lestatdldpdl
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“So he’s holding a grudge a little longer than usual,” Louis says. “He’ll be there on the first day.” Charming all the new corps, he thinks bitterly; deciding whose legs he will have wrapped around his waist by the end of the week’s practice, if not before.“Not this time,” Armand says, and Louis suddenly recognises the look on his face. It’s the subdued panic of a man who is attempting to stem the flow of water through a cracked vessel with only his hands, incapable of patching it before every last drop escapes through his fingers. The same look, in fact, that he had given Louis when he’d thrown a duffel bag at Armand’s feet and told him he had fifteen minutes to grab his shit and get out. “Lestat doesn’t intend to quit the company. He intends to quit ballet.”
In the grey stupor of London, Louis is preparing the Azalea Gallery's forthcoming exhibition and worrying about Claudia. He doesn't plan to add wrangling Lestat, principal dancer of the Royal Ballet and his kind-of-ex-husband, into the mix – until Armand comes knocking, and makes him an offer he can't refuse.
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A hot new bombshell has entered the villa, and Louis is beginning to think Survivor may have been easier.
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Lestat loses his highest-paying client and needs to find a replacement quickly or risk being kicked out of his band. Thankfully, Louis and his new puppy are in desperate need of his help.
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Normally, Louis likes to vet the new girls himself. It’s a point of pride for him – that not a single queen who lipsyncs or death drops or vogues her way across the Azalea stage does so without Louis having approved her first.
Gay bar owner Louis de Pointe du Lac is hiring a new performer. Drag queen Lestat de Lioncourt is looking for a stage.
A prequel to a dream is a wish your heart makes.
Series
- Part 2 of something loved, something despised
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The lump in his throat seems to grow in size. He draws his leather jacket tighter around him and fixes his gaze on the patterned carpet.
“Alright, let’s end the session here.”
Lestat lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“But, I want you to try something for me.”
He looks up to see Nysa rifling through one of the drawers in her desk. She fumbles around for a bit before making a triumphant little sound and whipping out what looks like a pamphlet.
”It’s a support group for sexual assault survivors and I’d like you to attend at least one of their meetings.”