You go ahead. Have your fun.
Be my companion.
If you're going to beat Lestat..
This is not a life!
You took my life!
... you have to think like he does
and then five moves ahead of that.
She is poisoning Louis against me.
Kill Antoinette.
We're his slaves, and I shall free us both.
You have won.
You want to kill him, too.
Finish the game!
We were going to kill Lestat.
- Synced and corrected by Firefly - - www.addic7ed.com -
_
So...
question.
Can an immortal meet mortality?
Technically, yes.
How?
Several ways.
Starvation.
Deny the body the blood.
Conversely, drink the blood of the dead.
He told me as much my first night reborn.
Then, there's fire.
Consume the body with fire and it can house no spirit.
Decapitation.
He confided that to me one blood-drunken night
in Baton Rouge.
Theoretically, it can be done.
But could it be done by us to him?
Could the children murder the father?
He was stronger than us, quicker than us,
in possession of ancient powers
that had been passed on to his progeny
only in a diminished form.
Add to the toxic air a new ever-present paranoia,
and now, you are with us.
We were compelled to sleep
in the same chamber together again.
He would have it no other way.
We would spend our hours enduring,
with little pretense of getting along,
locked together in hatred.
He would have it no other way.
Our only opportunity to plot would be telepathically.
And Claudia, for reasons she would not yet divulge,
used our advantage sparingly.
Knowledge is the ocean's edge.
I mean, to think it could somehow be gathered
by a mere 20 volumes.
But make no mistake, Claudia was plotting,
quiet in her deer blind.
A relic before it's even gone to the print shop.
Aww...
There's three of us you must provide for tonight.
I've had my fill.
Louis's never honored the blood as he should.
Blame the teacher, not the student.
Lestat de Lioncourt.
179 years in the Savage Garden.
148 years the blood-drinker, the bringer of death...
... the deer come up the trail.
Another approaches.
It's you.
Oh!
Are you the new postman?
I'm sorry. I'm sorry!
Come to deliver letters of salvation?
I did... I did not mean to disturb.
This is a private house, and we find it disturbing
when things are abandoned on our doorstep.
You misunderstand.
I-I'm an admirer. I-I've come seeking help.
Hmm.
Well, you came to the wrong house.
They say that Satan lives in this house.
But I say it different.
I say angels... angels live at 1132.
Does anyone know you came here?
No. No one, I swear.
I-I live alone, over on Ursuline.
I'm your neighbor.
Well, send Saint Peter our regards.
"Dear sirs and madam..."
Cancer of the blood.
"What is your secret? Can it be shared?
I have the means to pay you. I'm dyin'.
The medications aren't taking and my..."
Enough!
Two in one night.
Dolls, Bibles, letters become torches and pitchforks.
We have to leave this place.
We have to leave New Orleans.
Clean up the mess and come to coffin.
We have plans to make.
There were plans to make,
but the architect of those plans was...
Claudia. Right.
Cold, calculating, on mission.
I-I interrupted.
Uh... S-Sorry.
I-I got caught up in it.
You were saying?
You already have your plan, don't you?
I have a plan, and it's gonna take both of us.
Maybe start by telling me the plan?
You share a coffin with him.
I don't talk in my sleep.
You share a heart with him.
I can cut it off.
No, Louis. You can't.
You spend an hour alone with him
and you're breathing in sync together.
The plan only works if he's distracted.
I can pretend.
I used to see this woman, Lily, just to keep appearances.
- I can... - He'll know.
It'll only work if you give in.
Give him all your heart, and I'll do the rest.
I can't do that.
I'll lose myself in him.
Leave a little shelf inside there for me.
I'll jump back in and pull you out before I kill him.
Can you do that for us, Louis?
Louis?
Yeah, I can do it.
It's best to travel light, I think.
Reduce our valuables to a few trunks each.
What about Greece?
Cradle of Western Civilization.
Sun worshipers, hot springs.
Those who must be kept.
What was that?
Nothing.
Uh, if I know Italians, they'll be in Santorini
with their guns out by the end of the year.
No, we must follow the geese to Buenos Aires.
Bach. Always back to Bach.
Bach is beyond you.
Yes, the music of the master race is...
not made for these mongrel ears.
You irritate me. Your very presence irritates me.
I came to make peace with you, Uncle Les.
Mm.
Sister, daughter, infant death, you must think me an idiot.
Could you two please just...
_
Hmm.
I've a present for you, Lestat.
- An idea. - Hmm.
An idea of yours?
It must be a small gift, then.
A weak man slips a letter under his door,
and the glorious vampire Lestat
runs like a rat to his hole.
It's not fear, but wisdom that guides our departure.
It's heroic that we've lasted as long as we have.
Agreed, but...
shouldn't we leave on our own terms?
Shouldn't we mock the city like we mock our victims?
You have something in mind, obviously.
Do nothing different,
settle our affairs, prepare to leave,
but on our last night, throw a party.
We're pariahs, sister.
No one's comin' to a party thrown by freaks.
Precisely.
It's in the dying man's letter.
They want to know our secret.
They think we've got the fountain of youth in here.
They don't know they're the fountain.
An amusing...
but needful idea.
I guess you're right.
It was just a thought.
The page, Louis. The page.
In the five years since Adolf Hitler took command
over a people reduced to despair
by World War defeat and its aftermath...
They may be nasty little beasts,
but they do have excellent tailoring.
Well-dressed tyrants.
- Where have I seen that before? - Hmm...
Well, this idea of yours,
what kind of a party did you imagine?
A ball.
A lavish, decadent ball.
- To what end? - Shh!
We invite the most beautiful, the most gluttonous,
seduce a choice few for a feast to remember.
Hmm.
Shh!
Buenos Aires, as fast as we can.
... and its demigod, Adolf Hitler.
Happy New Year!
Keep pushing this party, he's gonna be on to you.
I want him suspicious.
I welcome it.
You're gonna try to kill him at this party?
There's no "trying".
Mardi Gras is early this year.
February 6th.
Say it's ridiculous.
That's not how it works.
They plan Mardi Gras balls a year out,
sometimes years in advance.
Everyone in costume, everyone drinking,
chaos in the streets for an easy escape.
It's not worth the risk.
Told you.
Although, if we starved ourselves for a night
or several nights prior...
... the hunger would be transcendent.
A meal fit for a king.
It's over! I'm through with you!
Come on, baby!
Come here.
- Whoo! - Fine!
You want the mister or the missus?
For a king.
We're gettin' out, Tom.
Out of New Orleans?
But you just got here.
Uh, seeing as it's been 17 years since we've spoken,
what makes you think I give a corn-peppered shit?
We'd like to engage your services, Mr. Anderson.
We wanna throw a Mardi Gras ball.
Pay our respects to society before moving on.
Hmm.
Mm. Where to start?
Uh, one, I'm not in the party-planning business.
Two, it's January.
You're a little bit behind the gun.
And three...
This is me and your two-tone daddies circa 1910.
But can you tell me, little girl,
what's wrong with this picture?
You didn't have that funny X on your face back then.
Hmm.
I mean, this is all good and...
sufficiently creepy.
What do you want?
I want...
to be Raj.
King of Mardi Gras.
Him?
We know you're on the committee.
The Committee of Raj is a secret and sacred group of citizens...
... bound by honor and tradition.
Get us a price, get back to us.
These things are planned years in advance.
Louis, you're a native.
You've expanded your export business,
shipping coffins from port back to Europe?
Shipping and manufacturing.
Double dip.
Good margin, product in high demand.
You lost one of your ships recently.
Took a torpedo in the rear from one of the Fritz's U-boats.
Would you like a new one?
Wait, just one question before I attempt
your no doubt humiliating and reputation-destroying ask.
Where do you meet the Devil,
and what are the terms of the agreement?
The Krewe of Raj had been three years
- _ - in planning their Mardi Gras theme,
and they abandoned it within a week
once the Parisian law firm of Roget and Albert
had transatlantically wired their bribes.
From the Marais to the Mississippi,
money flooded the town.
Unavailable vendors became available.
And the gossip that followed broke through the levees.
The weird brothers and their doll-like sister
were coming out.
And the paper ticket to the event
was a brick of gold for the insatiably curious.
I've chartered us a plane to Havana.
Three cabins on the SS Dundee from Havana to Rio,
and two sleeper cars from Rio to La Reina del Plata.
We'll sell what we no longer want to Max Simon,
and we'll leave the rest to the auction house.
We'll need trunks that'll fit our coffins.
Make sure they have locks that...
Locks that trigger from the inside.
It was a masterful month of preparation.
You aimed at the navel, seduced the seducer.
_
By the time we began our fasting,
Lestat would have told you the entire endeavor
had been his idea to begin with.
When is it?
Yeah.
Yes.
We'll go without the blood for three nights preceding the ball.
At the ball, Louis and I will be following your leering eye.
Maybe pluck one or two for ourselves.
We'll ask them if they wanna be young forever.
And if they say yes, we'll pin them with one of these.
Hmm. Amaranth.
Perfection.
We'll invite them to our home,
we will lock the doors, shutter the windows, and...
And let the flesh instruct the mind.
Let the flesh instruct the mind.
So, fire? Behead the bastard?
She wouldn't tell me at the time,
as I was slipping back into old feelings,
as she said I would.
Laudanum and arsenic.
But I would know soon enough.
Thank you.
Poison the bait was the game.
Make it appear as if the flesh was drunk
when, in fact, his victim's veins were swollen
with a paralyzing brew of laudanum and arsenic.
Claudia could taste her freedom,
suffered the hunger with a cold joy,
matched only by the sun-hot ego of the vampire king.
And here comes the Krewe of Raj! Hail the Krewe of Raj!
All hail to the Realm of Raj!
Is that a baby?
The ball that followed was an assault of the senses,
an extravagant waste of money.
And while Lestat's poor taste on the float
drove away most every member of the Raj Committee,
there was plenty of bait to choose from.
The blood was everywhere.
The veins and arteries of a few hundred hearts
ringing out like air raid sirens,
drowning out the rhythm section of the hired band.
I followed Claudia's lead as best I could,
scouting the rooms for varietals of death.
Would you like to know the secret of immortality?
Well, of course, my dear.
Who wouldn't?
Good seeing you out of uniform, Chief Bardin.
- I think you've mistaken me... - Pardon me.
I saw your mask in the bathroom.
I won't deny, won't confirm.
You are a man who appreciates power.
Tell me more, Mr. du Lac.
You have been missed
in the Lower Garden, Mr. Lioncourt.
We heard you'd been ill all these years.
Pardon me, madams, is there a history between us?
Uh, the Women's Opera Society.
Prytania Street?
Well, it has been over a decade.
Of course. Yes.
You don't appear ill.
Rumors, envy.
Oh.
Now, which one of you did I pull under the stairs
during that dull lecture on Don Giovanni?
That would be me.
And that was my late husband giving the lecture.
And did he talk himself to death?
Oh.
Your Majesty, I'd like to introduce you
to the MacPhail brothers, Matthew and his brother Mark.
Well...
And where are Luke and John?
Is there rosemary in your garden?
Uh, yeah... just below the porch.
Our mother planted a whole bushel this past summer.
Did she?
The king finds himself suddenly famished.
Would you excuse me?
A cascade of feelings came over me
as I watched him sponge up the adoration.
I wanted him dead.
I wanted him all to myself.
The fasting was a mistake.
I wasn't thinking clearly.
Something was off.
You miserable dog.
What about a dog?
What dog?
You just said something about a dog.
I said no such thing.
I see you, Louis du Lac.
There's another one.
You're just hungry, Louis.
You heard what I said just now, didn't you?
It's the dome.
The architect that built this place made the US Capitol.
Mm-hmm.
He made it so you could hear the sniping
and whatnot across the way.
Calls it a "whispering gallery".
Course...
how you heard me over the band... pfft!
It's got to be one of those tricks
that you and your fag pederast satanic trio
got in your pocket.
It's a hell of a party!
Do you know the secret to immortality?
Never get married.
That's a good joke.
And now that you have your boat...
... don't you want more?
The king's hair has betrayed the king.
Hmm.
Was that a witticism from the Duke of Gloom himself?
Hunger's got me light-headed.
I'm going to miss this place.
There's not an inch of this city that wasn't built
from the fierce wilderness that surrounds it.
Hurricanes, floods, fevers.
The damp climate on every painted sign,
every stone facade.
High windows,
through which enameled bits of civilization glitter.
Silhouettes emerging, wandering out to catch
a silent flash of lightning.
The silky warmth of summer rain.
Desperately alive...
... and desperately fragile.
The hunger has me too, it seems.
The boutonnieres have all been given out.
We're ready when you are.
A last dance before the feast.
I'd like that.
I'd like that very much.
So much would be written about that grim night in New Orleans,
but not a single mention of our last hour at Latrobe's,
as if the only crime unfit to print
took place on that dance floor.
It was my sole duty to distract Lestat,
but in his mirrored eyes,
the distraction reflected back onto me.
And in the dead center of the whispering gallery,
I lost the thread to my plotting
and fell once more into the well with no bottom.
I was his, and he was mine.
May I finish this dance?
If he'll have you, sister.
We shouldn't do this.
Too late. I've done it already.
When? Who?
Just now. One of the twins.
He'll be dead on his feet in an hour.
- Ah! - Wake up!
In the 14th century,
in the third arrondissement of Paris,
on the Rue de Montmorency, there lived a seller of books,
who found, in an otherwise regretful purchase
at a private library, a twenty-page manuscript
written in a text he could not decipher.
So, he traveled to Spain to have it translated.
And on his way...
... he met a Jewish converso who told him
he was in possession of the Book of Abramelin the Mage.
We're all pretty drunk here, Lestat.
The bookseller dedicated the rest of his life
to reproducing the alchemy within that book,
and one in particular sits before you all now.
That's what's in the punch bowl?
Amrit Ras, Chasma-i-Kausar,
the Philosopher's Stone,
the elixir of life.
I drank it as a young man...
... and I recently passed its powers to my friends here.
Claudia, born 1903.
I drank the water in 1917.
I'm 36 years old.
Louis de Pointe Du Lac, born in 1878.
I drank of the water in 1910.
I am 61 years old now.
Lestat de Lioncourt, born 1760.
I drank the waters in 1794.
180 years old...
this coming November.
Give me that ladle!
- Pfft! - Ah!
The bucket's got a hole in it.
It's empty!
Not for long, Tom.
No, stay back!
Let's go! Let's go!
It's locked!
We gotta go!
- Go to the stairs! - No!
Please... I don't wanna die.
- No, no, no! - Get up! Get up! Get up!
No, no, no, no, no!
Help! Someone help!
No. You don't have to do this. Please, don't do this.
- Shh, shh, shh. - You don't have to... No, please.
No, no, no, no, no! No, get up!
Oh, dear.
You broke up the pair.
I know you wanted them both, but Louis couldn't resist.
I'm sorry, my love.
I saved one of 'em for you.
Huh.
Did you?
How generous of you.
Mm.
Ah.
Quite drunk, this one.
Rosemary...
... and something else.
What is it, my love?
I-I think it's the gin.
I wasn't talking to you.
Laudanum.
Arsenic.
She was at the ball tonight.
Like one of those girls on the telephone switchboard...
... eavesdropping in on things that she shouldn't.
"Too late. I've done it already".
"When? Who?"
"Just now. One of the twins.
He'll be dead on his feet in an hour".
She should never have been made, Louis.
Look what she did to us.
She's corrupted everything.
Antoinette will be much more agreeable to our life together.
Lestat...
... you must think me an idiot.
"She was at the ball tonight".
Not just the ball.
Laudanum and arsenic.
You're gonna try to kill him at this party?
There's no "trying".
I have a plan, and it's gonna take both of us.
The train's leavin' in an hour.
Get off that bench.
You shoulda let that train go, Uncle Les.
How? Who?
He who called you...
- "him". - Him?
Always the petty slights with you, Uncle Les.
Have your goodbye.
Louis.
Louis!
Louis.
We are joined by a cord, by a cord that you cannot see,
but it is real.
It is real.
I have loved you...
... with all myself.
I'm happy it was you...
here with me...
À la fin...
The blood poured out of him
as it might never pour from a human being...
... all the blood he had filled himself with.
He lay now on his back,
his eyes staring wildly at the ceiling,
the irises dancing from side to side.
"Mets-moi dans mon cercueil, Louis, Louis".
"Put me in my coffin, Louis, Louis".
His irises rolled to the top of his head.
The whites of his eyes went dim.
This horror that had been Lestat...
... I stared helplessly at it.
The thing lay still.
There was no point in lingering.
The house on Rue Royale would soon become the focus
of all too many questions.
For the very last time in New Orleans,
we followed our training
and cleaned up the evidence of our most elaborate kill.
Well, almost.
We need to burn him.
I've killed so many, j-just...
no one I...
I don't know if I can.
Just load him in...
like he's one of them.
It was as if we'd expected Lestat to disappear
in a puff of smoke, or get sucked back into hell.
So, what did you do with it?
We wrapped him in a carpet.
We threw him in a trunk,
and left him out with the garbage.
We got in our car and drove away,
headed straight for the port.
The boat for Havana?
Another boat.
A merchant vessel,
newly christened and headed for Europe.
The boat you bought Anderson,
a shipload of coffins for cargo.
Plenty of cover for a couple of stowaways,
ready to begin the adventure of our lives.
Well...
isn't that neat and tidy?
There was a ship. We did get on it.
Yeah, I read that, the first 50 pages.
Not exactly the, uh,
adventure-of-our-lives feeling I'm feeling.
It was a traumatic escape.
Yeah, but she didn't say that explicitly.
I mean, maybe in some of the pages that got torn out.
Well, not torn out, exactly.
More like with a ruler.
But, um... there's a feeling
that she hated your guts there for a while.
Why is that?
I was haunted by my brother's death,
by the abandonment of my sister,
by the murder of Lestat, I...
Murder? What murder?
It was an act of mercy.
You didn't kill Lestat.
You spared him, out of some fucked-up idea
you had about love.
Love?
I bled him like a pig and waited for the death rattle.
You were shot point-blank by an alderman.
You were dropped a thousand feet and survived.
You torched Antoinette just to make sure.
Where does the trash go, Louis?
You take the trash down to the street
and some guys show up in a truck
and they throw it in the back,
and then, they drive it
out to the middle of nowhere, right?
No.
They take the trash to the dump.
And having lived two blocks away from the dump
just outside of Fishkill, New York, with my first wife,
I can state, with authority, what else you'll find there.
Rats.
Big fuckin' rats, the size of Kevin Durant's sneakers.
Enough blood in them to bring back the dead.
Especially one in a trunk with locks on the inside.
You knew it, Louis.
You had to.
The biggest rat-eater of them all.
This session is over.
How many days in the Islamic year?
How many names are there for Allah?
355, and 99.
Why does a 200-pound bouncer pass out after he sucks him off,
and you, a wet T-shirt away from 130, doesn't even blink?
I couldn't burn him.
But Claudia could.
No, she couldn't.
She stuck a pen in his neck.
She recorded his last words in his own blood.
The girl did not have a fuckin' problem
tossing him on the grill, okay?
- The sun's comin' up. - No.
- We have to burn him. - No.
It's the only way we'll know!
No!
I said no!
Was it raining, Louis?
She couldn't burn him.
You cursed her into the darkness.
You chose Lestat over her, time and time again.
You don't need a memoir, Louis.
You need a hundred sessions of EMDR.
You know, the shit they put soldiers through
when they see one of their platoon buddies
get blown up in front of them?
You've only heard half the story.
Stop.
144 years of life,
and you're still Louis the Pimp,
paying a whore to sit in a room and talk with you.
'Cause why? You got some story
you wanna tell the whole world about yourself?
When you hear it, you'll be ashamed,
ashamed of what you say to him now.
Please stop, Rashid.
Ten million dollars. That's my whore number.
Career's been over for years.
Legacy?
That's for board members and assholes in loafers.
My daughters aren't even speaking to me anymore,
so at least I can leave them some cash.
But an honest reckoning? No.
This is the same shit that happened in San Francisco.
Not exactly.
How is it any different, Louis?
This time, I won't save your life.
Louis can sometimes act out.
I protect him from himself, always have.
Stopped him that night in San Francisco.
You were there.
You don't remember, do you?
No, I don't remember.
What was that you said about memory?
"A monster", was it?
But I saw you standing in the sun.
As we age, the sun loses its power over us.
What's a mediocre star to a 514-year-old vampire?
_
Daniel Malloy...
... I'd like you to meet
the vampire Armand.
The love of my life.
_
- Synced and corrected by Firefly - - www.addic7ed.com -
If you are really quick it can be done,
but could it be done by us to him?
Could the children murder their father?
Episode 7, "The Thing Lay Still".
We were promised the death of Lestat,
and so we must kill Lestat.
Slowly, Claudia makes a pitch.
I have a plan, and it's gonna take both of us.
And she has to take the lead because Louis
is too close to Lestat and at this point too weak.
The plan only works if he's distracted.
She does what any good plotter does.
She makes it ultimately turn out to make Lestat think
that it's his idea.
If we starved ourselves for a night or several nights prior,
the hunger would be transcendent.
A meal fit for a king.
To get Lestat at his most egoistical
and his most blinded, yes, maybe then
I will buy this idea to lets go out with a bang.
Let's not be these hiding, shrieking vampires.
Let's leave rooms full of bodies and get on out
on the last train.
But Louis, you got to open your heart back up to him.
That is the thing that will blind Lestat more than anything.
A last dance before the feast.
It is the swooning heights of the uber romanticism
of ours is this dance in front of everybody and this kiss.
Lestat cannot help himself.
He's so in love with Louis.
But in the middle of the party,
we are picking our victims out.
We're gonna have the great feast
of our life, so it can't just be one victim.
It's gonna be like one of these horrible tasting menus
where we're just gonna gather up all these people
that know we have the fountain of youth
and come back to our after party.
Would you like to know the secret of immortality?
Well, of course, my dear. Who wouldn't?
There they are, but they are there only as the grand plan,
get Lestat looking this way and now we have
a little bit of fun.
Give me that ladle.
It's empty.
Not for long, Tom.
Most of them are sort of the ugly ones
that we have seen throughout the show,
but then, look at the twins.
We all know the books.
Go to the twins, go to the twins.
You broke up the pair.
I know you wanted them both, but Louis couldn't resist.
I'm sorry, my love.
And then there's this mysterious man in the tuxedo.
What is that all about? Very strange little detail there.
And, you know, you guys are all savvy.
You know something's not right here.
I can't be that easy, until you had that reverse line.
I've always known Antoinette was out there.
So, if you played everybody's sort of arcs,
no one quite knew everything.
How? Who?
Claudia knew that eventually
if we put Tom Anderson in there, make him drink
poison blood, he would go after Tom Anderson.
He who called you him.
Him?
They don't quite know totally how to kill a vampire,
but they think that'll do the job.
Always the petty sights with you, Uncle Les.
Back to Dubai, Molloy starts asking questions
and some very probing questions.
What actually did happen that night?
So, what did you do with it?
It's very, very simple.
What you're supposed to do is you're supposed
to clean up your dead.
You're supposed to put the vampire
in the incinerator.
Why didn't you do it?
There's a feeling that she hated
your guts there for a while. Why is that?
The girl did not have a fucking problem
tossing him on the grill, okay?
- The sun's coming up. - No.
- We have to burn him. - No.
It's the only way we'll know.
No!
I said no!
And I think Louis is remembering that
for the first time in a long time.
- You've only heard half the story. - Stop.
This is the same shit that happened in San Francisco.
It forces the vampire Armand to jump in.
This time I won't save your life.
Louis can sometimes act out.
I protect him from himself.
It's not, I think, just to protect Louis
from maybe going ape shit and killing Molloy.
I think there is a story that has been told to Louis
that Louis has told to himself that maybe
Armand has told to him, too.
For those people who have ever read the book,
this is a major player out there, folks.
This is the leader of a coven of vampires
and one who is very, very powerful.
So, yeah, that last line, we were sort of looking for
like the ending to the graduate, this sort of very
unsettling wait, what?
I'd like you to meet...
the vampire Armand.
The love of my life.
And I think it really sets us up for
a very provocative season 2.