The embarrassing truth is that Daniel doesn't want Armand to get bored. A frightful return of The B Word. Daniel is the one who has nothing in him but that black hole, who can offer nothing of himself (because there's nothing to offer) besides questions, poking, prodding. If he investigates and digs into Armand to find all the things he likes, all the niche interests and hobbies, preexisting and potential, then he can better trap his maker here for further observation and interaction. He can learn more, learn the most, before Armand gets tired of him.
Everyone does. Armand is going to. It'll look different, because Armand is who (and what) he is. Might take longer, too, with the way time doesn't hit the same for vampires, particularly not ancient ones whose fucked up makers lived at the same time as Actual Jesus Christ.
But it'll happen. So here are some cartoons, and here is a puzzle, and maybe Armand will stay past measuring him for a suit he'll never wear. Daniel isn't Louis, he isn't Lestat, he isn't beautiful or compelling, he isn't charming, he isn't actually very nice. There's no reason for Armand to stick around. Daniel has to figure something out.
A small chuckle. Mad scientist does suit him. What a freak.
"I did write a memoir," he points out. "Putting myself through the thing I put other people through, more or less."
Joke's on Armand. There's nothing to give to begin with. It's all there in the book, the one without mention of Louis or Armand in San Fransisco. Just stories, things that have happened to him, things he thinks about, false depth. But he's a good writer. It looks endless.
no subject
Everyone does. Armand is going to. It'll look different, because Armand is who (and what) he is. Might take longer, too, with the way time doesn't hit the same for vampires, particularly not ancient ones whose fucked up makers lived at the same time as Actual Jesus Christ.
But it'll happen. So here are some cartoons, and here is a puzzle, and maybe Armand will stay past measuring him for a suit he'll never wear. Daniel isn't Louis, he isn't Lestat, he isn't beautiful or compelling, he isn't charming, he isn't actually very nice. There's no reason for Armand to stick around. Daniel has to figure something out.
A small chuckle. Mad scientist does suit him. What a freak.
"I did write a memoir," he points out. "Putting myself through the thing I put other people through, more or less."
Joke's on Armand. There's nothing to give to begin with. It's all there in the book, the one without mention of Louis or Armand in San Fransisco. Just stories, things that have happened to him, things he thinks about, false depth. But he's a good writer. It looks endless.