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Jesse Reeves

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thoughts: inside the flat [07 Jul 2004|11:56am]
[ mood | contemplative ]

I'm hoping no one thinks it odd or rude of me to turn this thing on now. But there are things I really have to record, for my own sake.

I've met Pandora and Marius here, almost as soon as I arrived in the city, really. I've showed them the mirror and the pieces of the violin. And the reaction....

The reaction was worse than I'd expected, to say the least. Marius seemed furious that I'd even consider bringing these things to New Orleans. But what else would I do with them, when everything I found and everything I've dreamt point to Nicki still being alive? Doesn't Lestat, doesn't every vampire, for that matter, have the right to know that he is still with us?

Being in this apartment is giving me the oddest sense of deja vu. I remember the last time I was hear; I remember it with clarity that I can't explain. And I think I half expect Claudia's laughter to follow me as I move through these rooms.

But she is not what is worrying me. What worries me, now, since Marius and Pandora mentioned it, is how Lestat will react to all of this.

I don't know him very well, not personally, though in the Talamasca I studied him ad nauseum. All I know of him is the moment I shared with him onstage at his concert, calling him a devil and pressing my hands onto him to verify that he existed. All I know of him is his union with Akasha, and his surprise that I sat at that table as a vampire, infused with Maharet's blood.

New Orleans always makes me think too much. And right now, I need a rest.

slide back down and close your eyes

a quick account [30 Jun 2004|11:48pm]
[ mood | contemplative ]

I've booked myself a flight to New Orleans. I leave tomorrow at 7. Shouldn't be a long flight; I'm in New York.

I wanted to write more about everything that's been going on before I get there, before I find those I have to talk to.

A vampire's city. Who called it that, again?

I've found some things that are precious to certain beings of my kind, things that the Talamasca would salivate over, only to neatly tag and box these treasures and lock them in vaults.

I don't think so. Not this time.

I reread our Chronicles before I travelled. In France, in the Auvergne, I found the ruins Lestat talked about, those ruins of his castle. I found it harder to get to that room at the top of the stairs than he did, but I managed it.

I found a mirror, remarkably unshattered. It was Gabrielle's-- as soon as I touched it, I knew. I packed it, incredibly carefully, in my backpack. Beautiful thing, really.

I went into Paris, and I looked for the old site of the Theatre des Vampyres. Not a trace. Nothing I couldn't find out from talking to Armand, or from reading old files and clippings. I was disappointed.

I found something else, something on Marius's old island, something I wish to keep hidden until I better understand what it means... As concrete and frightening as Claudia's journal and rosary, as tangible as her doll.

And in New Orleans I hope to find answers, among other things.

slide back down and close your eyes

Strange Attraction [29 Jun 2004|01:00am]
[ mood | working ]

I don't think I've been in one place long enough to think straight, not in years.

At Maharet's urging, after I went to see her in Rangoon, I took some time to travel. And learn. Always learning, aren't I? Always have to be obsessed with something.

I've been... God, I've been all over the globe in the last few years. I spent a good deal of time finding my roots... so odd that my human and vampiric life are intertwined like this.

I had to see the drawings Mekare made for myself. I had to see the walls of those caves in South America, the pictures of the red-haired twins.

I spent so many nights there, inside those dark corners, drawing by lantern-light, trying my hardest to reproduce what Mekare made so long ago, if only so that I might have some more understanding of her. I’d lose all track of time, totally abandoning myself to copying those drawings. I didn’t feed, although, thanks to Aunt Maharet, I never really need to.

It was more painful, this process, than I thought.

I thought about my experience in New Orleans, thought about it too much. David sent me to that old house believing I could do my job, and I suppose I did do it. I’d spent my life helping ghosts find rest. The addlebrained dead, that’s what Mael called them.

Sitting in that cave, I remembered every little detail. The ghost house of Stanford White. That article that had begun my life with the Talamasca, about the hauntings in Chelsea. Talking to Miriam as if she were living and breathing. Feeling the changes in the Royal Street townhouse, the oil lamps that appeared as if by magic. Mozart, played too fast. Lestat’s Mozart, skilled and demonically swift. A ringing phone. A little girl’s laughter.


And then the strange attraction had begun.

Now I'm more obsessed than ever. I'd fight my way into the London motherhouse if I could to get my hands on information I took for granted in life, thinking I'd always have another chance to see it, to feel things in my hands. Had I really had access to all of those things? To Marius's paintings, old daguerrotypes of Armand, old articles about the Theatre Des Vampyres, all of it? Had I really found Claudia's diary?

It feels like forever since all of this happened. But let me get back to what I was saying, what I've been up to.

I've gone in search of more information about us. About the vampires that remain. Things cast aside, maybe. All of those things David used to tell me about. What had he said?

They tend to be a rather materialistic lot, actually. And they leave behind them all sorts of refuse. It is not unknown for them to leave an entire household, complete with furnishings, clothing, and even coffins—very ornate and interesting coffins—when they tire of a particular location or identity...

Such a thirst to see for myself everything about which I've read. And now I have seen for myself. And touched for myself, touched every thread of this rich fabric.

I'm not so clear-headed right now. I tend to take in as much as possible and become overwhelmed. It seems nothing has changed that, not even the Dark Gift.

I'll have to come back to my laptop later, after I've made some sense out of all of this. I plan on writing about all of my travels, but in a more organized fashion than the spill of facts that's threatening to flood me right now.

slide back down and close your eyes

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