All language subtitles for Interview.with.the.Vampire.S03E03.Toronto.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DD.5.1.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

You are listening
to "The Failures,"

Album 22, Side A.

The vainglorious homogeny
of the Toronto skyline

is something to behold,

an onslaught
of impractical condominiums

dominated by a 147-floor
Waterpik.

Its banality is lost

on the polite citizenry
of Canada.

To them, it's iconic

and what
the friends and family

of Avery Olson
and Natalie Boekelheide

confirmed as a must-see

when the two planned
their honeymoon

and waited for Avery's
divorce to finalize.

Had they stayed within
the realities of their budget

and consummated their union
in their home province,

the marriage might have
lasted longer.

But love born
from a speed dating event

in Moose Jaw, "Sakasatchewan,"

merited an unhurried
commemoration.

Can I offer my assistance?

Oh, mercy.

Aren't you the angel?

Very kind of you, sir.
Thank you.

My pleasure.

I know these moments
last a lifetime.

Just make sure we're not
in the center-center

and that the tower isn't
coming out of his head.

Mm, the rule of thirds,
the golden mean...

And thus amenities

from the Radisson Blu
honeymoon package

went unused,
exchanged, as they were,

for a vampiric appointment
in Samarra.

Gabriella's divine
intervention had raised

my raptorial spirits,
and I channeled our kills

into prurient performances,
licking the underside

of Lake Erie in Cleveland
and Buffalo

before rounding the shaft
of Lake Ontario.

Lover.

Where are you?

Where are any of us, really?

- Is that him?
- Oh.

Give me that.

Hey, Justin Bieber,
I got 40 fucking people here

with their hands
up their asses.

Did you misplace something,
Dan?

I'm done chasing you,
Busta Coffin.

I saved your life.
You owe me.

Perhaps.

I do.

I do.

I do.

You'd be a head
mounted above a coven toilet

if it weren't for me.

Transformational trauma,
Daniel.

He's with Sofia again.

What do you know about her?

Mystery vagina
past its sell-by date.

And what do you mean,
"perhaps"?

You assume death
at decapitation.

A study done in Budapest
had two class B vampires

surviving separation
for nearly two hours.

A vampire of Lestat's breeding

could last
four to five times--

Czechstat has the herps.

Daniel Molloy,
delivered unto the world

April 16, 1953, into the arms
of his mother in a hospital,

I assume.

It's not something
vampires ask one another,

the details
of their mortal existence.

It's considered rude.

Nurtured or not nurtured,

nudged in San Francisco
towards a career

of distinction
and moderate fame.

- After the can, chief.
- Sorry.

Murdered and reborn
July 18, 2022,

by the gremlin Armand.

He led a brief,
incidental life as a vampire.

Incidental--
hmm, is that the right word?

He found me shallow.

I gave him every reason to.

I have regrets
when it comes to Dan.

Oh, sorry.

Yeah, uh, he's here.

Ciao.

Ahoj.

What's that on your lip,
Jarda?

OK, we're gonna be using
a new camera today.

It's called an Interrotron.

I'll be sitting here,
but you're gonna see

my face in the camera.

It'll be like
we're talking face-to-face.

It's 100 for me.

And we're shooting this
in color,

and we're gonna anchor it

to all the black and white
tour footage,

OK?
- Rolling!

So you were a stutterer
as a child.

Evening, Dan.

Happy to be here.

Could you state your name
for the camera, please?

I'm the Front Man Lestat.

The Vampire Lestat.

I'm immortal, more or less.

The light of the sun,
the sustained heat

of an intense fire,

Jefferson Starship,

garrote-wielding coven members,
these things might destroy me.

But then again,
they might not.

♪ I'm the little killer ♪

♪ I'm the lonely one ♪

♪ I'm the chill
creeping up your spine ♪

♪ Telling you to run ♪

♪ I'm a hanging shadow ♪

♪ I'm a lost love ♪

♪ I'm the past
and the future ♪

♪ The last of the sutures,
the cooing dove ♪

♪ We're the rock and rollers ♪

♪ We're the good time ♪

♪ We're the heart
pumping blood ♪

♪ We're the face in the mud ♪

♪ We're this stupid rhyme ♪

♪ Bang, bang
- ♪ Bang, bang

- ♪ Bang, bang
- ♪ Bang, bang ♪

♪ Bang, bang

♪ All fall down ♪

♪ Burn the ground ♪

♪ All fall down

♪ Burn the ♪

♪ Bang, bang
- ♪ Bang, bang ♪

- ♪ Bang, bang
- ♪ Bang, bang ♪

♪ Bang, bang, bang, bang,
bang, bang ♪

Ugh. Well, that was shit.

You've said this thing to me
a couple of times on the bus,

backstage,
that the songs are your story.

Must be important
if I repeat it.

Or it's a doorstop

because you don't want
to talk about yourself.

Mm.
Now, kick that door down, Dan.

I've bunkered down
with my cookies

and trauma long enough.

Exactly my thinking.

So let's run with this.

Let's dig into these songs
and see what we get.

Mm.

You have a song, "Long Face."

The lyrics are,

"Ooh, ooh, ooh, wah-ah.

Ooh, ooh, ooh, wah-ah."

What's the story behind that?

"Long Face" is an agreement

between myself
and the audience,

permission disguised as anthem.

"Oh, yeah, we're coming.

"Yeah, yeah, we're coming.

Oh, yeah, I'm coming."

"I'm an actor in my makeup.

I'll get fatter
if and when we break up."

Performative vampire,
and at the end,

they get the real thing.

"Black Licorice."

Structure and ritual.

Judged and drained,

thrilled and shamed,
left wanting more.

Well, that's great,
because the--the band thinks

that the song's about--

How the current culture
has misshapen the mortal mind

and how easy and unsatisfying

the bringing of death
has become.

You must have
experienced this, Dan.

The memories you take in
as you kill.

Life as a endless cache
of influencer videos,

Russian dash cams,
and shame-ridden pornography.

Or are we still pretending
that you're human?

So not about sucking dick?

Mm.
Performative journalist.

Were you a stutterer
as a child?

Oh, he--he doesn't like
that question.

Well, we can--
we can come back to it.

Um, let's talk about
what happened in Detroit...

- Christine.
- The other night.

Somebody get Christine!

Some vampires tried
to kill you, yeah?

Is it a question
if you merely put "yeah"...

- Christine, please?
- At the end of a sentence?

- Coming!
- Pretty weak bunch,

but they seemed organized,
which is different...

- Christine.
- What's wrong?

Than the other two attempts
on your life during this tour.

He's entrapping me.

Is this self-financed
vanity romp

your vampire wishful...
- The stuttering.

He promised he would not ask.

Spin on "hope I die
before I get old"?

Is my doc your eulogy?

Did you promise him?

I don't do promises.

I've had 40 shows
in 43 fucking nights.

Nobody gives a fuck
about what I was before.

No one cares.

No one seems to give a shit
about you now,

flatlining
at 1,000-capacity venues.

Let's take a walk.

You're confused
about the pursuit, Dan.

It is not about asses on seats

or streams on Pandora.

It is about pure expression!

Raphael's "Three Graces,"

Brancusi's "Bird in Space,"
Calvino's "Invisible"...

Ooh, ooh, ooh, wah-ah.

"Cities"!

It's embarrassing, the stutter.

- Stop the cameras.
- No.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

- No, no.
- Come, let them see.

Let them see.

I have had

40 shows

in 43 fucking nights!

No one cares!

I'm the Vampire
Louis de Pointe du Lac,

undone by your relentless
questionings, Mr. Molloy.

Hello.

I'm making a brief call
to share

an important message with you.

You got the wrong addr--

I'm looking for Killer.

Don't. Don't do that.

Just think it.

I'm a vampire, just like you.

Except I didn't disrespect
my face like you done.

What is that?

Is that Jar Jar Binks
dunking a basketball?

What--

where's Killer?

♪ Well, I've got
a little babe ♪

♪ With jewels upon her lip ♪

Vester?
You get another possum?

Vester?

♪ Well, I've got
a little babe ♪

♪ With jewels upon her lip

- What the fuck?
- I'm looking for Killer.

You're not Killer.

♪ Her hair's like a river,
it's fast and slowly drips ♪

Oh, hey, y'all.
Anybody seen Killer?

♪ How, how

♪ How, how ♪

Someone said
we got someone!

Hold still!

- Shit! Shit!
- Hey, you seen Killer?

How 'bout you?

♪ She bathes in thunder ♪

Hello! Killer?

♪ She walks the wind and has
a panther with silver fur ♪

♪ How, how ♪

♪ How, how

♪ How, how, how ♪

Out the door,
through the fields.

Keep straight five minutes.

There's a car, gray Dodge.

Don't look back.

Eight wolves by yourself.

Everyone always repeats
the number when I say it.

I had a pistol, a rifle,
a dagger, a mastiff.

The stuttering wolf killer.

Well, that was
the first name for our band.

"Hello, Fort Collins, we are
the Stuttering Wolf Killers.

Are you ready to r-r-rock?"

From the ages
of 9 to 29, you--

Stuttered. I stuttered, yes.

And every kill I have made
is a response.

My entire psyche is formed
from the deformity.

It's like being strapped down
in a dentist's chair,

opening your mouth wide,
only to have the dentist say,

"I'm not a dentist,"

as he lubes up
a thick rubber glove.

So you be gentle, Dan.

I think
he's just bored by you.

Try asking him about
the Great Conversion.

What happened at age nine?

Mm.

I was taken to see witches
being burned at a stake.

OK.

Tell me about that.

Marguerite Doree, Jean Bodin,

the twins
Marthe and Amiée Roulet.

Ceased their prayers and adored
the devil in ceremony,

said the torch-bearing priests.

You remember their names?

Teenage girls
with the resonant voices of men

screaming and thrashing
for hours

till their jawbones fell

and the devil could sing
no more.

And you were nine?

Mm.

That's what moms did with kids

before LEGO and Peppa Pig.

Looking back on it now,
they were definitely witches--

the twins, that is.

Marguerite and Jean,
probably caught

masturbating in a field
with a few sick oxen.

Two for four is not bad

considering it was
a priestly-led sentence.

And what happened at 29?

Hmm.

I heard music.

So you made it to Paris?

Eyes closed,
mouth distorted.

What struck my heart was
the way that his whole body

leaned into the music.

Had I the ear I have now,

I would have found it
pedestrian.

But I was an ape
from Auvergne,

and it sounded like
a god machine

played by an angel.

Ah, merde!

Take your squeaks elsewhere,
or next, I won't miss!

Well, it must be
Herr Mozart rising over all

that disturbs your peace,
Madame.

Kindly, piss off!

This is Nicky,
who you sing about

in your song,
"Why Do I Have to Feel?"

Nicolas de Lenfent,
my first love.

Tell me to piss off again.

I'm finished, Madame.
I have finished.

Nicolas de Lenfent.

Lestat de Lioncourt.

Uh, no. De Valois.

- Turned on your title?
- Hey, put that back!

Wearing pantaloons?

Trying to fit in.

In a wolf-lined cloak, eh?

Good luck with that.

What are you doing in Paris?

Eight wolves? Impossible.

Stacked the heads
in the square,

and the children play
"hide the heads" with them.

Sounds like our village.

It's my father's stitching.

Mm.

He gave it to me before I left.

And your address
on the Rue de Montmor--

- Montmorency.
- Yeah.

I haven't lived there
for six months.

My father's allowance
barely covers the cost

of my music instruction,

much less rent, food,
and the bribes

to keep me
out of the National Guard.

all: Liberty! Equality!
Fraternity!

Liberty! Equality! Fraternity!

Liberty, equality, fraternity.

all: Liberty! Equality!
Fraternity!

Pity is treason.

all: Liberty! Equality!

Long live the Republic!

You play beautifully.

I play like a tailor's son.

Did he say anything else,
my dad?

He said, um...

"Tell him I love him
and that I'm proud of him."

What did he really say?

He said, help him-m--

help him to be a man.

But he said it
without the stammer.

Hmm.

Are you gonna teach me
to be a man,

Lestat de Valois?

That goes
where you think it goes,

all the old tropes and trapes
of tortured and forbidden love,

blah, blah, blah,
bipolar boyfriend, blah, blah.

- Put it on.
- Fast forward.

Stop. Vape.

Check your phone.
Press play.

Oh, good.
Now he's a vampire.

But you're not a vampire.

You're the stuttering ape
of Auvergne.

Si mon tonton,
tond ton tonton,

ton tonton sera tondu.

Any Quebecers here?

Tongue twisters,
vocal exercises

repeated every day
for two years

while I washed the floors
and emptied chamber pots

at Renaud's theatre,
a job I got through Nicky,

who worked in the pit there,
so...

Go pull up the song for him,

that, uh, "Why Do I Have
to Feel?"

- Oh, I love that song.
- So the stuttering,

you just bullied it
out of yourself?

Yeah, Nicky got me the job
that cured my affliction.

It was a first love,
not a great love.

Thank you.

♪ Oh, I could sleep
for a hundred years ♪

Buried yourself
in the ground for a century

over a not-great love.

Only thing you carry
with you to New Orleans

is a music box reminder
of a not-great love.

I carried the box
because I destroyed him, Dan.

I carried the box to remind me
what I was capable of.

You perform a song--

Can someone do
something about this...

Quiet on set!

Uh, yeah, uh, quiet on set.

So you perform a song
every night by your abuser.

"Biggest Fan."

Abuser.

Go--go pull up the song
for him.

- Liberator. Emancipator.
- Uh-huh.

He says, "I want to give you
everything I've got.

I know you're stubborn,
but you have to ask for it."

Did Magnus ask your permission

before transforming you
into a vampire?

I see it as an unbroken chain
of similar songs in pop music.

Herman Hermits,
"Leaning on a Lamppost."

"Every Breath You Take"
by The Police.

I love that one.

Eminem's "Stan."

According to Louis,
"His name was Magnus.

"He took me
from my room in Paris

"as I kicked and screamed,

"locked me in a room
for a week with corpses.

They all looked like me."

I mean, does that even sound
like me, Dan?

"My coloring, my physique."

Where's the artful
turn of phrase?

Where's the assonance,
the euphony?

This is--
- "He fed on me for a week.

"I thought for sure
I'd become one of them,

but instead,
he turned me into this."

We'd love you
to walk away...

Louis was not there
when Magnus abducted me.

But he was there
in New Orleans

when you recounted it.

And I was not there in Dubai
to correct his faulty recall.

Yeah.

♪ You really caught my eye ♪

♪ I think you're something
special, babe ♪

♪ I want to take you
out tonight ♪

♪ I think we got
real potential, babe ♪

♪ I got a bottle of wine ♪

♪ And yeah, that's me
at your windowpane ♪

♪ We're gonna have
such a goddamn good time ♪

♪ I want to be
your crescendo, babe ♪

♪ Don't let me
catch you crying ♪

♪ Don't tell me
the spell is breaking ♪

♪ You're so perfect
in that raging light ♪

♪ I know I'm hard
to look at sometimes ♪

♪ But I'm here
for the taking ♪

♪ I want to give you
everything I got ♪

♪ I know you're stubborn,
but you have to ask for it ♪

♪ I can tell you
everything I'm not ♪

♪ Yeah, I'm a dog ♪

♪ And you're my brave
little wolf killer ♪

♪ Yeah, I'm a dog ♪

♪ And you're my brave
little wolf killer ♪

Mm.

I understood my maker.

If I had seen 19 straight
performances of my Lélio,

I would have abandoned
all decorum too.

Abandoned decorum?

He made you a monster

and killed himself
in front of you.

I was an actor
at a second-tier theatre,

squatting in a beheaded
nobleman's flat

with a severely depressed
lover...

Are you
still boring my beauty?

How was
the kielbasa at crafty?

And as for the suicide,
it gave me a lightness

that I would not have known
had he loitered

the centuries beside me.

I see the burden
written on your face, Dan,

when I say god
and you say monster.

Is it your absent
but very much alive father

walking around that gives you
this lowly idea of yourself,

son of Armand?

Who needs
another victim song?

Exactly.

Very rock and roll.

Still, it must have been hard
keeping that from Nicky.

Armand got that part right...

In my book.

He confronted you
on the street,

abducted Nicky,
fed him to his coven.

And yet, you hid
your vampirism from him, yeah?

Question mark.

Where am I?

You're safe.

You're in our room in Paris.

Why am I weak?

Delirium took you.

I've been your nursemaid.

You've been dull company.

And this?

Oh, a rash.

The patterning is typhoid,

or so the doctor
you slept through said.

Our favorite game--
you lie, and I believe you.

- I'm not lying.
- A month ago!

Gone out of the window,

as though
nothing unnatural happened.

He returns
wearing silk breeches.

I told you, it's a patron...

Lies on lies on lies.

Sudden vanishings!

Your changed eyes.

Oh, and your mother.

How is she alive?

I brought her
to Rocamadour...

- Her skin...
- For a cure.

The Black Madonna blessed her.
- Stretched over her bones!

Uh, your... what?

Your mother?

The Vampire Gabriella.

Blood on her lips!
More lies!

How?

What?

She followed me to Paris.

Her body was ready to die,
but her mind was not.

My first fledgling.

Louis must have told you.

- No.
- Hmm.

I thought it was discretion
that kept her out of your book.

Hmm.

My love was a small box
that I kept him in.

No room for the many hours
I talked of her, I guess.

And she--where is she now?

She's here right now.

Right here.

She died.

Vampire toddlerdom.

Always the hardest years,
as you know--

or don't know, Dan.

What do you think about
the Great Conversion?

Oh.

The vampire thing.

Vampires taking over the world, collaborating.

Hmm?

Fucking stupid.

Can you get out of my eyeline?

Yeah.

Three flights up.

Your bones would be pieces.

What are you?

What is she?

Verza stufata.

- Mother.
- Outside the theatre,

the ragged man
calling Wolf Killer,

blackened passages

and dog-toothed fiends
and wait--

Nicky, you are gibbering.

I want to know you
in this changed form!

- "Don't look to her."
- Don't look to her.

Roget has bought you
a house on the quay.

I have opened a bank account
in your name.

both: I could move to Auvergne
and sell cloth.

Don't buy me a house!

Mother, please!

Speaks my thoughts
before I speak them.

You gave this witchery to her.

She was an hour from death.

Finally admits it.

Do you want me to murder you?

I want you to love me enough
to give it to me!

You cannot do it.

You mustn't do it.

I've driven him mad.

And now I leave him
to this madness?

You have used up
your affection for him.

You know you have.

Don't bring him into eternity.

Disaster, my son.

His playing
has greatly improved.

I cannot hear the actors

over his improvements.

Well, I prefer his music
to Gustave's acting.

Well, you can return
to the role anytime you wish.

And have your cumbersome
words in my mouth again?

No, thank you.

Are there blood drinkers
in Italy?

Excuse me?

Are there covens
like this one

in Roma, Venezia, Salerno?

Does Nicolas know about us?

Us?

What is us?

Do you think
you're the only one

in the company he drinks from?

Do you think
I am the only one

with disdain for his fledgling?

Take him aside.

You're the actor manager.
Manage.

You are his maker.
Make him.

Is there an evil
older than you?

Your maker Marius--

My maker is dead.
I've told you that already.

Just checking.

I give and I give and I give

and I give and I give
and I give and I give and--

I give you
the Theatre of the Vampires,

the greatest spectacle
of the boulevard!

Huh.

He was dramatic as a mortal.

He'll find his way.

- No, he won't.
- I believe you.

I love you, Lestat.

Christ.

There's not
room enough in this box

for your desperation.

Has anyone seen
the letter opener?

You don't need
a letter opener, Nicky.

We don't get any letters.

We want to talk
about your recent work

in the theatre, Nicolas.

It's not in the chamber pot.

I left it there a week ago.

You don't like
my music, maître.

Well, it's not me.
It's my hands.

But I don't have
my letter opener.

I think the music...
- Sit down.

Will improve once I find
the letter opener.

We think
you should take some time

away from the theatre, Nicky.

Did you two decide this
in the wings, huh?

Or the box?

The Place Dauphine last Sunday?

The Hôtel de Ville

on the Feast of Assumption...
- Stop!

- And the night after?
- Stop! Stop! Look at me!

Look at me!
- The kitchen!

I left it here!
I left it here!

As I warned,
his mind is curdled.

Two years ago, I opened up
a letter from your mother.

"How dare you open up
my letter,"

he pouted and shouted.

I was trying to make
the opener happy.

I was trying
to give it purpose.

Here it is.

No!

Lestat,
can you cut the other?

I fear I won't be able to
with only one now.

Can you help him, please?

Are you Nicky's?

"No, no."
- Nicky, stop.

"Lost on the way
to St. Denis."

- Stop!
- "Could you point the way?

Thank you ever so much."

Stop, Nicky! No!

It's all a misunderstanding,
my love.

I wished to serve
the god of the dark wood

like the rest.

Forgive me.

My hands are much older
than the rest of me.

Forgive me.

Gabriella went to coffin,

leaving us and Armand.

I told Nicky
that I loved him...

From the first seconds
I saw him in Paris.

That I was drunk with his love.

I was engulfed by it.

Your maker would tell you
I was being kind, but...

In the moment,
the words were true.

I think.

I remember the light.

Fireplace reflecting golden

onto his face

and his bare arms.

But I would not look
at the wound.

I could not.

I, um...

I couldn't do it.

But I watched...

As Armand

pushed him into the fire

and made sure he stayed there

with a poker in his chest.

Nicky had a bemused look
on his face as he burned.

His mouth

formed into a...

a circle.

And he made only one sound.

As though he knew

that in death,

it was a nothingness.

I'm hungry.

I'm hungry!
- OK.

Can--can we get something
that--yeah, OK, we're cutting.

We tried booking
something called

the Ryan Center in Kingston,
Rhode Island, 8,000 seats.

I thought this deep in,
we'd be able to fill it.

We sold 2,500,
including a papering service.

Unlike your last vampire,
there are no delusions here.

Arduous. This tour.

My ego.

And still,
it's not what I hunt.

Never say
I didn't give you anything.

Keys.

Tomorrow's venue is staying
open so they can soundcheck.

Let Larry run it!

How was Czech me?

Like Karlovy Vary--
fun for three minutes,

then you're longing for Prague.

Prague is that way.

You can dig yourself
a hole in Cork

and be buried in a Matej
the night after.

- Provoked?
- Bored.

Ah, you'll run
fewer reds that way.

There's a shameful tiki bar
in Parkdale.

Rain check, Sofia.

Well, that took forever,
but...

Right?

All right, run it back,
uh, about,

I don't know, four minutes.

Been trying to crack
those cheeks for two months.

Vampires, they're--
we're just like you.

OK, let's see what we got here.

What the hell?

Go--go back
a few more minutes, please.

Stop.

Wait a--
what am I looking at here?

Did you go back far enough?

All right, let's--
let's keep going back.

Yeah, right about there. Stop.

Can you get
out of my eyeline?

Yeah.

What the--what the--

where's the part where he talks
about transforming Nicky?

They--what--

what, he just--he just--

just sat there
like a fucking blowup doll

and no one said anything?

Nothing?

You gotta be
fucking kidding me.

What is this?

No, yeah, it was
frickin' weirdsville.

Two of you just sat there
for, like, half an hour, eh?

He was crying
fucking blood tears.

Did no one see that?

A mean-spirited
telepathic prank,

a price paid
for amusing my muses.

It brought poor Dan
to his knees

and seeded a hate for me
inside him,

there to be watered
in the sunlight later.

But what can I say?

Serving cunt has
its consequences.

You are listening
to "The Failures,"

Album 28, Side B.

You gonna carry me
into the threshold?

- Yes, ma'am.
- Mm-hmm?

Hold on, now.

Come--come here.

Oh, I got you, baby.

You gonna make me
a mama tonight?

I don't think it works
like that for us no more,

but we can give it a try.

We're home!

Now, I told these fools
no shouting "surprise,"

but they're trying to get
back on my good side.

Come on, let's get you to bed.

What the dick?

The hell happened in here?

Shh, shh, shh.

Shh, shh, shh.

Surprise.

Congrats on the happy day.

I couldn't make it
to the ceremony.

I hope you don't mind
me inviting myself

to the honeymoon.

You make that mess upstairs, friend?

I did.

Where's the food?

I called 'em an Uber.

What the fuck
did you do to my husband?

"Armand told the truth"?

You wanna tell me what that is?

Oh, shit! Oh.

This is--OK.

This is about
that fucking Lestat shit?

OK, yeah, that--

that wasn't my fault.

Got these Gen Z fledglings,

these righteous fuckers
who thinks

we ought to be in the sewers
and shit.

- Shh.
- Used my Baby Jenks as bait.

Shut up, Bruce.

You call me Bruce?

'Cause my name is Killer.
- Bruce.

You and I have
a friend in common.

More wine?

Cold tea, they call it here,
I hear.

Mm, apples with a hint
of... cowardice.

Still in rags?

Is this better?

Hmm? Hmm?

Same face, same smell.

No hope for you, Father Mags.

Not exactly forthcoming

with the vampire journalist.

Left out a few prickly details.

Uh-oh.

You forgot to put
your blinkers on.

"Bruce walked back
from the fire,

"leaned down over me,

"and for a second, I thought
I was gonna go right there,

but no."

Louis de Pointe du Lac.

"He plunked me
onto his motorbike"...

Wow. Come to my house.

"And switched
into his friendly self."

The Lord's right hand
is lifted high.

The Lord's right hand is...

my strength and salvation!

Shouts of joy
and victory resound

from the tents
of the righteous.

The Lord's right hand
has done--

No.

The Lord's right hand
has done--

No more of that
in my presence!

I will live and proclaim
what the Lord has done.

I'll feed you
to the wolves of hell.

The Lord's right hand
has done mighty things!

Back inside!

You got your song.

"But when we got
to his house"...

I guess
my biggest question is...

"I'm trying to get
this down, dear diary"...

Why are you
tracking me down now?

"But my hands are dumb"...

I mean, we all read
your little page-turner.

"And it's all gone dumb
in my mind too."

Crossed out. New sentence.

You tipped over
the collywobble shelf

and took the cloth
off the long table.

We eat your soul
at the long table.

68 courses so far.

We keep waiting for the bill,
but the plates keep coming.

And we keep asking ourselves,

when's he going to make
an album?

When we are ready!

She entertains a lot
of little French folks

with her death.

I didn't do nothing
that bad to her, Daddy Lou.

"Guess I don't have
to tell you, dear diary,

"what it's like to have
a person crack your spine,

open you up, and shove a pencil
inside you."

Very odd company
at the long table.

A hand.

A finger.

A drummer.

No.

A pimp.

You.

Mommy.

Claudia.

"And I fought him,
even with my broken arm

"and then my rebroken arm.

"But even still,
all the bad things happened

"that bad men do.

"He had my legs pulled apart

"and my dress pulled up
'round my waist.

"And that awful, stuffed full,

"too wet feeling down there,

"like I was packed with dirt.

"And I hope one day,
he feels this,

"small and cornered

and crushed like a can."

"But then
there were the parts

"where he brought home kills,

and I sat with him and ate."

"I just said
what he wanted to hear."

Ask for it, child.

"And it ain't easy
to like myself 'cause of it."

All the light's gone
out of your blue eyes.

"I even once felt a twinge
of something nice."

As if all the summer days
are gone.

No.

"And not
the worst thing ever."

No!

No!

"He let me go
'cause I seemed small

"and it looked like he'd won.

"And he did win,

"'cause I want nothing,

"to be nothing

"and say nothing

"and do nothing.

"You know the stupidest of all,
dear diary?

"I thought I was the thing
lurking in the shadows.

I thought I was."

That's it.

I imagine you naked
in your gold, gilded bathtub

wondering why it didn't end
on the highway,

how I got onstage
the following night

to another
feverishly modest audience.

I couldn't pretend anymore

that we were
a Ticketmaster must-have

or that I wasn't having
a nervous breakdown

or that psychosis wasn't
the exhilarating,

horrifying byproduct
of romping and stomping

around the hippocampus.

But here's the thing.

I loved the music.

I loved it.

It was compelling me forward,
pulling me

through the perennial walls
of my psyche.

And I thought,
why not ride it to blindness?

'Cause it seemed possible
this was the muddy bottom,

and on the other side,

a marble floor
polished to the horizon.

Music,
in its purest expression,

would make me worse

and then make me better.

I love you, Lestat!

Bring on the muses.

♪ You can't fuck away ♪

♪ The loneliness

♪ It'll wait
till you're done ♪

♪ Till you come

♪ Like a vampire

♪ You can't drink away ♪

♪ The loneliness ♪

♪ It'll wait
till the next day ♪

♪ Like a headache ♪

♪ Sucking you dry ♪

♪ You can't escape ♪

♪ This loneliness ♪

♪ It'll say, what a mess

♪ How could anybody
ever love you? ♪

♪ Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah

♪ Don't hide it away ♪

♪ Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah ♪

♪ Don't bury
those feelings ♪

♪ Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah

♪ Don't worship that grave ♪

♪ Dug on your own ♪

♪ Don't burn alone ♪

♪ Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah

Safe?

Safe.

Nearly home.

You get what you wanted
out there?

Yeah.

Yeah.

♪ You can't scream away

♪ The loneliness

♪ It'll stay till the end

♪ It'll rage
with a vengeance ♪

♪ You can't love away ♪

♪ The loneliness ♪

♪ Love will fade ♪

♪ And you stay ♪

♪ And you stay ♪

♪ And you stay ♪

♪ And you stay
with resentment ♪

♪ You can't escape ♪

♪ This loneliness ♪

♪ It'll prey, it'll press

♪ How could anybody ♪

♪ Ever love you? ♪

♪ Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah

♪ Don't hide it away ♪

♪ Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah ♪

♪ Don't bury
those feelings ♪

♪ Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah ♪

♪ Don't worship that grave ♪

♪ Dug on your own ♪

♪ Don't burn alone ♪

♪ Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah

Hi.

You OK, or can I get you
anything else?

I'm good.
Thank you, Regina.

Is he fucking flying?

Perfection.

So they're out there
killing it every night.

And I'm following them,
you know, on my phone.

Refresh, refresh, refresh.

And they're blowing up.

You're gonna hear
about them soon,

if you haven't already.

But I'm stuck here

in Monroe, Ohio, of all places.

I mean, no offense.

And God, I just want to drink
and feel sorry for myself.

Yeah, thank you for giving me
another way through.

- Thank you.
- Thank you for sharing.

So who else wants
to share tonight, hmm?

Come on, guys.

I will.

I'll share.

Um, hello.

My name is Arun.

- Hi, Arun.
- Hello, Arun.

- Hi, Arun.
- Hi, Arun.

Hello, Arun.

And...

I am an addict.