Daniel isn't suicidal. He wants to live forever. He just understands it's unlikely, and thus, isn't willing to sacrifice the enjoyment of living life for the paranoia of prolonging it. Whatever happens, happens. I like my life. I have a thing in the city. He'll always like it, he'll always have a thing in the city.
(He'll always go back to the apartment with the potential serial killer offering him drugs.)
Armand touches his wrist. He thinks of his maker's fans there. It makes his pulse tick up, but it's gentle, happy. Pleased in a surprisingly innocent way to have him here, even while he's perfectly aware that he's volunteered himself to end up in a fucking iron maiden or whatever later. He smiles at him, and then has to turn his attention to the assistant manager who's just trying to do her job. A predicament Daniel sympathizes with, but not enough to shuffle this encounter away into nothingness.
"This is Armand," he says, "my assistant for the day."
And that's that. She does not immediately think It's some guy cosplaying as a book character, because Armand is a real name. ('Lestat' would have been a red flag.) Not yet, anyway. Those coming to get their books signed might start to notice, particularly if they do anything besides sit stoically beside each other.
Not much of a chat, today, it's not that kind of event, though he may entertain some questions from individual signature-seekers, some of which are beginning to mill around now that they aren't being psychically herded elsewhere.
no subject
(He'll always go back to the apartment with the potential serial killer offering him drugs.)
Armand touches his wrist. He thinks of his maker's fans there. It makes his pulse tick up, but it's gentle, happy. Pleased in a surprisingly innocent way to have him here, even while he's perfectly aware that he's volunteered himself to end up in a fucking iron maiden or whatever later. He smiles at him, and then has to turn his attention to the assistant manager who's just trying to do her job. A predicament Daniel sympathizes with, but not enough to shuffle this encounter away into nothingness.
"This is Armand," he says, "my assistant for the day."
And that's that. She does not immediately think It's some guy cosplaying as a book character, because Armand is a real name. ('Lestat' would have been a red flag.) Not yet, anyway. Those coming to get their books signed might start to notice, particularly if they do anything besides sit stoically beside each other.
Not much of a chat, today, it's not that kind of event, though he may entertain some questions from individual signature-seekers, some of which are beginning to mill around now that they aren't being psychically herded elsewhere.