Disclaimer: They ain't mine. Don't sue.

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Joyride
By Kabuki
March 2003







Jessica smiled a little, cocking her hips to one side as she eyed the car. "Nice wheels. It's yours, I presume?"

"Your wit is as sharp as ever, Jess." Lestat grinned. "Care for a joyride, as you moderns call it?"

The redhead snorted a little, walking up closer to inspect the car. She had never been a huge fan of the things, but even with her limited experience it was obviously expensive. A shiny convertible of fiery red, with black leather interior and more gadgets than even a vampire would ever need. She wondered vaguely how much the thing had cost before she remembered that such things didn't matter anymore, especially not to Lestat. He probably hadn't even thought to check for a price tag.

"I’m impressed, Stat." She grinned over her shoulder, looking the infamous brat prince up and down. "Did you buy those pants to match the seats or is this a special occasion?"

Lestat smiled, his hips sliding in the snugly fit leather pants encasing his long legs as he strode toward the vehicle. "Now you know I had to match, dear. Tell me, though. Do you like it?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugged. "Just curious." He flung open the passenger-side door and waited expectantly.

"Oh so now you're trying to be charming? It'll take more than that."

Shrugging again Lestat pushed the door closed and leapt into the driver's seat. He turned the key, bringing the car to life with a roar. "I don't care how you get here, Jess. Personally I think you're being a colossal bitch about all this, but I promise to try to stay on my best behavior if you'll just hop on in. I'd like to leave sometime before dawn."

Jessica shook her head and followed her companion's lead, leaping into her seat as gracefully as a cat. She turned, her green eyes flashing in the light of a nearby street lamp, and for a moment Lestat was reminded of another shade of green, very similar to the one he was watching now. A shade so deep and verdant that all the flowered descriptions of the world could not begin to describe it. He looked up again at the only lighted window, at the candle burning there faintly through the curtain. No need for him to peek out, certainly, but Lestat found himself wishing he could catch a glimpse of those verdant eyes once more.

He turned when he felt a flushed hand on his own. "You know, we can put this off for a while if you'd like."

"No, it's alright." He straightened, pushing back his hair and revving the engine once more before shifting the beast into reverse and backing out of the driveway. "It's not like the time would help anyway."

Jessica leaned back in her seat and shut her eyes, deciding to leave it at that. There would be plenty of time to coax the information from him on their trip anyway. Once Lestat got an idea into his head, there was no way to turn him from it. And when the idea came as a result of a fight with Louis or whatever had happened between them, it was best just to let time heal his wounds. So what sort of music do you have? She smiled, flashing her fangs a little so the light from the halogen streetlamp would catch their brilliance. You did remember the CD case, right?

It’s under the seat. Choose anything you like. He didn’t even look as he pulled away from the curb and onto the street. He drove as no conscientious human would, with two fingers on the steering wheel and one long arm draped out the window by the door as he took in the scenery. Occasionally he’d lower his pale purple sunglasses to observe some sight which interested him, letting the car seemingly drive of its own accord. It was unnerving to anyone save for Lestat himself. He’d put the car in third gear and wouldn’t take it out unless absolutely necessary.

Jessica sifted around, her long fingers probing, searching for the case. She sat up, running a hand through her hair to get it out of her face. It’s not there.

Lestat cast a glance over his violet sunglasses. It was there last night.

We may have to stop by the music store on the way.

I can’t travel without a soundtrack. I refuse. Lestat turned around in his seat, leaning back to search the backseat while the car continued to churn forward.

A particularly busy intersection rushed toward them, Jessica could easily envision the twisted heap of bloody metal they would leave behind. Instinctively she projected a message for everyone to move from Lestat’s path. The convertible whizzed past, and Jess could feel in the minds of those humans they’d just passed the relief and outrage naturally brought about by the narrow avoidance of a reckless driver. She felt a stab of mortal panic in her chest, a tingling in the back of her neck. Lestat! Get back up here!

But he was already sitting up, the case triumphantly clutched in one manicured hand. He tossed it to his companion callously. You panic too much. How am I going to have any fun with you around?

Well the car can’t just drive itself, idiot. You scared me half to death!

It’s a tad late for that, don’t you agree? He smiled, the sight intended to dazzle her. Besides, you still think with a mortal’s mentality. A little car crash won’t kill you. It might be good to test your limits a little.

I could still be decapitated. That would probably kill me.

Kill you? A child of Maharet? Please.

You don’t think so, huh. Ever tried it yourself? He was being ridiculous and they both knew it. Jessica was only half arguing by then, and she pushed a CD into the stereo, filling the air with the careful orchestrations of Vivaldian strings.

Lestat grimaced. That’s awful and insulting. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I like classical shit all the time. Try something modern and metallic, but not too crass. Quietly powerful. He shook his head. Fledglings.

Thinking of Louis again I see. She ejected the CD and began flipping the pages for another. Who the hell organizes their CDs alphabetically and by genre?

I do. He pulled onto the interstate, cruising at a speed far exceeding the posted limit to the sound of internet-gathered progressive trance. The title was in old French and in a careful script too neat to be Lestat’s handwriting. Jessica hadn’t understood the words assuming that if someone had taken the time to burn the music, it must be somewhat decent.

Why did you say I was thinking of Louis?

She blinked and looked up, realizing that she’d lost track of time. Hmm? What?

Lestat snorted. Really, Jess, if I wanted a dummy in the passenger seat I would have carved one myself. Louis. Why did you say that about him?

Oh that. Its only that you said you wanted something quietly powerful. That’s Louis.

You’re stretching it, Jess. Take my word for it, Louis isn’t powerful.

You’re either very stupid or in denial, Lestat. It’s quite sad. Don’t make me drag this point around.

More silence. They left the New Orleans city limits in the dust, weaving through the nighttime crowd which thinned the further they moved from the city. Lestat sighed, a low sound barely audible over the roaring engine. From the speakers floated a song of despair and desire in a young man’s moaning whine so popular in the nineteen nineties. The beat was slow, determined, and artfully crude.

Jessica stretched, her midriff revealed in the moonlight as she raised her arms above her head and yawned, covering her fangs too late for it to matter. So where are we going? You never said.

Lestat shrugged in the classic French manner. I don’t know. I just wanted to drive. He smiled a little. And you were the nearest, most amicable company for such an excursion.

Why thank you, Lestat, that’s the nicest thing to ever come out of your mouth.

So says you and the rest of the world.

Back to Louis again, huh?

Enough about Louis. Why do you insist on bringing him up?

See, now you’re trying to avoid the subject. It bothers you, so there must be something to it. I’m bored. You’re bored. You may as well tell me what this is all about.

Lestat clenched his teeth, the points of his fangs barely hidden by his lower lip as a low growl bubbled from his throat. I didn’t want to talk, Miss Freud, I wanted to drive.

Jessica smiled carefully, examining her nails as though they were of some importance. Yes, well, there is that. She paused, taking a breath and letting him hope the conversation was over. You could be driving as compensation.

Lestat eyed his passenger. Go on. Say it. You’re dying to.

I see you’re driving a stick shift.

Of course.

And the car itself vibrated wonderfully.

Lestat’s lips twitched. Naturally.

I’m surprised you didn’t want the Harley.

All that size between my legs, right?

Rumbling all the way.

Yes, I can see it clearly now. He chuckled low and clear. You’re sick, Jess. Really twisted, even by modern standards. I guess I remember now why I asked you to come along.

Jessica leaned in close, her breasts pressed against Lestat’s arm. Ok, so, tell me about Louis. What’s the deal?

Lestat smiled devilishly. None of your damn business. His smile widened, revealing his pointed fang teeth. And get those things off of me. My hands have a mind of their own.



-Fin