Hey, there, people. Well, it's been a long time
since I wrote a 'serious' spec, so here's a
semi-serious one. It's a fancy of mine about
what would have happened had Louis and Lestat
met as children before Louis left for America?
Well, here's a little spec about it... it's kind
of cute, not dark, which I prefer, but, oh well.
Enjoy!


spoilers: IWTV, TVL

Oh, yeah, the disclaimer...all characters owned
by Anne Rice. Louis's cute, Lestat's fun,
Gabby's ace, and they're all hers! Don't sue,
because I have no money as a student, and
Liverpool's an easy enough place to hide in. Hah!


BRIEF ENCOUNTER, or WHEN WE WERE VERY,
VERY YOUNG.

"And this is how long your moment lasted. And
life goes on."
-- Chuck Palahniuk, 'Fight Club'.

France, 1771-

"Lestat, *don't* pick that up. If you break it-"
Lestat frowned and placed the piece of pottery
back down on the market stall. "It's boring,
anyway." he retorted. "And *why* do we have
to come here? You said it would be exciting!" he
added accusingly.
"It is," Gabrielle replied, "Just a little...dull *today*,
that's all. Besides, anything's better than being
cooped up in that bloody castle." she argued.
She took his hand and led him away from the table
and back into the heaving throng of market-goers.
Almost immediately, he was back at the table, and
she gave an exasperated sigh.
Even so, her surly child could not ruin today; the
weekly market was one of a very few things that
made life bearable; Lestat was another, and so
she often dragged him along to this place, nearly
ten miles outside Auvergne, to get away from
the crushing restraints of her life as Marquise.
The year was 1771, and France was in the throes
of change. It would not be long before the Lioncourts
fell victim to the revolution, already building up.
France was changing; people were emigrating to
the Americas, new ideas were being formed, new
regimes rising. And Gabrielle was miserable. She
had to watch all this change from afar, it was
a woman's lot; shop and make the home. Don't
tavel, and never, ever get caught up in the ways
of men. How she longed for it to change!
She was brought out of her thoughts by the sound
of breaking glass. She turned to see an enraged
shopkeeper glaring down at her 11-year-old son,
who had finally managed to break something.
"*Lestat!*" she hissed, and he looked up at her
sheepishly.
"Don't blame me! I didn't do it!" he cried.
"Oh? It just...jumped out of your hands, did it?"
she muttered, taking out her purse and handing a
few coins to the trader.
She took him by the hand and led him away from
the stall. "Lestat," she said, "you *know* we
don't have much money left! The last thing I need
is you breaking expensive things!"
"It slipped!" he muttered.
Gabrielle shook her head and led him over to another
stall, where a selection of fine materials were
laid out and being examined by various customers.
"Don't go *accidentally* ripping them, or *accidentally*
setting them on fire, will you?" she asked.
He pointedly ignored this comment and instead set
about looking for something to keep himself entertained
with. As much as he loved his mother, market days
bored him to the point of tears!
He kicked at the grass for a while, then gazed over
at the clowns performing for a host of children,
and shuddered. No way. Clowns frightened him.
He cast a glance at the man running the pottery
store, and realised he ought to stay away from
there. Then the boy caught his eye.
He was very young, only about five or six years
old, and although he had on very smart clothes, even
nicer than Lestat's, which made him envious, he
did at least gain a certain amount of satisfaction
from the fact that he had mud all over them.
His features were very delicate, sharp, even at
this early stage of life, and he was sitting, staring
at the ground, poking something with a stick every
so often. Lestat walked closer.
The boy's face was set off by thick locks of
pure black hair, some of which fell into his unusual
green eyes, which were gazing intently at something
in the dirt. His curiosity aroused by the other
boy's apparent fascination, Lestat went over to
him to see what was so interesting. He was a
little disappointed to see that he was watching
nothing more fascinating than a beetle trying to
scramble out of a hole it had fallen into.
"What are you doing?" he asked loudly, so that
the boy jumped.
"Hush," said the younger child, without looking
up, "I'm watching this insect. See, it keeps trying
to get out of this little ditch."
"Then let it out!"
"I wouldn't be able to watch it, then."
"But *why* do you want to watch it?" asked
Lestat, genuinely intrigued. "It's boring!"
"Ssh."
"So," Lestat chattered, "what's your name? I bet
it's not as wonderful or unusual as mine. Want to
know what my name is?"
"Sssshhh!"
"Answer me!" he snapped. For some reason, he
wanted to command this child's attention. He was
too aloof for his own good.
The boy looked up for a moment, gave him a
contemptuous glare, then resumed watching the
insect.
That did it. If there was one thing Lestat couldn't
stand, it was being ignored. He stamped on the
beetle.
He felt rather bad about that; it hadn't done anything
wrong, but the look of rage on the other boy's face
convinced him it had been worth it. "Why did you
DO that?!" he gasped.
"Because I wanted to. I do anything I want." said Lestat
nonchalantly. He watched as the other boy got up,
seemingly ready to fight. With a grin, he walked over
to him, towering over him, at least twice his
height. "And *what* are you going to do about
it, little boy?" he asked threatingly. He was enjoying
this immensely.
The other boy watched him for a moment, torn
between his anger and the knowledge that Lestat
was more than likely able to beat him up, before
scowling and walking away.
Lestat sighed. He had been so looking forward to
a fight, just to see his reaction, like the green
rage that overcame him when he had stamped on
the beetle. It had been wonderful! Besides, he
reasoned, the snooty boy had deserved it. All he
had wanted to do was *talk!*
Grinning, he made his way back to Gabrielle. She
was talking to the man in charge of the market
stall, who was trying to cajole her into buying
a carpet. "But, my Marquise, it is so beautiful!"
he reasoned, "It would look so very good in your
castle. A true thing of beauty for the Lioncourts!"
"I don't think so." said Gabrielle shortly.
A pregnant woman, around the same age as Gabrielle,
with fine black hair and delicate features, looked
up. "You're the Marquise de Auvergne?" she asked.
"Apparently so."said Gabrielle.
"My lady, it is an honour to meet you," the woman
went on, "my name is Michelle, Michelle de Pointe..."
"Gabrielle de Lioncourt, of course." she cut in,
adopting a rather bored tone.
"Well," the other woman blustered, "I'm glad to
have finally met you. One last glimpse of the French
aristocracy! My family and I are moving, you see,
to the New World. Emigrating, if you will. We leave
next week. It's a very exciting time. I'm trying to
pick out fabrics and what not for our plantation.
It's amazing how cheap-"
"The New World?" asked Gabrielle, cutting her off
rather rudely. "Where about?"
"Louisiana. It's a thriving French colony at the
moment; the Americans are quite beside themselves,
determined to get their hands on it. I said, well,
France won't give that up in a hurry, not even
for millions of dollars..."
"Indeed," said Gabrielle, "so, what's it like over
there?"
"Mother," Lestat cut in suddenly, "I'm bored!"
"Oh, so this must be your son!" said Michelle.
"Of course." replied Gabrielle smoothly.
"I never noticed him," she replied, "he's lovely,
isn't he? Got a look of you there, I see."
"No, I haven't!" snapped Lestat.
Michelle laughed. "Well, he's very feisty. My son's
a little on the quiet side, but he's very loving.
He can't wait for the baby to arrive." she said,
patting her stomach.
"I thought you were just very fat." said Lestat.
The smile died on Michelle's lips, but then she
cast about, apparently searching for someone.
"I can't imagine where he's got to...he's always
wandering off. Louis, where are you now?" she
cried.
As if on cue, Lestat's new-found enemy, the young
boy, came running over. Lestat took in his tousled
black hair, strange green eyes and delicate body
once more. He looked altogether too timid and pretty
to enjoy the escapades Lestat and his friends got
into, but his muddy clothes and relaxed composure
proved otherwise. "Yes. mother?" he asked.
"What have you done to your clothes?!" she gasped,
brushing him down.
"I was just playing..." he said, then looked up at
Gabrielle. "Bonjour, Madame." he said politely.
Gabrielle smiled. "Quite the little charmer." she said.
Lestat scowled.
"Honestly, I can't understand him," said Michelle.
"Impeccable manners, but so scruffy! He just doesn't
seem to *care* about his clothes!-"
"That'll pass, surely," soothed Gabrielle, "he's
only a child. Besides, a little adventure never
hurt anyone. Now, tell me about this place..."
As the two women became immersed in their
conversation once more, Louis stood next to his
mother, hiding his face in her long skirt shyly.
Lestat pulled it away from him impatiently and
scowled. "So, at least I know your stupid name
now. I was right; mine *is* better. And you're
moving away from France?"
The other boy nodded.
"Don't you like France?"
He shrugged.
"How come your eyes are green like a cat's?"
Louis merely glared at him for that one.
"Don't you even speak?" he mocked.
The younger boy didn't even reply.
"Are you stupid or something?!" Lestat exploded.
Gabrielle cuffed him across the ear quickly. "Lestat,
don't be so...so...*yourself!*"
"Well, he started it," he grumbled, rubbing his ear
ruefully. He glared at the other boy, who gave him
the most astonished green gaze.
"You did." he all but whispered. But there was a
quiet anger there, a profound sense of subtle
malice even at this tender age.
Lestat blinked in surprise. *Nobody* answered him
back! One glare was enough to send any potential
enemy crying to their mother. Yet this boy was
completely unafraid of him. He even looked a little
bored. "No, you did, you little..." he hissed.
"You did."
They faced off. As the two women talked, the
children glared at each other. Lestat was taken
aback by the emerald depths of that green gaze,
by the sharp contrast of thick black eyelashes
to a sharp green haze of colour. But he wouldn't
be beaten. He couldn't allow it.
The earth stood still for those few moments. Lestat,
Louis. Louis, Lestat. Two mortal children, whose
souls were damned, and of course, they didn't
know it. Soon to be locked together for all eternity,
in love, in hate, bearing such strong feelings for
each other that it would be agony, and always,
always, struggling to understand the other.
Lestat, who would fall fatally in love with this
gentle, self-destructive soul, and make such
dreadful mistakes out of the desperation to keep
him at his side. Lestat, who was his opposite in
every conceivable way, yet so incomplete without
him.
Louis, who would carry such crushing guilt with him,
and a humanity beloved of all vampiric fiends. He who
would come to learn that he loved this rogue so
completely, and almost when it was too late. Louis,
who would be forever hurt by his lover's various
whims, but sustained by his fiery character all
the same.
And that was their moment. It ended. Gabrielle
nodded. "Well, a safe passage to you, anyway."
"Merci, Madame, and good fortune with you."
"Come on, Lestat," said Gabrielle, turning to
her son, "It's time we were getting home. The
coachman awaits."
"But mother," said Lestat, looking up, "I'm having
a staring-out contest!"
Before she could reply, the younger child gave
him a disdainful look. "You're stupid!" he announced.
"Louis!" snapped his mother, "don't be so rude!"
She turned to Gabrielle. "It was nice speaking
to you. Adieu." she said, taking her son's hand
and leading him away.
"I hope I *never* see that horrid boy again!" Lestat
announced loudly. Louis turned, and Lestat stuck
his tongue out at him.
Gabrielle tutted and led him towards the coach. "Lestat,"
she scolded him as he clambered onto the seat
beside her, "you have to learn some manners!"
"Why?"
"Because."
"*Because* what?"
"You just do!" she snapped.
"I can't let people know what I think?" he
reasoned.
Gabrielle fixed him with one of her infamous stares.
"Believe me, my son, it's better that way."
"Well, it's true," he said stubbornly, "I *did* hate
him. He was boring."
"So boring that you wanted to fight him?"
"And small."
"He's younger than you are!"
"And ugly."
Gabrielle laughed. "Oh, come, now! Hardly ugly!
He was very pretty, actually. He'll be quite the
looker when he grows up."
"Not as handsome as me, though, right?"
She smiled and ran her hand through his golden
locks. "Of course not."
"So there. I can say he's ugly, then."
"I don't know why you're so annoyed, anyway.
He won't even be in this country by next week.
He and his family are off to the New World."
"What's the New World, mother?" he asked.
"An escape. From all this." Gabrielle replied grimly.
"...A world of adventure." she added wistfully.
"Can we go there, someday? Just you and me?"
His mother stared off, apparentely lost in her own
private thoughts, and he knew she was thinking of
the far-off places she had told him about. England,
the ancient land, the savage wilderness of Scotland,
the untamed splendour of Africa; even the unchartered
territory of Australia. She could talk for hours of
such things, and how she longed to roam them, and
now this New World had captured her heart. "Some
day, my son," she whispered brokenely, "we may
yet go there." But he knew this sad tone, knew
that she felt bound by the chains of marriage and
duty to her country.
Lestat settled down against her once more, listening
to the comforting sound of the horses' hooves as
they clattered against the cobblestone ground.
It certainly was an exciting phrase; the New World.
He might be more eager to learn of it, if the
priesthood did not beckon. No, he was content, for
the time-being at least, to pursue his dreams of
learning of literature and the arts. And if he didn't
become a priest, why, then he would become an
actor!
Yes, life in France was good. New World, indeed.
It didn't seem so wonderful when the people going
were fat old ladies and timid green-eyed children.
He had forgotten the boy's name already. He snorted
as he thought about this; his own brothers and
that dingy castle were more exciting, and that
was saying something. Whatever could be so
interesting about a boy, and a place, like that?


THE END.