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The Entrance   
10:20am 12/05/2004
 
mood: pensive
Greetings. I am the Vampire Laurent.

Scratch that. Rewind. (Isn’t mortal terminology interesting?)

I just can’t pull off the dramatic entrance, as Lestat can. I simply don’t have the flair. You know me, from two short accounts in two of Lestat’s many novels. The first, as what seems to be a petty antagonist, (not that I deny anything) the second from the point of view of one Baby Jenks.

Which brings me to a most important point. The last you heard of me, I had, apparently, been burned to a pile of soot and grease by the Mother of us all. So why am I here, when I should be in Lestat’s vision of Hell? For I have no doubt that I would go to Hell, were I to die.

The simple explanation is that the account was through the eyes of a frightened young fledgling. Perhaps, in her panic, she saw things that did not truly take place. That is not to say that Akasha didn’t attempt my destruction, but simply that I was not killed. I managed to escape, a little wounded and more than a little shaken. The scars are still there, if you want to see them.

And so…I’m here. The dissident vampire, portrayed as an unthinking, raging member of an evil coven. I can’t argue, except to say that I believed, and still do, that the way of life (or death, as it were) I led was right. After all, the Paris coven was not the end for me, nor the Theatre des Vampires. I have survived all of these, and each of the “evil” societies I have joined has been destroyed. The first dissolved by the confusing but convincing logic of Lestat, the second quite literally burned to the ground by his fledgling, Louis (though I was long gone by that time), the third in St. Louis burned by Akasha. Where am I now? The little boy, only 15 when I was made, a few years younger than my Coven Master, Armand. Which coven have I joined now?

Absolutely none. Yes, that’s right. Are you surprised? Laurent, finally living out advice given to him over 2 centauries ago. Living in the very center of mortal life, or at least trying to. That doesn’t mean that I don’t long for the comfort a coven affords me, or that I won’t drive myself into the fire within the next decade. But shouldn’t I be given credit for trying?

I’ve bought an upscale apartment in the city of Los Angeles. Perhaps this is another example, taking myself out of my element, away from the lovely streets of New Orleans, away from the remnants of my culture of birth. However, L.A reminds me of Paris, at least in the profusion of theaters. I have even, after much trouble, joined a few night-rehearsed, night-preformed shows. By trouble, I mean that it is rather difficult for one who does not appear to be a “legal adult” to gain access to certain things without a legal guardian. Especially when I have the tendency to look a few years younger than the age at which I was turned. I now have a defined distaste for the legal system. But enough of that.

What do mortals perceive when they look at me? Innocence, a young boy, his gray eyes just a little to large for his face? Is it strange to them, do I seem to be one of those children who know too much of life for the span of time they have been on this earth?

Beyond the observations of Baby Jenks, I’m not sure what the impressions of the immortals around me are. I’m sure I’m disliked, or merely pitied. Certainly not liked, or loved, except by my Maker. Or then again, perhaps not. After all, I haven’t seen him in more than a century. I don’t know, or care, where he is. For all I know, he was destroyed with the others when Akasha rose. It makes no difference to me. For if he DID love me, wouldn’t he let me know he was alive? Good riddance to him.

I’m hungry, and restless. It’s time to hunt.
 
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