abraxaslogs | ( 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ) » — 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

{ Louis considered waiting in his domain, but he also isn't sure how much Lestat accesses the Horizon or if he'll find him. He has taken to it rather quick and almost in a protective manner to what he's been able to create, from a past that continues to hold. He treats it as a second opportunity to share it with others so it can be appreciated. He still has his moments where he'll sit there alone, but he won't turn anyone out if they find themselves nearby. It is why he decides he'll sit out at his favorite bench, if only to be picked up if their last conversation has weight to it.

He isn't taking Lestat inside his domain. It isn't meant for their current encounter. Lestat will see the familiar jade gates that would lead into his domain. The night sky is dimmed around his place, but the little sign that says 'Storyville' instead of an address etched is clear. Louis is sitting upon his bench with a book in his hand, awaiting to see if Lestat is able to find him. He's dressed in a three piece maroon suit that should also be familiar. His leg is crossed over the other, and he's managed to manifest more words of the book he'd been trying to put together.

So he'll wait. The book adds another phrase, one from a favorite book of his. Lately, it does that. Some days he thinks it mocks him. There's a flutter somewhere in him. }

𝚆𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚛, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎. ‘𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎,’ 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍.

Edited 2023-06-23 10:03 (UTC)

{ Sooner than later, Louis isn't alone anymore. Inside his domain, Lestat presents a more casual and more honest version of himself. Here, though, his suit is immaculate in dark blue, a silk scarf tied in a knot around his neck in place of a tie, and when he sits he crosses his legs as one arm goes along the back of the bench.

Easy, familiar. Curious to him still that Louis chooses this setting instead of perhaps the place that was his home before Lestat arrived. }

You always cut such a melancholy figure.

{ He isn’t sure he gets to choose the setting, rather than it picking at his mind until it becomes what it is. His domain has nothing to do with Lestat, and at the same time everything. He is comfortable upon his little bench and with a smooth slide of the book, he places it besides him. Then he turns his full attention to his guest. }

Seems more savory than just saying “sad old man”. You found me.

{ Which is to say, it is now Lestat’s move. A thought and they could be at his domain, or will it be a stroll? He notes the radiance up close. }

Thorne has kept you nourished. You look good.

Are you? Sad?

{ His head tilts to the side, and it's easy to believe that Lestat genuinely cares. He doesn't not care. There's a part of him that cares for Louis desperately, that continues to be quelled by Lestat's tendencies to go against that nature.

He doesn't want Louis to be sad. He also doesn't to know why Louis is sad.

He reaches a hand out, to stroke along the jawline that caught his eye so many years ago. }

I abhor the distance between us, you know.

{ It was meant to be a light comment, but Lestat seems to always find a way to catch him off guard. His eyes widen momentarily and then settle. He’s surprised at the way his body reacts, with the tilt of his jawline so it’ll brush upon those nimble fingers meant to play the piano. He could be just turning to face Lestat. He knows better.

How many songs have you composed since, he wants to ask.

It makes it real. The touch. The distance. His gaze is inquisitive. }

I’ve been wanting to feel alive for a while now. You should try food here. I truly tasted. Only here.

{ There's a soft but amused laugh. He thinks Louis is deflecting, and Lestat won't pursue it for the moment. He shrugs his shoulders, shakes his head. }

The last time I ate food, France was in the midst of a revolution because there was not enough of it. I barely remember the taste. I imagine that is for the best.

{ He doesn't ignore the sting of the comment. Wanting to feel alive. To him, it reeks of passive blame, and now it's his turn to try and twist the conversation. }

I've something to confess. There didn't seem a moment to say it when last we met, and you want no secrets between us.

We could try something. I could cook you what I know the taste of. Make it yours then. Add a little spice to your French tongue.

{ An idea he’s had for a while. Someone shared food with him and activated the ability to taste, and it could be the same, he thinks. The Horizon has a way, it seems. It’s easy to fall into it as if declaring no secrets is easy, and even easier to play off what they once had.

Then he pauses. The bundle of nerves come back, reminding him. Always reminding him. }

I did say. I might have words myself. Go on.

{ It's not entirely selfless of him to bring it up. He's aware that he needs to employ other tactics to draw Louis back to him, even if he's all but got achieved that already. But it's more beneficial for him to have Louis know that Lestat can feel his emotions radiating off of him. No place to hide, no reason for Louis to act to the contrary if it comes up. }

It would seem this place has granted me the singular gift of intuiting the emotions of others. Naturally I find it incredibly tedious.

{ It does, however, mean that he's fully aware of the nervousness that's creeping up on the other vampire. }

But it would be wrong of me to keep it from you.

{ The confession is met with silence. There’s no emotion that could be picked up right away. What surfaces abruptly is a burst of a laugh. An actual, unexpected laugh that slows down into a dragged out chuckle as he processes the information. }

Sorry—It’s just… You.

{ The irony is too obvious. It’s slightly amusing. It’s also undeniably an advantage for someone who wants everyone to like them. Louis finds he isn’t as bothered as he ought to be. }

Meanwhile it gave me limited levitation. The last time I developed somethin’ was the Fire Gift. I thought I was done. Well damn.

{ He tuts his tongue and exhales a long-suffering sigh, but there's a sort of playfulness behind it. }

You ask me for honesty and you laugh when I give it. Is that meant to encourage me to continue?

{ Lestat flashes Louis an easy smile. There is so much more he could be upfront and honest about, things that would stir up feelings of anger and resentment, he's sure. So he'll continue to keep those to himself. Little things such as this will hopefully go far enough to show the effort he's making. }

I'll forgive it today, of course. The sound of your laughter is worth the personal slight.

{ Once long ago their positions have been flipped, and maybe it's a hint into a Louis transformed through long years. He knows it's threading along a thin line. He reaches out gently to brush upon the silk scarf, only slight so it won't unravel as if he's adjusting it. }

Since you continue to be generous, listen. I won't repeat myself.

{ If his ears could burn, they would. He fiddles with the scarf once more before patting a sturdy chest and retreating his hand so he can give them space. Although there is much Louis won't say, he can be upfront on occasion. }

Despite everything, just know. I don't regret us.

{ He nearly reaches to hold Louis' hand against his chest. Nearly. But he lets the other pull away, if only because he leans in to close the space by pressing their lips together. Lestat lingers there for a moment, and when he speaks, he barely allows any room for the words to escape. }

Even if that should be the only good thing of our time together, I consider myself fortunate.

{ There’s a movement of fabric indicating closeness, picked up by a delicate ear. It’s the only warning he gets. It doesn’t matter. The curve of Lestat’s mouth is anew as if it’s the first time again, and Louis takes in his breath. He’s glad they’re sitting down. He mumbles a lingering thought squeezing into the bubble they find themselves within. }

We’ll make one another miserable.

{ Another shortened breath, and Louis finds he’s clutching Lestat’s forearm to steady. It’s a near kiss, almost there, pressing even closer. They shouldn’t. He wants. }

{ Maybe that's true, but - }

I am more miserable without you.

{ It must be Louis' lucky day, getting another piece of honesty from Lestat without coaxing it from him. History may repeat itself. It's something Lestat is willing to accept, even if he won't survive it. There's no denying that something in the universe isn't done with them being together. }

{ What if it could be different festers in mind. For him it’s been decades. Louis allows it to last, for his mouth to move at the same time his hands cup a jawline, thumb brushing upon a cheek. It’s easier to hold Lestat as he lays a surprisingly soft kiss. Seconds, and he pulls back.

A mercy killing, Daniel had pointed out. Reality catches up to him. He stands up and steps away near the streetlight, his back against the pole. }

We need to truly talk. It ain’t right. You have to know about my relationship with the vampire back home. I don’t want this to be another Antoinette.

{ Lestat exhales a moderately annoyed breath through his nose. What is the point of it, truly? They're here, Louis' new paramour is not, and should they ever leave this place then Lestat will be dead and Louis can carry on as he pleases. He holds out his hands and gives a little shrug, looking at Louis expectantly. }

Very well. Tell me of this vampire you've found, if you feel so compelled to.

{ Louis wants to be taken seriously. The flair of slight anger is underneath, but it's not malicious just mild annoyance. He shoves his hands into his pockets to help him calm down. He's willing to try. He has to wonder if Lestat can handle it, handle them. }

I'm not going to tell you if you're going to patronize me. I have this whole other relationship back home where we are still together. He's not an Antoniette to me. If you're willing to actually listen to me, I'll spare you and make it brief.

Forgive me if I don't seem keen to hear about my replacement.

{ Even as he says it, Lestat holds out his hand, coaxing Louis to come back to the bench and sit beside him. }

I want you to unburden yourself. I'll not say a word until you're done.

He didn't replace you. I roamed Europe for many years before I met him.

{ And maybe it's not fair, with the way he feels his chest grow heavy, but when have they ever allowed true fairness? They have yet to commit to it. Louis can't look at Lestat when he says it, but he has a point to make first.

He does go back to the bench, but not without a sigh. }

Was I a replacement for Nicki?

You are far too singular to be a replacement for anyone or anything.

{ Well. Maybe at the start, the intention had been a replacement of sorts, if only because Lestat had wanted to spent eternity with Nicki and wanted another to take that spot. But it had become quickly apparent that Louis was worth far more than that.

Now that Louis is back with him, Lestat puts his arm around the back of the bench so he can stroke Louis' shoulder. }

I'm glad you found someone. Truly. We live too long to spend our time alone.

{ He had wondered if Nicolas were to be alive if Louis would have even become what he is. Would they have lasted longer than the years he got with Lestat? Would he have been better for Lestat? A century to get over someone is a long time. He would know. He hasn't achieved it.

Now he has to wonder if it's worth talking about what awaits in Dubai. The frown that ends up on his face is halfway to being a pout, too lost in his current thought process. There's no denying how he relaxes against the stroke. }

I want to believe you. I really do.

Then it seems we're at an impasse. You won't tell me if you think I won't listen, and you won't believe me when I say I'm willing to listen.

{ His hand moves to stroke Louis' neck now, fondly and absently, watching him with thoughtful look on his face. There's a moment where he purses his lips. }

I made him a vampire and he hated me for it. You needn't spare my feelings, I'm aware of the type of person that I am.

{ the neighboring domains tend to look as if they might be close when they are far off. it's between a blur and a twinkle in the distance. it's almost as if he's occasionally in a heat dome, the mirage of those domains fading in and out. it's reminiscent of the heat hazes that he could see from the dubai penthouse. he'd stare out the window, but the heat isn't from a city in the heart of the desert. it's something else entirely. what louis encounters when he sits upon his little bench outside his domain is the fierce heat he'd known growing up. it's new orleans embracing him as he settles for his hour to observe like the old man he can be.

he can spend countless hours without moving. it's one of the perks of being undead. of course, he's seemingly unaware when he's too lost in his thoughts. he has half a mind to pull out the book he gathered from istredd's domain, one that has kept coloring his pages with phrases of many a books he's read in the past. the temptation is there, but instead he allows himself to stare into the vastness of the domains around. his mirage.

it's tempting to take a peak into the singularity, but as staring into the sun will do him harm, perhaps staring at the singularity too long might bring the same effect. he's yet to find out. what sort of curiosity will he gather around it? the sort to kill the cat or for the satisfaction to bring it back from the dead?

time passes. he's not sure how much. what he is sure is when he finds someone is near his domain. there it is, his curiosity churning with an alert he'll ferry, until it transforms when he gets a better look at the person approaching. it's another summoned he hasn't met quite yet.

his eyesight is better than most, so when the stranger approaches, his mouth runs off without his endless thoughts since it's clear what he sees. his accent is thicker than it has been outside the horizon, the new orleans spirit slamming back into him with a mighty force. louis is already up from his bench, a hand in his pocket as he approaches the nearest streetlamp to catch a better look at the tall stranger up close. }

I'll be damned! What's a brother doing all the way out here?

Edited 2023-06-23 10:19 (UTC)

[ sam has always been good at finding his footing. no matter where he was, no matter how welcoming (or not) the places were to him - his ma had raised him to stand tall, to be himself, and that he'd always find his way. and no, his ma probably never expected those places to be at the center of dissolving shield, or in sokovia as it crumbled, or on the battlefield against thanos. hell, she never would have dreamed up half of what abraxas has been so far, let alone where it could go. still, sam carries that lesson with him - no matter how strange, or how out of place, or how absolutely out of his depth he really is. and abraxas has put him there more often than anything else, further than he even thought possible.

his horizon domain has always been his grounding point - when things were tough, when things felt just a bit too far out of sorts. when he needed to be home, just for a couple of hours, so that he could get back up and do it all again. it isn't much, but those creaky wooden boards and that peeling paint and the thrum of insects just along the treeline, it's enough.

all this to say, sam's kept his expectations low. he has his horizon and that has to be enough to keep him going, is enough. could be enough.

that is - until sam goes wandering. making his way through the horizon is the best way he's learned to keep tabs on who is and isn't around, given him insight to the types of people the singularity's brought in. castles and strange alternate-dimensions and small corners of new york. some are familiar, some not as much, and sam just keeps walking with the expectation that he'll run into the owners at one point or another.

he must be distracted. must have followed his thoughts a bit further than he intended. because one moments he's just wandering, and the next he's-

he's in jackson square. he's in new orleans.

the recognition of it nearly knocks the breath out of him, his eyes going a bit wide as he takes in the vision of it. it doesn't matter that its the middle of the night; the cobblestones are the same, the lamp posts too, the thick heat that clings to skin - it's too close to real, it's too hot to be someone's made-up image of it. no, the domain he's just stepped into is someone who knows this place, and sam can't help but take it all in, can't help but let the familiarity of it tug at his limbs, grounds him.

he can't help the way he jumps when someone calls out to him, only because for half a second sam had thought he'd imagined this whole place. and even now, it still fits that idea - the lilt of the accent, the well-dressed man who approaches. hell, that could be his granddad with his high-waisted slacks, that swagger. sam laughs, and it's light and airy, bubbled right out of him where he least expects it. his own accent isn't anywhere as thick, but it does slip through. ]

All the way out here? My man, this is Jackson Square. Where else would I wanna be?

Edited 2023-06-26 22:45 (UTC)

{ truthfully, louis hadn't known he had an accent like any other person living in their own land, that is until he had to. dubai almost seems far away when he's cocooned into what he thought would only be memory for the rest of his immortal life. to have it back... he'd known there was a difference between the type of way he had to speak when around rich folk or even white folk. the slight difference that seemed to be his normal and their "other". he'd tried to blend with them, even if he knew there was always going to be a way they'll look at him. the ways he hadn't picked up until he had his heightened senses, could hear the sort of polite meant to be well-meaning when it had enough undertones to indicate it was only tolerance.

despite how much wealth he amassed, there would be no denying the sort of comfort one acquires when seeing another person looking similar to them in a crowd that is a sea of a majority. in the vastness of the horizon where anything can be created, louis still tries to find a sense of normalcy, ridiculous as it might be. his is in the hints of sharpened constants he hears in the stranger's voice.

stranger he'll be less considering the way the tension that had begun to manifest upon seeing someone in sight has evaporated. }

Son, don't joke with me. { he's playing off what he's given, his tone becoming a mix of play and hopefulness. } Don't tell me you're from New Orleans?!

{ give the old man a second. he may look a lot younger in his early thirties, but not even a few minutes into meeting someone else potentially from what he'd considered his home for the longest time, forced to leave it behind, does he transform - he's being transported in ways that the horizon itself could never reach even if it manifests the very streets outside jackson square, or the cobbled path that'll lead into the intersecting street that had been a block away from the quarter and around the corner of the red-light district. an entanglement of fragmented memories, unchanged.

he has questions. he takes his hand out of his pocket and holds it out to be shaken. }

I'm getting ahead of myself. Where are my manners? Name's Louis de Pointe du Lac. Pleasure to meet you. I gotta ask, what year is the bayou for you? Unfortunate circumstances led to me leaving it behind in 1939. I haven't been back since, but it lives in me. Might be a bit outdated in my corner here.

{ his handshake is firm if taken, full of an energy he hasn't held in a while. he nearly forgets his inhuman strength out of the excitement that he has to loosen it before taking his hand back. his wording is deliberate, used to taking in people and trying to read them, but at the same time there’s an openness he usually doesn’t give at face value when first meeting someone. }

[ the comradery of it all is immediate; and no, it's not the first time sam's felt's that kind of connection with someone, either. he'd felt it with rhodey the moment they were in the same room together, felt it with julie during their first conversation here in abraxas. meeting someone who you instantaneously share an understanding - of who you are, of where you're from, of what you've been through. hell, sam has literally exchanged maybe two sentences with this man, and he can already feel himself shedding the front. already feels himself turning into sam - not the falcon, not captain america, just little ole sam wilson. ]

I ain't playing, old man; and Delacroix, though we have family who lived in the city.

[ and yeah, sam is going to play with him right back; that mixture of playful teasing mixed up with an excited enthusiasm. like stumbling across an old neighbor, or even an old friend. and it helps - that the man reaches out his hand, that sam is there to quickly take it, to offer a strong, possibly too-familiar shake in return, and it says something about where sam's mind is that he doesn't even notice if there is any kind of super-human strength wrapped up in that shake. he can't help it, feeling something akin to relief slipping up into his throat at the process.

the mention of the year - nineteen thirty nine - has sam barking a laugh, unintended but mirthful all the same. because yeah, that sounds just about right. sam needs to get used to the thirties and forties coming up to follow him, but for right now he's just so damn happy that he can't even be bothered by the separating decades.

maybe that's just new orleans, too. it's always been timeless, always out of place, always home. when louis lets go of the shake, sam steps back himself, hands slipping back into the pockets of his pants. ]

Nah, brother. I'm from 2023, but this? [ he gestures with one hand to the square around them, to the night air and the yellow lights. ] This all looks the same, save for a changed sign or two. Cafe du Monde's still there and everything. [ through katrina, through the pandemic - there is no small amount of pride in sam's expression as he looks around the square, the iron railings, the church on the other side. god, he wishes he'd known about this place before now. wishes he could just go wander through this one particular point in time. ]

How long you been around?

Laissez les bon temps rouler. Pardon my French, it's been a while. { let the good times roll. although, he had practiced it more since he moved away from new orleans as if the slight french creole part of him could still live through some of the words that formed the land. it's the reclaiming bit that he realized later on when the 21st century rolled into. funny thing, he realizes, as he ends up with a smirk on his face in his pristine tailored suit, and a lean back that is only playful in the way he once allowed. he's always been a little ahead of the times. he felt in back then, and knew it when he felt it a hundred years later. his teeth filled smile remains as he continues. }

I always thought New Orleans was timeless. I am glad to hear it has not been left to ruin in its luster. I do miss it.

{ there's tightness to his chest, and for some reason he feels compelled to confess. how long has it been since he's felt the need to sit down and relay his truth, but not he type he gave to daniel. daniel had to go through the trenches to find the story within him, and he feels only slightly bad for making him work for what he got, but this isn't that. it's the parts that are intimate about louis, ones that he is willing to be open about with the right company in a way.

it's the same as the conversations he held with lestat when it was just them in their coffin or him and claudia where he didn't give those to the interview. parts that would be considered irrelevant to the whole story. it meant the world to him. who knew he was capable. he'd only realized it since coming to abraxas. and yes, he can see the sense of finding familiarity. he found it when he saw istredd in the pit, and found a kindship in him all too familiar that he felt he could trust someone in the strange new world he was put within. his chest tightens again, but it's the good sort. }

I always envisioned I'd return to her in my future, to a New Orleans of the 21st century where I could read my books and garden at night. { a little secret he's kept to himself and a future he didn't think belonged to him to dream about. he'll give it freely. soon as he speaks the street extends and there appears the cafe sam spoke of in the way louis saw it in 1938 prior to his leaving the following year. the sign is still there as it probably is in modern times. some quaint chairs appear out front with a table just for them. louis walks over and sits down, crossing his knee over the other as he motions over the table to sit as well. }

Shall we? I wasn't allowed to eat at Café du Monde when I was around. You'll have to tell me what their beignets taste like. I've been in Solvunn since February, I believe. I'll assume you've been here longer? You call me ole, but seems you have your wisdom to you, Sam.

Laissez les bon temps rouler. [ sam's own french is wholly and unapologetically accented - a phrase he has known his entire life, though the rest of his mediocre french came much later and out of necessity more than anything else. but it does not escape him, the bridge that it builds even here. sam feels it, maybe just as much as louis does or maybe more, knowing the years and decades and whatever else that this city has just crossed in the span of this singular conversation. ]

Not even the ground itself can take New Orleans down- and it's tried. [ but that's not what they're here to talk about, is it? sam recognizes the truth behind louis words, and while it hasn't been decades since he was last in new orleans, the pain is shared in its own way. there's something special about those streets, the balconies, the heat. it takes as much as it gives, and sam's had part of him back in lousiana ever since he first ran away to join the air force.

a bond made in an instant, a home built somewhere in the shared memory of a city with a life of her own. part of sam wonders what it would have been like, a black man living in the south was never an easy life. but here stands louis before him, just as sam's family had for him back home. and now, here he stands, just like when he'd talked to elijah - the sudden need for his back to straighten up just a bit more, a swell of pride that suddenly, but subtly enough, makes this all feel like it's been worth it.

louis has no idea that sam's even going through this understanding right now, but that's the beauty of it. it doesn't really matter - sam has felt more at home in this one exchange that he has in years now, under streetlights that are older than his father and on a pathway he's walked every major holiday they made it up to see family. and that isn't to say sam has bonded with others here in abraxas - this is just. this is different. ]

She's waiting for you when you do. [ louis speaks in past tense, like the time has already passed him by, and sam notices it. picks up and corrects it, gently, with a smile. and that's when the location around them shifts, as the road extends and a familiar cafe shows itself. sam is struck, momentarily, by that feeling again - the familiar, layered with the unfamiliar. it is the same cafe, the same structure of the building, but it's not the same - like he's seeing the foundation for one of the biggest tourist attractions of the city. it causes him enough pause that louis has plenty of time to walk around him and sit.

sam smiles, almost wistful, almost sad. when louis speaks, the smile feels appropriate - i wasn't allowed to eat at cafe du monde. the reality of it doesn't take sam off-guard, necessarily, but the reminder is always there. of how it wasn't that long ago. he lets out a breath and moves to join him, settling in to the seat across from the other man. ]

My Nana's are better. [ he says first, his grin a bit conspiratorial as his head shakes. ] But they ain't bad. The coffee's the best part these days, though you can get Chicory coffee just about anywhere. [ sam takes initiative here, and the horizon responds; two paper cups of chicory coffee, black, and a plate of beignets with too much powdered sugar, just as he remembers them. it won't help inform louis' taste of the pastries, but he can get the idea at least.

the question has him pausing, briefly, before he leans forward and grabs ahold of one beignets and taking a large bite. ] Just about two years. [ he says a couple of moments later through his bite. ] Came in with the first group.

{ she's waiting for you when you do. such a simple statement that holds meaning instantly in a way that louis has yet to truly internally embraced. dare he truly hope? dubai is a complicated matter, of what brought him there, of what kept him. he'd been going towards a goal with his interview, an exposé for vampires and what they are capable of, in the viewpoint of his life and his tragedies. he may only have been halfway though the interview, but he has always known the ending. louis would really like to believe in sam's words, but he knows what path he's on. he'll have to reflect if it has changed at all recently.

there is a forlorn to the waver of his mouth at first, but it picks itself back up instantly when the treats appears before them. he's figured out the horizon in terms of his ability to taste food. one, he can share what he has eaten. two, he can have someone share it with him. it's been experimental, but as he considers the corner of his horizon is always under nightfall, he is choosing to be human then. it's not louis the vampire before sam. although he can only be it so much, he's being given the opportunity. he'll leave the reveal for later in their conversation if it ends up there. maybe as they part, since right now he is basking and his being a vampire isn't what he'd show as a pride. }

Seems like we're going to have to have ourselves a cookout one of these days. Bring your Nana's home baked goods and I'll bring a mean jambalaya. { he can replicate it, having eaten it plenty. it's purposeful, the avoidance of attaching what could have been his mama's cooking, if he ever had it. they were too well off in their days and money was the way he spoke his devotion until it wasn't enough. sam seems to have had unconditional familial love and louis responds to it as, finding it a beacon. it's a testament that a good man from new orleans is there between them both.

louis takes the beignet into his hand with a delicacy that comes from manners that have been drilled into him. it brings him back. he likes the messiness of the powdered sugar as he takes a hefty bite and remembers the taste of the ones he did get to have as kid, if only the tang of what once was. some of the powdered sugar ends up at the tip of his nose as he hums into the satisfied bite. }

Man. I haven't had a sweet like that since I was a kid and I snuck out instead of attending etiquette class. Of course mama caught on and she had me attend extra church confessions. Had to buckle down for real after my papa passed away. { the pressure was always there as the eldest child and he tried his best to meet expectations. a considerate pause as he rubs the powder sugar from his fingers and onto the plate, an assurance to his expression to what could be a heavy topic, but it was too long ago. } I was a grown man by then. Took over the family business and all that. Say, what did you do back home? Where did you end up?

{ he finds he is hooked, and the questions are overflowing to know more of a golden tale. and there's something special about meeting sam, and louis isn't going to waste his opportunity. sam might catch on his past tense of speaking about what is truly his past, of the hint of how far away he left it behind. he's not so disillusioned to not realize the horizon has only granted him a piece him a kindness of which still is a question on its own. he still indulges. louis and his ever delusions sometimes won over, but it is what it is. he leans in as he takes the cup of coffee into his other hand and comments before he takes a sip. }

Two years isn't a very long time. Maybe I should be askin' what life you've built here instead? I have to wonder if our factions have always been restrictive. Shame we can't have a cookout out there. Unless we want to take Nocwich by storm.

[ the immediate tension flitters across louis’ expression- something subtle, almost hidden, but sam catches enough of it. enough to know that there is something else there, something a bit more complicated, a bit more layered, than simply not being able to make it back. it feels a bit like louis wants to argue, or at least disagree, and while sam is prepared to respond in any matter of ways - you can always make it home - he’s not yet sure if enough of the story can be shared right off the bat.

it isn’t sam’s first time in a situation like this, seeing aspects of someone’s psychological presence that could be so close but also so far from how they are in back out of the horizon. he respects just how much he’s learning about louis right now, from his version of the french quarter to the immediate connection they hold. but he knows there is always more, and he’s not going to simplify something that is clear louis has struggled with for some time.

so, for now, all he does is smile. hold on to the fact he believes his words to be true - she’s waiting for you - and allows the conversation to move to the food, the meals, the-

sam doesn’t bother holding back on the bark of his laughter, on slapping his hand down on the table, even as the coffee and pastries jostle a bit. ] Now you’re speaking my language. I’ve had a couple cookouts back in my domain, but it’s always been hit or miss. Turns out the cajun spices don’t sit well with everyone. [ he shrugs and reaches for his coffee, taking a sip and feeling himself ease even further to the feeling of his home state. ] But I’m never one to turn down good jambalaya, ‘specially if I don’t have to make it.

[ he watches louis take the bite and shakes his head, seeing more and more of the words his granddad used to say, mentions of etiquette class, of church confessions. that, built up on the foundation of what they’ve already shared, of the city and their families and their longing for both, well. it’s hard to keep reminding himself they’ve only just met. ]

Armed forces, myself. Air force. It took me overseas for a few deployments and then back to DC when I’d had enough of being ordered around. From there I ended up joining a kind of uh- let’s call ‘em special forces sort of group, and now- [ i’m captain america he almost gets out, caught up in the conversation like it was something normal. like he was catching up with family, asking what he’s been up to, how it’s all going. sam just barely stops himself, because the knowledge that not everyone here in abraxas even knows what captain america is is something he’s grown into over these last two years. he laughs shakes his head. ]

I guess you could say I work in security, just for the entire country. Consulting, in a way. But it’s got me traveling a lot more, between Delacroix and DC and a little bit all over. My sister and her boys are still there, though; I get out to see them as much as I can.

[ and the words continue to spill, overflowing in a way that feels so very easy, so very comforting. sam has always been someone to make friends quickly, easily, and is not usually shy with his life. but this feels distinctly different, specifically special, and perhaps it is louis’ indulgence that has sam so easily leaning into it. the back and forth, question for question, like they weren’t just strangers. ] What was your family business? It might still be around.

[ not that sam would necessarily know. new orleans was still a city, huge and encompassing. there was a better chance he’d know if they were talking about delacroix, but sam’s feeling confidence. happy. curious.

louis says two years isn’t a long time and sam huffs a laugh, because yeah, okay, he’s not wrong. and from what he’s learned of louis just in the span of this one conversation, he understands that. so sam nods, in agreement at least in some part. ] Can’t say much to how it was before we all started gettin’ summoned, but ever since I’ve been here, they have. Honestly, things have gotten better than they used to be- before Nocwich we only had the Horizon and then sometimes the battlefield. Factions were real into pitting us up against each other for a hot second there. [ he shakes his head before reaching for his own beignet, taking a large bite and using his wrist to wipe off the sugar from the corner of his mouth. ]

But honestly- a cookout in Nocwich isn’t so bad an idea. I’ve got a couple of friends there. Could ask them about us using their beer garden.

( 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ) » — 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞.

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𝐬𝐚𝐦. 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬.

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it's ok you can fire me - p.s. i love them

shhhhh there will be no firing here. not when i'm just as bad.

we can be bad together ♡

as long as we have each other♡

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