" those menfolk back home . . . ?
or have they no claim on you ? "

vii. antoinette brown
4458 words.

LUCIENNE HAD ALWAYS FOUND THE NOTION of being "strapped down" amusing. The idea of loyalty and restraint, especially for a woman like her, felt almost theatrical, something fit for a costume rather than a way of life. She'd been a 'lady of the night' once, free in ways both beautiful and brutal. But from the moment Louis had entered her world, something in her tethered itself, as if the very idea of him had wrapped around her like fine silk—and chains.

   Loyalty, however, was another creature entirely, one with shades of gray that slipped through the cracks when she stole away for her clandestine meetings with Angelene.

   As she wandered through the gaslit streets of New Orleans, the weight of the night air pressing in around her, Lucienne followed her senses, practically sniffing the boys out. She halted by a narrow alley, confusion flickering over her features as she took in the sight. "Boys..." Her voice trailed off, caught somewhere between bemusement and horror.

   "I wasn't gone that long, Louis—" Her lips curled in disgust. "Why in hell's name are you drinking from a cat? And—why are you letting it happen?"

   Lestat cast Louis a withering glare before turning his gaze toward her, clearly unimpressed. His eyes darkened, simmering with a blend of irritation and suspicion. "Where have you been?" he asked, his voice laced with an accusation she knew all too well.

   It was the question he'd asked time and time again since that night when she'd lingered in the company of Angelene, a woman he'd only heard about through whispered admissions. To him, Angelene was a shadow he couldn't possess, a specter lurking in the spaces where he thought Lucienne's devotion belonged solely to him. Each time he questioned her, the irritation seemed to grow sharper, the threads of control fraying just a little more.

   Lucienne met his gaze coolly, lifting her chin. "Havin' a mind of my own," she replied smoothly, casting a sidelong glance at Louis.

   "I never said ya didn't," Louis muttered, his voice laced with defensiveness.

   She arched a brow, her tone mocking. "Oh, did you?" She eyed him with a hint of disgust, folding her arms. "Wipe that blood off your mouth, will ya? I don't condone animal cruelty."

   Lucienne watched the singer with an expression that barely concealed her boredom. A flat, uninspired voice, no rhythm to speak of, and, she noted with faint amusement, just as flat as the woman's ass, no allure to save her—just plain and talentless. Lucienne cast a quick glance at Louis, who seemed to tense as if sensing her scorn. She offered him a slow smile before turning back to watch the performance in silence.

"New singer," Louis said finally, breaking the lull. "She says she heard about the Azalea all the way in Atlanta. They talking about this place in Atlanta."

He sighed, pausing before adding, "You're angry."

"I'm pondering," Lestat replied coolly.

"Pondering what?" Louis pressed.

"Your night had nothing to do with ridding the world of criminals," Lestat continued, his tone like a dagger slipping between ribs, "or finding some morality to buoy your existence. You're ashamed of what we are."

Lucienne's gaze slid from the singer to the two men across from her, her expression unreadable.

"Maybe I'm just pondering what I am," Louis replied, the words laced with something that cut deeper than defiance.

"For the infinitesimal time, you're a vampire," Lestat snapped, his voice as smooth as it was mocking.

Lucienne raised an eyebrow, leaning her chin on her hand with a smirk. "Wonder if he'll find a fancy old term for gutting, biting, and killing?" Her grin was wry, her gaze catching Louis's disapproval.

Louis gave her a look. "Could you both not use those words in my place of business?"

He sighed, straightening in his seat. "Place of business—a pretty cover, an illusion to keep the dogs at bay," Lestat replied.

"This illusion..." Louis lifted his hand, gesturing around the room. "It's frontin' a dozen businesses up and down Claiborne."

Lestat chuckled, his tone laced with a wicked sort of mirth. "Yes, yes. For every twenty people he kills, he makes one small businessman's dreams come true. Louis de Pointe du Lac, the Dark Prince of Iberville." He sneered, his gaze drifting back to the singer as she finished her song to polite applause.

"Antoinette Brown and I will be here all night long," she announced, a half-hearted smile on her lips as she left the stage.

Lucienne offered a slow, sarcastic clap as she watched the singer leave, half-aware and deep in thought, until she heard Louis's voice beside her.

"I don't wanna kill people anymore." Lucienne's head turned sharply, her gaze fixed on the tension radiating between him and Lestat. "There it is." Louis looked straight ahead, his voice soft, but his resolve unmistakable.

The air between them seemed to crackle, the weight of it pressing down on Lucienne like a thundercloud. She held her breath, watching as Lestat leaned back, his gaze icy.

"A fish that doesn't swim. A bird refusing to fly," Lestat said, his eyes following Antoinette as she brushed past their table. He turned back to Louis with a smirk. "You're going to struggle. I fear for the feline population of New Orleans." He looked over at Lucienne, his voice honeyed with mockery. "Isn't that right, Luci?"

Lucienne huffed softly, shifting her gaze forward. "You make it difficult," she replied under her breath, the words more an admission than a complaint.

Louis's gaze flicked to her, curious. "Hm."

"Lestat, you don't have to—" she began, her tone careful, but he interrupted before she could finish.

"Your pianist has lost his passion," Lestat snapped, his voice cold and quick.

"What?" Louis frowned in confusion.

"Mr. Morton," Lestat said, his voice sharp and seething, "you have played the same melody in the very same way for two weeks now." The pianist had frozen, the color draining from his face. "Your talent is immense, but your mind is elsewhere," Lestat continued, the undercurrent of aggression unmistakable.

Lucienne took a quiet breath, rising from her chair without a word, and slipped out of the Azalea, the night air wrapping around her like a shroud as she left the tension simmering behind her.

   Lucienne rolled her eyes, glancing between Daniel and Louis with an air of practiced indifference. "Hmm," she murmured, voice lilting with feigned detachment. "They were apart more often, you know, all because of this... issue over killing." She shrugged, the motion as casual as it was calculated. "It gave me a bit more freedom to go unseen, unnoticed. I didn't mind it much—well, not until..."

   In her memory, Lucienne stood silently on the grand staircase, gazing down into the sitting room below. Louis sat in his chair, absorbed in a book, every page turn precise and restrained, while Lestat lounged across from him, laughter spilling over the rims of champagne glasses shared with that flat, flavorless Antoinette Brown.

   Her laughter, high-pitched and forced, seemed to pierce through Lucienne's patience. "Oh, Mr. Louis," Antoinette's voice floated through the room, as sweet and false as sugared absinthe. "You must convince Lestat to keep playing for us!" Lucienne's lip curled in disdain as she turned away, gliding down the steps, her mind a storm of distaste as she existed in the home.

   In the present, Daniel studied her, the barest smirk tracing his features. "You were the jealous type," he murmured, almost to himself.

   "Jealous of what?" Lucienne replied, tone calm, dismissive. She allowed her arm to rest gracefully on the table, her head leaning thoughtfully against it as her lips curved into a sly smile. "Miss Lily—now she was a dream. And Antoinette?" Lucienne scoffed softly, the memory still bitter. "No rhythm, no fire, and no ass."

   Her smile lingered, though tension flickered in her gaze. "I'll admit, being apart so much—at first, it was a kind of self-discovery, a welcome breath of air. But I suppose, in time... the silence became less of a luxury and more of a weight."

Lucienne strolled through the dimly lit streets of New Orleans, the sultry air wrapping around her like a lover's embrace. If not for the minor annoyance prickling at the back of her mind, she would likely be with Angelene, indulging in the warmth of companionship. She continued her leisurely pace, the cobblestones beneath her, until she paused, glancing around her surroundings with a sigh that escaped her lips like a deflating balloon.

"Louis, what are you doin' out here?" she inquired, her voice barely above a murmur, before spinning gracefully on her heel to find him standing behind her in his brown suit, the fabric rich against his pale skin. A smile crept across her face as she took in his familiar silhouette.

"Hiding," he replied, his tone flat, as if the weight of the world rested heavily on his shoulders.

Lucienne's smile widened as she reached out, her delicate hand wrapping around his arm, and they began to walk together, a comfortable silence enveloping them. She sighed softly, the sound tinged with a hint of longing as she stole glances at him from beneath her lashes.

"Are you serious about this... animal cruelty thing?" she ventured, breaking the silence, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Mhm," he responded, his voice calm and unwavering, as steady as the river flowing just beyond their view.

"Hm..." Lucienne let the sound linger, considering his words with a quiet intensity.

Louis turned to look at her, his gaze piercing yet gentle. "Have you not wanted to stop?" he asked, the question hanging in the air between them like the thick humidity of the evening.

"Well..." she began, her voice trailing off as she weighed her thoughts, searching for the right words. "Well, yes," she replied, the weight of her admission hanging in the air. "Then I realized it was the only thing keepin' me sane." Her voice carried a hint of defiance, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as him.

"Insane," Louis corrected, his tone quiet yet resolute. The words hung between them like the dense fog that often cloaked the streets at night. Lucienne halted, releasing his arm with a gentle sigh, positioning herself directly in front of him. She squinted at him, playful annoyance dancing in her eyes.

"You tryna call me crazy?" she asked, her brow arching, a teasing challenge lacing her voice. Louis held her gaze, the corners of his mouth curling into the faintest of smiles, a flicker of warmth breaking through the tension that enveloped them.

Lucienne smiled and let out a sigh, her fingers brushing over his shoulders. "You're right," she murmured, a playful glint in her eyes as she slid her hand down to meet his. "Which is why I'll savor every moment of her flesh turning to ash." She hummed, her voice lilting with wicked delight as she began to lead him along the dim-lit streets.

   They strolled together, the silence between them comfortable yet charged, until they returned to the house. Louis veered toward the incinerator where Lestat lingered, but Lucienne hung back, her patience with Lestat wearing thin. These days, her emotions flickered like the gaslights of New Orleans—switching from warmth to anger, affection to disdain in an endless, exhausting loop.

   After a pause, she moved forward, her footsteps slow, calm, but her mind ablaze. She caught snippets of Lestat's voice discussing molars and bicuspids as she approached, just on the verge of giving him a teasing peck on the cheek.

   "So, you didn't kill her," Louis said, his tone laced with a quiet intensity that halted Lucienne mid-step, causing her to retreat instinctively, like a shadow recoiling from the light.

   "What?" she replied sharply, confusion and irritation flickering across her face, her previous calm evaporating like morning mist.

   In present-day, Lucienne leaned back, explaining to Daniel, "It was as if all that restraint, all the begging for release, had finally snapped. And he gave me exactly what I wanted." Her words were tinged with a distant, almost detached nostalgia.

   Lestat's voice broke through her memories. "No," he had said, his tone almost amused, "she has... talents."

   Lucienne scoffed, crossing her arms with disdain. "Talents, my ass."

   She glanced at Daniel again, rolling her eyes. "Which she barely had any of." Her lips curved into a smirk, her distaste still as palpable as if she were back in that room, enduring every second of Antoinette's grating presence. "Ass, I mean."

   Lucienne's gaze shifted between Louis and Lestat, sensing the familiar, aching vulnerability in Louis's eyes—a sensitivity that only deepened her scorn. She scoffed, folding her arms tightly.

   "Aren't we enough for you?" Louis's voice was soft, though the weight of his question hung heavy in the room.

   At that, Lestat laughed—sharp and unrestrained, his amusement echoing through the space as though Louis's words were a jest. Lucienne rolled her eyes, positioning herself closer to Louis, her expression flat.

   "Don't," Louis said, his voice taking on a steadier edge.

   "Funny?" Lucienne asked dryly, the sarcasm barely coating the emptiness in her eyes.

   "Don't laugh," Louis repeated, his tone firmer. But Lestat, caught up in his own delight, stepped forward with an almost childlike skip, his arms extended.

   "Louis," he chuckled, "Luci." Lucienne's eyes narrowed, and a part of her almost wished for him to stumble, her disdain sharpening.

   Without a second thought, she backed away as Lestat reached to pull them both into an embrace. Louis accepted the contact, but Lucienne retreated, letting him fall into the embrace alone, unyielding in her refusal.

   "Don't laugh," Louis said once more, the edge in his voice sharpening.

   "Louis—" Lestat turned, reaching a hand out for Lucienne, a mock tenderness in his eyes. She stared at his outstretched hand, unmoved.

   "Luci," he repeated, sighing as she took another step back. With a resigned smirk, he turned to Louis, wiping a feigned tear from his face. "Ah, love, you've a bit of squirrel blood—"

   "Don't," Louis recoiled instantly, stepping back with a grimace. Lucienne's arms tightened over her chest, watching the strange theater between the two men.

Lestat looked between them, an exaggerated patience in his eyes. "We'll have ten thousand nights together," he intoned, his voice laced with affected gravity, "a hundred thousand. What we're building here, what we're doing isn't easy."

Despite herself, Lucienne drifted a step closer, drawn in despite her distaste, though she was unprepared for Lestat's sudden hand slipping into hers, a possessive tug that brought her close—close enough for him to hold her exactly as he wished, as he always did.

"Anything that wards off the dungs.." he murmured, lifting his free hand to her cheek in a sickly-sweet gesture. Lucienne flinched, turning her head, unwilling to let the intimacy linger.

He persisted, his hand resting on her cheek as his words fell heavy with sarcasm. "The pleasures of the flesh, the pleasures of the kill—for me." His eyes traced her face, "The pleasures of the good book by the fire for you."

Lucienne gave a bitter laugh and pushed his hand from her face, her patience nearing its end.

Louis's voice sliced through the moment, cold and blunt. "I can smell her on you."

The words landed like a stone, and in the charged silence that followed, Lestat's gaze flicked between them, a knowing smile breaking across his face as he caught Lucienne's distaste. The cloying scent of another woman's perfume hung in the air, souring the space between them.

In present-day, Lucienne glanced at Daniel, her mouth tightening as she spoke. "This wasn't the first time, of course," she admitted, her voice laced with disgust.

"I was about nine years deep as his lover—don't get me wrong, he went after Louis too—but I'd hoped, naively, that it would stop once I made my distaste clear. I should've known better. Lestat's habits only grew more secretive. He couldn't bear secrets from me but expected me to live with his." She rolled her eyes, letting out a scoff. "Man was a damned philanderer who couldn't communicate worth a damn."

Returning to the memory, she felt Lestat's stare as he leaned in close, his smirk never faltering. "From time to time, I like a little variety," he murmured, his gaze locked on her with a chilling intensity. "There—I said it."

She shook her head, finally shoving his hand away. It found its way to Louis, who, despite himself, seemed willing to absorb Lestat's attention.

"We're communicating so much better now, no?" Lestat's voice curled in a serpentine whisper before his lips pressed against Louis's.

Lucienne's face twisted as she took a measured step back, a wave of disgust flashing in her eyes. She folded her arms, watching them pull apart, the moment heavy with tension until—suddenly—her expression shifted, as if an idea had ignited in her mind. A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"So what?" Her voice came out low, calm, a controlled force behind it. "What does this mean?"

   Louis's gaze lingered on her, a new edge in his tone. "So we can fuck whoever we want?" He let the question hang as he turned back to Lestat, his words an unspoken challenge.

   A spark danced in Lucienne's eyes as her smile grew, cool and measured. Lestat's face faltered for the briefest second before he caught himself, his expression shifting into a mask of indifference as he shrugged, almost too nonchalantly.

   "Of course," he said, his voice almost a laugh. "Of course, of course! As long as you both come home to me." A cold chuckle slipped from him, his voice too light. "Of course."

   Of course... not. She saw right through the hollow reassurance, the forced smile. But a sinister glint shone in her eyes as she seized the moment. She hadn't shared her bed with anyone but the two of them in five long years. Clapping her hands together in a feigned delight, her face lit up with a bright, twisted smile. "Perfect!"

   Lestat's gaze sharpened, his head turning slowly as he took in her triumphant expression.

   "This," she said, voice dripping with mock-sincerity, "is perfect communication." She drifted over to them, stopping close enough to press a delicate kiss to each of their cheeks, her expression both mocking and sweet.

   Then, without another word, she spun on her heel, slipping into a light, almost carefree skip as she left them standing in silence.

   Lucienne leaned back, her smile edging with something sly as she looked Daniel over. He narrowed his eyes, giving her a slow nod, something like approval flickering there.

"Well, carrying on," she murmured, her voice soft as she shifted, almost as if she were speaking only to herself. "I can't pretend to know what haunted Louis's mind, but I know what lived in mine. Louis could dress it all up, put words to it in that gentle way of his, but me—I may seem kind enough, but there's things I won't tolerate." Her voice turned colder, sharper.

A pause hung between her and Daniel before she continued. "And Lestat? He knew better," she added, voice carrying a note of dark amusement. "Knew better than to let me go off wild."

Her gaze grew distant, drifting back to one of those nights—a memory of dimmed lights, the pulse of a lively club. Lucienne laughed as she and Angelene moved together through the heavy air, dancing with a rhythm that pushed against the rules. In that place, no one questioned the way Angelene's hands rested on her waist, how they fit together under the haze of low lights, oblivious to the world outside.

They danced for hours, spinning their secret world until, breathless and giddy, they strolled down quiet streets toward Angelene's home.

"You're in high spirits tonight," Angelene teased, watching Lucienne walk backward, her eyes bright as she held her gaze.

"Am I?" Lucienne's grin was playful, daring.

Angelene smirked. "Guessin' your husbands finally let you out the house?" It was a jest, but Lucienne almost stumbled, caught off guard.

Angelene's smile softened as she noticed. "Oh, Luci," she chuckled. "I only meant the rumors, the whispers, is all."

Lucienne forced a laugh, but her reply came slow. "Right."

Angelene tilted her head, something inquisitive in her eyes. "So?" She pressed gently, her tone playful but with a hint of curiosity. "Those menfolk back home...? Or have they no claim on you?"

Lucienne took a breath, a small smile playing on her lips. "I wouldn't say I'm bound to anyone," she replied, her voice light. "Louis, well, he doesn't mind—and Lestat? Who knows what he thinks, really." She gave a soft, dismissive laugh. "Think of it as... nothin' much. Just a place I stay. Just some company. Nothin' at all."

Angelene's lips quirked in a knowing smile. "Nothin' because it is nothin', or nothin' because I was about to invite you inside?" Her voice was teasing, her eyes glinting with a boldness that left Lucienne momentarily breathless.

Lucienne's composure slipped, surprise flashing across her face. "You're gonna what?" she asked, her voice catching.

Angelene just shrugged as they reached her door. With a soft laugh, she leaned in, her voice almost a whisper. "Invite you in."

Lucienne studied the house, her face carefully blank. Then, with a slight nod, she smiled back, a glint of something dangerous in her eyes. "Well... you want an honest answer?"

Angelene's eyes sparkled, unbothered. "Honest or not, you're comin' in." Lucienne let out a quiet, almost bashful laugh, a rare softness on her face as she stepped closer, letting herself be led inside.

Angelene held out her hand, firm and insistent, and without a second thought, Lucienne took it, letting herself be drawn through the doorway. The house was shadowed and still, but they barely made it inside before urgency overtook them—clothes slipping from shoulders, fingers fumbling against fabric. They hadn't even settled into the room, hadn't moved beyond the entryway before they found the sofa, sinking into it like they'd been pulled by some undeniable force.

Lucienne felt the plush fabric beneath her as Angelene moved over her, each kiss slow and deliberate, enough to steal her breath and make her pulse race. It had been years since she'd felt a kiss like this—a kiss that wrapped her in its warmth, that reached down into memories of stolen touches and secret nights long past.

It was the kind of kiss that would have made her father murmur a prayer under his breath, his daughter needing salvation more than ever. But that was a lifetime ago, in a world far from this, and none of that mattered now.

Angelene's hands roamed freely, tracing paths over Lucienne's skin, igniting something she hadn't felt in years. Her heart beat faster, a rhythm that seemed to match the heat in the room, and she knew, in that very moment, that she'd find herself here again, right here in this embrace.

Lucienne's soft moans filled the air, uninhibited, her mind stripped of all thought.

There was no Louis, no Lestat.

Just Angelene.

Just Ange.

But..

The moment she stepped back into the house, whatever warmth she'd felt with Angelene dissolved into something colder. Here, it was Louis and Lestat again, the walls thick with tension and old grievances. She was later than usual, the hour stretching into morning, but tonight she climbed the stairs without her usual care. Any other night, Lestat would've thrown one of his infamous fits by now.

From the landing, she caught the low murmur of Louis's voice detailing his own nocturnal wanderings. His affair, in short terms. Lucienne's thoughts flickered, unbidden—do I still smell like her?—and before she'd even crossed the threshold, she saw Louis glance toward the doorway as though he'd heard her mind.

She paused, watching them from the doorway with a detached coolness. "Tell Grace I said hello, hm?" she murmured, then moved toward her wardrobe without another word. With deliberate slowness, she undressed, letting each layer fall as if it were some careless discard of the night. "It's rather sweet, really," she drawled, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"The way you bond over your sex affairs." She pulled on her nightgown, brushing her curls from her shoulders, a flash of wry amusement flickering in her eyes.

Turning back, she offered them a smile—not her usual sly one but something sharper, almost mocking. "Hm," Lestat intoned with a careful, easy smile, "how was your evening?"

"Perfect," she replied, voice honeyed with feigned innocence. "Yours?"

The two men answered in unison, one muttering "fine," the other "good." She nodded, her gaze drifting toward the coffins with an almost weary finality.

"Lock us in, would you?" Lestat said to Louis, his tone laced with command.

Lucienne watched as Louis moved to the door. She saw the momentary pause in his step, something caught between a sigh and a hesitation, but she ignored it, slipping into her coffin as he closed the door behind them.

"So, you saw it then." Daniel's voice held that familiar tone, part curiosity, part disbelief as he looked at her across the dimly lit room.

   Lucienne's head tilted ever so slightly, a calm nod following. "I suppose... so," she replied, shoulders lifting in a delicate shrug, almost dismissive.

   Daniel pressed on, his gaze sharpening, "And from your perspective... was it raining?"

   Her brows drew together as she thought back, her gaze narrowing, caught between the past and her present. "Possibly?" She glanced over at Louis's assistant, a quick, innocent look, barely a flicker in her expression. "I—I wasn't necessarily out there, you know."

   "But you were out there at some point," Daniel insisted, pushing her memory further.

   A low chuckle escaped her, and she shrugged again, this time more deliberate. "Louis and I... we didn't have our affairs in sync. It could've been raining for him, but not for me," she mused, her mind drifting back, shaping and reshaping details of that night, as if rearranging fractured memories in a fog. "It— I mean, I suppose it could've been. I was... preoccupied with Ange."

   She let her gaze wander briefly to the assistant, as if some half-formed feeling pulled her attention there, her own memories slipping like sand through her fingers.

   Daniel's nod was slow, skeptical, as he eyed her with a faintly mocking smile. "I guess the mind... it does go with age," he remarked, his voice flat as his eyes held hers.

   Lucienne's eyes narrowed, a glint of something sharp flickering. "I guess it does." Then, as if guided by some silent understanding, she turned toward Louis. Their gazes met across the room, his face calm, the quiet heaviness of their shared past unspoken yet clear between them.

⛧

authors note: hi hi guysss. these chapters are like coming and coming because i'm a little obsessed rn. i all of a sudden have hundreds of ideas so you might or might not get the next chapter soon as well.

i lowkey think i will have lucienne in season 2 because it seems a lot happens and yeah, so ill watch it soon but it's just i was refusing cuz i saw so many spoilers i was like "is there even an point" BUT im gonna pretend those don't exist and watch Season 2 soon.

anyways i hope you guys like this chapter <3 love u!