night they held on a weekly basis, taking the stage with his violin and rending from the instrument melodies that had the audience captivated in stunned silence until he had finished playing and departed once more.
On one or more occasions, the manager had approached him to offer compliments and ask if he played professionally, meaning did he make a living from his talent for playing such haunting and beautiful music that literally pulled passers by from the street to listen to the quiet and mysterious young man who seemed to bare his soul through the strings and bow. He never gave him an answer. Just merely thanked him quietly and disappeared back into the night until the next time he came to play.
Lestat had travelled to New York City to meet with his broker. He made this trip once, perhaps twice a year in order to check on his investments Sometimes he would withdraw money from a particular stock if he needed extra spending money. Trips to New York used to be fun trip for Lestat. He’d visit friends and annoy Armand at his upscale apartment, usually with Louis in tow. However, that was not the case now. Not since his foolish, grave mistake that had put their entire kind in danger. This was not like his time as a rockstar; this was different. What he had done had not risked the discovery of their kind, the secret coming out. No, instead it had risked their entire existence. It had run the risk of them being exterminated entirely. And all this came from a selfish wish to feel the sun on his skin once more.
Now, the blonde was blacklisted. His friends wanted nothing to do with him. Vampires who paid attention to the goings on of their kind through out the world took the same stance once they realised who he was. In New York, Lestat could not go into the Upper West Side anymore, for that was where Armand lived these days with Louis. One toe into the area, and Armand would know. It was the deal they had made shortly after Lestat’s mistake had been dealt with. Lestat was not allowed into the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Subsequently, Armand was not to step a foot into the French Quarter, including St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, of Lestat’s beloved New Orleans. This way, the chance o either of them seeing the other was greatly decreased. Lestat was just thankful Armand had not included Central Park into this boundary.
Lestat walked along Lafayette toward Canal from his lodgings at Hotel Azure. He had already fed earlier in the evening, shortly after his meeting had ended with his broker. Now he was looking for something to occupy the rest of his stay here. He entertained the idea of going to see a show on Broadway, as he had been wanting to see A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder, but that idea was plucked from his mind when he came up on an alley right before he hit Canal. It was the sound of a violin, haunting and beautiful. It caused the blonde to stop in his tracks. He had not heard a violin played like that since he was a mortal in Paris.
He didn’t even think; he just walked toward the sound, his feet leading him into a dimly lit bar. Once he got inside, his gaze landed on the stage. That’s when he saw him: Nicki. Lestat stood there staring in disbelief for what seemed like an eternity. Nicki was supposed to be dead, and yet here he was playing in some dingy bar in Lower Manhattan. At first, Lestat wanted to approach, but then thought better. Instead, he found an empty table at the back of the bar. It was in the shadow of a large, fake plant so he would be hidden, but angled just right so he could still see the stage. Lestat paid for one drink, and sat in silence as he watched the remainder of Nicki’s performance. As Nicki left, so would he.
Lestat do this for the next few weeks. He would return every Thursday night, order a drink, sit at his table and watch Nicki play. After the third week, he had Nicki’s old violin shipped in from his home in New Orleans, and on the fifth week, Lestat brought it with him. He did the same as he always did and watched his old friend play, up until the very end when Lestat went to approach the manager of the bar. It was his intention to give the manager the violin to give to Nicki.
It was at that time he spared a glance at Nicki, who was still playing on stage. That was Lestat’s big mistake. For in that small moment, their eyes met, and Lestat’s plan shattered. He turned on his heel and left the bar, fleeing into the alley.