"Rashid," Armand answers easily. Saying 'Armand' this time could be amusing, maybe with time to settle. This book has his name on too many minds and lips, too many opinions when he's been dead to the living world for centuries. The horror of being perceived even in shallow, stunted ways, etc etc.
He shouldn't be here. Daniel is a damning creature already, tempting him with games, the lure of the chase. Tempting his curiosity, a weakness and strength both. He leans unabashedly to read the message, a slow blink as he processes it.
Juvenile. He isn't sure if this cartoon movie reference is meant to be a pointed insult of some personal sort. Trite, ridiculous from a writer of Daniel's caliber, and the last line his eyes linger on. It should be ineffective, yet when he pulls the book to himself he runs his finger over the last line. Stupid, stupid boy.
So, probably not particularly shocking when he turns and leaves without saying a word. Some real spooked cat behavior, ignoring the few pointed thoughts of rude for how he slips away without even a thank you. Of course then the next book signing follows the day after, all set up for another long stretch of Armand shaped silence as he copes through petulant avoidance and centuries wary skewed perception of time. Instead he's sitting at the table Daniel's meant to be signing at, any employee who walks over suddenly turning around as if remembering something else.
Ramones t-shirt and worn jeans this time, boots and loose curls around his face with no contacts this time. Most might think ah, there's no higher purpose to these choices, but the costume choice of a former theater director is never pointless. So, symbolic, overblown lack of contacts and a reflection of Daniel's old aesthetic. What could this mind game possibly mean.
Does it have to be an insult? Can't he just think of a weird cat movie? Or are they not allowed to joke about sexual abuse. Maybe not. There's quite a lot of it between them. When weighted, Armand wins the misery prize by a longshot, though Daniel's is in comparatively recent memory. He could make a funny story out of his worst experiences, probably. The kind of funny story only people who have brutally compartmentalized themselves can tell.
But still funny, he'd say. (Because it was him.)
He said he wasn't going to follow Armand again. Does Armand believe him? Does Armand know that Daniel is definitely lying? It's only the sense he's developed, this ability to know his maker is nearby, that keeps him from cancelling the next day.
A pause, as he comes in. Messenger bag over his shoulder, phone in hand, answering texts to his assistant, ignoring texts from Raglan. A vampire. A costume. For a brief insane moment he wonders if Armand stole the shirt from his own closet— but when would he have time? He looks at him, stopped there two yards away, and does not wonder what this mind game means. He doesn't think it's a game. He thinks it's Armand silently asking him if he's doing it right this time. Even if Armand doesn't know what's what it is.
Daniel puts his phone in his bag, and moves to the table. Walks behind it as he sets his bag down, takes a few steps towards the 'young man' sitting there, until he's close enough to touch his shoulder, which he does. And then he bends and kisses the top of his head.
In truth he didn't find the comment offensive, even if he dissected the intended meaning and settled on insult being a high contender. Even as an insult it's rather refreshing in a fucked up, masochistic sort of way. No kid gloves, none of Louis' coddling modern Catholic guilt mournfulness then turned knife sharp and vicious under the right influence. Almost funny, especially given he finds and watches the movie that night.
Not that he'll admit it, yet. No, that throw away line isn't what captures his attention anyway. The last line he's fixated on to an absurd and likely pointless degree. It's why he's here now, in a way, regarding Daniel with a tilt of the head and, for once, all eyes averted from them by force. No quirky little mental comments about their age, their behavior, just them ignored in a bustling little book shop.
It's easier to imagine it all as a game, watching Daniel approach, the pause as he registers Armand at all. A game until Daniel comes over and kisses the top of his head in way that leaves Armand speechless for a moment. Casual, natural affection that is surely mockery, followed by no mockery at all. It makes Armand want to pin him to the table and drain him again only to feed him everything Armand is right back. It makes him want to make Daniel crawl for his blood, the red line of it between them like an unbreakable, blasphemous connection.
He stares up at Daniel with big, wide eyes for a stunned moment, even if the thrum of their bond could only be called ravenously possessive. "You were nearly late. Half the staff believe your insistence on night signings is absurd pageantry."
No lenses. Daniel likes it. Armand is beautiful, yes, but there's always something unsettling about him; better this way, when it's obvious. He rubs affectionate circles into his shoulder where his hand still rests, finding himself drawn to contact, pulled by that undercurrent of hungry attachment he can feel from the elder vampire.
Yes. Good. An animal part of himself curls around that feeling, the thread that connects them. The only unbreakable thing he's ever had in his life.
(Maybe they can do that later. The blood thing.)
"Yeah, my Uber got stuck behind a Tesla that gave up because it couldn't tell that an empty coffee cup wasn't a traffic light."
What a fascinating modern world they live in, huh? Daniel ends up sitting down next to Armand, and he can't help the contented feeling he radiates. It's nice to see you again. It was. It is. Daniel wants to hang out with him, annoy the shit out of him, dissect his freak brain, get smothered by boa constrictor cuddling in the afternoons.
Armand's eyes light up a little at that description- yes, a fascinating modern world, and he's always had a bit of a weak spot for the relentless progress of technology. Electric cars are less interesting to him than the absurd navigational systems, but that's neither here nor there. An enjoyable afternoon could be spent splitting one of those hideous cars open to see what it's overpriced guts looked like.
Anyway. "Traveling by foot would be safer, and better practice for managing the shifting currents of time around you." Translation: practice your speedy vampire shit more and don't get into a Tesla related car crash. Fire and all that. Another person goes glassy eyed when they get close, turning and nearly running into a shelf.
"I could be persuaded. As they say, what's in it for me?" he asks, leaning a touch closer where they sit.
Does he look interested in the car, the mechanical malfunction, or the idea of a mortal trapped inside like a Sims character dying in a closet when the door's been deleted? Daniel wonders about it, and then wonders at himself that none of those options are repulsive. A quick transition he's made into this unlife, caring so little about the people who were until very recently his human peers. But he's always been an asshole.
"A piano could fall on me, on foot."
Food for thought. He's out here in the wild, basically anything can go wrong. Might as well take a cab if he's going to check his email on the ride over.
But anyway. He looks at Armand, and considers what might tempt his interest (more than it's already obviously tempted), and further, what might be the worst possible thing to try. There's always the wildcard option, which would be a cop-out with anyone else, but with Armand, would be like putting his entire head into an open crocodile mouth.
"I'll let you pick what we do after. No promises that I won't complain. But I'll cooperate."
Daniel doesn't need Armand's help, here. He's not trying to bribe him for his vital assistance. He's just giving this ticket out because he's reckless and he wants Armand to stick around.
"You would survive that easily. A car crash could burst into flames and spread your ashes to the fetid crevices of this city," Armand answers without missing a beat. There's a sliver of displeasure in him though at the ugly reminder of it- there's a world out there that could devour Daniel. A strong fledgling, a healthy fledgling, one that does not eat rats and vermin or kill foolishly to the point of choking a river with corpses. A fledgling that does him credit despite Daniel's tendency towards poor behavior, even if several old laws would have him burned for Daniel's creation.
Heresy, one Daniel taunts at every turn. Poor behavior, as mentioned. Yes, that world too intent to take Daniel away in any number of ways.
He stews a little, at least until Daniel's offered payment snaps his attention with all the interest of a shark scenting blood in the water. Free reign is a dangerous thing to offer, Daniel knows it's a dangerous thing to offer, and that fact is what tempts him more.
"Hm," Armand answers, a few long moments before he tilts his head in the affirmative. "Very well."
The intricate rituals to just spend time together and have future plans, etc.
One of those 'yeah whatever' death scenarios, for Daniel. A car crash could also kill a mortal. He should be compassionately euthanized by now, and this is borrowed time. Free years. The mindless fun afterparty. He doesn't give a fuck about dying.
(... Doesn't he? Sometimes he thinks about how long Armand waited to make a fledgling. Maybe he would just compartmentalize Daniel's demise away like he has everything else, if there was even very much to compartmentalize. But maybe it would be bad. Bad enough that Daniel wouldn't want to risk it.)
A smile, then. He knew Armand would accept, but it still feels nice.
"Deal."
He doesn't lean in, but shifts just slightly, like he might be about to. Like he might be considering closing the gap of space between them and stealing a kiss. He doesn't. A tease, or indecision? The world will never know. He slides a hand onto Armand's knee instead.
Given Armand's obsessive guardianship of Louis as his mental health it's a very good thing he isn't aware of Daniel's general thoughts on his own survival here. Nothing like Louis, yes, but Armand hasn't been killing vampires in the cities Daniel's spending time in because he's capable of losing his first and only fledgling gracefully. Or potentially at all.
He eyes Daniel's smile, the answer to Armand's agreement, then the way Daniel almost seems to lean in. His hand on Armand's knee, the quiet intimacy of this little moment. He's enough in the moment itself he doesn't think of turning around the mortals walking by, including the bookshop worker who stops nearby to stand in awkward silence, unsure of interrupting and why the author is so cozy with a random young man.
Armand's fingers brush up Daniel's knuckles to his wrist. "Quite," he answers, before finally turning his attention to woman. She clears her throat awkwardly before introducing herself, stuttering through the schedule, before finally glancing to Armand and asking who he is as politely as she could manage.
Armand turns his gaze to Daniel again, a faint quirk to his lips as he tilts his head, waiting for Daniel to answer that for him. A little joke, how many times Daniel has asked for his name for these signings, curious to see what he decides to answer. Rashid, the assistant. Perhaps a question dismissed entirely.
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.
Armand's head tilts, the only give away he didn't expect that answer. It's not terribly shocking for a variety of reasons and it pleases Armand more than he would have expected. He should potentially tell Daniel he should be more careful with identity, his human life in it's last years before he will need to fake his own death, but-
Well, Daniel is choosing Armand to be at his side rather than Rashid or some other, easier name. His fingers stroke over Daniel's wrist one last time before offering the woman a charming smile.
He stays where he is as the first people come up, leaning back to eye those who show up and scan their thoughts vigilantly. There's a vampire far down the line interestingly enough, though when Armand dips into her thoughts she seems genuinely here for the signing and debating if she should flee as she senses Armand close. It would be easier if he could speak to Daniel in his mind but there is something to how he has to lean over and murmur close to his ear instead.
"You've made fans of our kind," he offers, both agitated and amused by this idea. Getting so close to Daniel sets off the thoughts of several people in line, all gossip and curiosity that Armand seems to enjoy in his own way, given he rests an arm around Daniel's chair so he can keep their conspiratorial proximity a little longer.
To Paulito, thanks for the support, to Julie, tell your mom thank you, to Josh, keep your eyes peeled at night. Daniel's hand doesn't tremble, he doesn't worry about his tendons getting too tired after a dozen notes. He's social and chatty with everyone, even though he's not an especially social person, when he's boiled down. But there are elements of celebrity, fifteen minutes of fame, and more than that, elements of fucking freedom.
And tonight, there's an element of having Armand here, sitting so close to him.
"Oh yeah?" turns to converse privately, the next patron standing with their book in hand, waiting to address him. "You know they'll notice. That okay?"
He tips his head down enough to look at Armand over the top edge of his glasses, eyes as amber-orange as his maker's. Maybe it's not that easy, maybe no one will see them together and go Oh, Molloy's definitely a vampire, oh, wow, Molloy's definitely a vampire and his maker is Armand.
The poor nervous patron waiting with their book, unsure if they're allowed to interrupt this private conversation or what book signing etiquette is and wow, he just caught a sliver of a glimpse of Daniel Molloy's eyes, were they always so striking and a little strange?
"Notice what you are? Notice we are together or that you are mine?" Armand almost looks delighted by this question, as if it were a deeply amusing thing Daniel has asked him. Largely because yes, they no doubt already know given Armand's made it very clear in several cities with any brewing tension that the fledgling Daniel Molloy was not be harmed. On occasion that took very graphic examples being made. Some people pick up new hobbies when they get divorced, which is surely just what this is, probably.
"They already know it, if they have any sense. As they do not appear to be here to cause you harm I assume they have as much sense as any fan of yours does."
It's one thing for Armand to be a weird, fixated freak in private. (And Daniel, innocent babypire that he is, has no idea about the murders of other vampires in his orbit.) Another for Armand to gleefully embrace the idea of being out about it.
Him? Some fucking old guy? He's not thinking about the further destruction of his own mortal reputation, fooling about with a man who looks so much younger. He's thinking about Armand broadcasting to the undead world that he transformed an annoying old journalist who then went on to expose them. But Armand is cool with it. With him. With people knowing, alive people and dead people.
His expression is painfully young. Happy but a little embarrassed for being that happy. Almost shy. Really?
"Alright."
Next patron. Daniel smiles up at them, and signs for the name given, chats a bit about the proposed translation into Afrikaans.
The look surprises Armand, shuts him up for a few precious moments as Daniel turns back to talk to another fan with another question, request, well of admiration. Background noise easily ignored, the now fairly steadfast thrum of wondering at Armand's age, their relation, self righteous judgment or what they see as a predatory dynamic for all the wrong reasons.
No, there's just Armand watching Daniel a moment longer. He expected rolled eyes or reminders Armand did not own him. Another little debate on old vampiric terminology, snide remarks that Armand didn't make him beyond a fucked up blood transfusion. Perhaps regret at the end, bitterness, his reputation being dragged through the dirt of assumption. Always something, he's found, that makes Armand unideal to claim publicly. His waning power as maitre, old laws, the color of his skin in Venice.
Daniel's face looked more at ease than Armand can remember seeing it, if only for a brief moment. It's pretty in a new facet of Daniel, the appeal of hard, sharp edges finally softening in stellar contrast. When Armand finally pulls his eyes away he realizes with twitch of his fingers his heart is threatening to pick up. How easy it is to fall in love with Daniel, a matter nipping at his ankles for some time, even if he's done a resoundingly good job in avoiding it. The first time in perhaps his entire existence he claimed someone and they looked upon him like that was a wondrous thing.
The vampire gets closer- older than Daniel but young, and Armand fixes his gaze upon her in unblinking severity. One hand stays behind Daniel's chair, nails at the back of his neck. A woman nearby wonders how much Daniel pays this kid, another wonders if bestsellers really give a guy that much game. The vampire bows her head in nervous respect to Armand before trying to avoid looking at him entirely. Thanks Daniel for the book in a way that sounds quite genuine. Says it was very informative and helpful. That he's brave to write it.
Daniel won't be hurt, in the long run, if he's just something that Armand did half out of impulse and half to try and tie himself to Louis. Not because it doesn't hurt, to be incidental and unimportant, but because he's used to being temporary for other people. No one stays, and everyone who tries hopes they'll make him different by staying, because there's nothing tolerable about Daniel as he is.
Right now, he feels like Armand's happy that he's his fledgling. Not for any fucked up kink reason, or because he wants to make Louis angry, or because he lost it when Daniel pulled the rug out from under the feet of his life in Dubai. Just because he thought Daniel was worth keeping around.
He knows it's a fantasy. Nobody feels that way about him, and that's fine, Daniel wouldn't keep himself around either. But it's nice, and it's especially nice right here, doing this thing, a part of his career, and even though it's a goofy part, Daniel's career means a lot to him. And Armand is sharing a piece of it with him.
Daniel smiles widely at the vampire who shows up, and is excited to talk to her, his appreciation genuine. He's met so few others, just listens in at night. He even forges to feel self-conscious about his appearance, made content through Armand's presence. Good enough for his maker, good enough for everyone else, too. Telepathically, he and the woman vampire agree to stay in touch, and wish each other well as she takes her leave.
Surely it's tangible in the bond: he's happy, he's appreciative, he's content. His presence curls up against Armand's, tangled in that silver thread, holding him close even as he laughs with a fan about her t-shirt about fangbangs and signs her book.
It takes more self restraint than Armand would care to admit not to scare the little vampire off. To say he's been territorial is an understatement but now, in the throes of this warm and undeniable feeling of intimacy with Daniel, he may be just a little worse than before. If it wasn't for the distracting, pleasant buzz of Daniel through their bond he might have lost the war with his own possessive instincts.
Luckily for the well meaning fledgling she gets the time to chat and make this connection while Armand basks in Daniel's contentment. Maybe it's primal instinct, the sheer satisfaction he feels at his fledgling happy and safe. Maybe it's refreshing after decades of Louis' consistent melancholy, bright moments always slow and pierced with a dark undercurrent. Not Daniel, whose joy is as addictive as his regard. As addictive as his anger, is self righteous fury, the sparring across long tables with an insignificant little mortal who still kept up better than any vampire ever did.
If he's honest the process of all this intrigues him too, the book signing. For all his tall talk of mortals and separation Armand's curiosity with the world has never fully wavered, the mechanics of publishing and promoting almost quaint compared to the ruthless art markets Louis pulled them through. Armand's side of the bond when examined is typically guarded, and if not that then a low thrumming tension careful vigilance. Yet in the sphere of Daniel's contented presence he thaws a little, curiosity blooming like weeds. Not calm, not safe but closer to both than he's managed in some time.
One bold young man asks who he is, and when Armand answers as Daniel did the boy laughs. "Wow, you do look like how I imagined him. Love the contacts, by the way."
Armand watches the boy go, resisting the impish urge to bear his fangs and see how far mortal denial takes them. There aren't many left in the line regardless, and he has a prize to cash in. "Your descriptions did me justice, or so it seems." He says as if he didn't read every single scrap Daniel wrote about him obsessively while also making notes in the margins.
Eventually, Daniel will hear about how Armand has killed potential threats for him, and he will wonder if it's what falling in love feels like. Eventually, Armand will get sick of Daniel. And Daniel will go in (forever) and he will wonder, and wonder, and maybe he'll go insane. Maybe that'll be the thing. Connected permanently to someone who will tire of him.
But they aren't there yet. He won't be like Armand, rushing to the resentment. He'll enjoy it for now, while he still has it, still circling in his bloodstream, his brain chemistry; for now, while he can reflect it back at Armand. He knows it'll hurt in the morning, but he knew quaaludes and coke would hurt in the morning, too.
"I'm a professional, you know. I've won awards and stuff."
And maybe Armand is compelling to write about. A secret villain, lurking behind the bombastic one being painted in the forefront. It's a good role. A shitty interview, all of Daniel's observations that cut to the truth of him having to be accessed sideways, but the weight of Louis' made up for it. Mostly. Daniel still laments all the edits forced on him by the librarian spies.
Not many left. A man younger than Daniel, but close enough to be a contemporary, is next; between a sharp memory and glancing at his surface thoughts, Daniel realizes they've bumped into each other before. It's not the first book he's signed for the guy. And when he offers a slightly self-conscious smile while handing over the new one, Daniel nearly stumbles over saying hello.
The man is thinking that he doesn't want to make assumptions about Molloy and the young man he's sitting with, but that it reminds him of the relationship that defined him. He was Armand's apparent age, once, and the love of his life looked more like Daniel (looked more like the man does now), and it's making him feel bittersweet, and nostalgic. Maybe, this man is thinking, Molloy is working through something; the same something that he's been working through since the first book of is that he read.
Daniel signs his book. Says hello, asks if they've met before. It is nice, and it is surreal; he finds himself appreciating this moment more because he can violate this man's privacy and read his mind. He finds himself hoping Armand has done the same. Sweet outlined with just a thread of horror. Salt on caramel. Better for it.
"Have you? Two awards, from what I understand," Armand drawls, watching Daniel's veins and their alluring throb at the pulse points. Armand's blood, Daniel's blood, melded together for eternity, a mark none of the humans milling about could possibly see or fathom yet hangs over Daniel like Armand's signature.
He thinks idly of it, only pulled from his musings when Daniel reacts in a different way to the man now approaching. The near stumble, enough Armand's eyes land on the man and his book with the assessment of threat only to find a mundane human man watching them with flavor of thoughts somewhat unique.
It's not as though all of the thoughts around have been scandal and self righteousness- plenty have been amused, congratulatory, or attracted one way or another. Spectacle, the pair of them huddled too close to be strictly platonic by many standards, and here is a personal flare instead. A man who sees reflection, old ghosts and older 'what-ifs,' bodies in unmarked graves. His nails scrape harmlessly down the back of Daniel's neck, fingertips lingering. Possessive but an odd moment of reflection too.
"Your time will soon belong to me," Armand says, watching this man and his bittersweet memories move away. "As we agreed."
He is joking, he is making a joke, saying this very nerdy thing will calling Armand a joke. But he has won an awful lot of awards— the Pulitzers are just the best ones to brag about, especially these days when every dickhead with a Twitter account can declare themself a journalist.
But anyway.
They're about done, here, just a few more lingering, curious parties, who are wondering if they can get a cup signed or something else, interested in the oddity of Vampire Book Nutjob, but not willing to buy a book. Any other night, Daniel may have playfully instigated something. Tonight, he doesn't even consider it. He leans an elbow on the table, looks at Armand, lens-covered eyes flicking over him. Pleased that his maker is still here. It verges on smugness, in fact.
"Making sure you hold your end of our bargain," Armand corrects, basking a little in Daniel's smugness. There's some learned instinct in him to correct the behavior, the hierachy of maker and fledgling echoed throughout hundreds of years of strict rules, then his own maker before. There's an ill fitting mask of maitre in him, one Louis played with and never understood the gravity of, not even after it was far too late.
His mood is eased enough he lets it pass- here is Daniel, coaxing him to stay. Smug he did. Addictive, being wanted or at least the heady illusion of it.
"Do you need to feed before my plans for you?" Speaking of maker instinct: the urge to coax the most rancid of those lingering around the store, like that robust man with his slow, predator heart and an ache in his knuckles from hurting something much weaker than he. Or maybe just the annoying shrill creature nearby who rolls her eyes overhearing that and thinks Daniel is too embarrassingly old for the larping, vampire schtick.
The little touches, his presence, his eagerness to do fuck-knows-what with Daniel. He shouldn't like this. He should be thinking about Louis, and put more barriers between him and Armand. But Louis' life his is own, finally, and though these optics are pretty rough, Daniel is free to make his own decisions. Good and bad.
"Don't worry, I'm not trying to weasel out of anything. My idea, remember?"
He dares to put his hand on Armand's knee again, and he appreciates both the potential for some observing party to find it grotesque, and the potential for Armand to cut his fingers off. It's like cuddling with an extremely beautiful inland taipan snake.
"Mm." Considers this, because it might very well depend on what those plans are (is he alarmed that Armand already has plans? is he excited?). Daniel is more or less always hungry, something he's been assured is just a side-effect of newness to this unlife, but he can ignore the constant internal nagging. Addict superpowers.
"Might as well."
Ultimately, he says yes mostly because he thinks it'll please Armand.
It does please Armand. He leans in a little, into the hand on knee, not so much doe eyed as uneasily intense in how he regards Daniel from under his lashes. He's torn between an odd pair of instincts, one to demand Daniel show him his hunting prowess and the other to bring the food directly to him, cut it's neck and hold it's hair as Daniel latched on.
Novel. He cared for many as coven master but the pull was a dense, drowning obligation like a shackle more times than it was not. This feeling with Daniel is oddly buoyant, and far more terrifying aside. "Fledgling appetite," Armand says with a hint of approval. "Come with me, then."
The store is winding down, the book signing already far later than it would typically allow for. Disgruntled workers eying customers clearly intent on lounging around as long as they can, said customers milling around shelves. Some fans of Daniel's lingering, though they seem intent on looking away with blank looks when Armand's eyes skim over the crowd.
He stands fluidly, hand to Daniel's shoulder as he scans the room and locks eyes on the robust man from before. "Him," he offers, eyes shifting to Daniel, waiting to see if he'll bite. Pun maybe intended.
"Someone whose disappearance I'll be questioned about given this will be the last public place he was seen in?"
Kids these days. No sense of timing with murder. Do you know how many fucking murders Daniel has accidentally solved over the course of his career, while sorting through facts and running down leads on other stories? But—
"Sure, him."
Why the fuck not. He's got money now, he can get away with whatever. Daniel stands up and grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder. Reaches out with his mind to get the measure of the man, and considers the least suspicious way to go about it.
Armand offers an obnoxious little quirk of his likes, as though Daniel is a student stumbling into an obvious lesson. "Then surely you must be creative and thorough in your disposal. It would not do to cause you trouble, given you are being so careful with our kind's secrets."
Rude. He follows though, fixated on Daniel far more than some middling mortal and those mulling about. Not that he'll make it particularly easy for Daniel, as tempted as he is to turn all eyes away from his fledgling and ensuring his safety with their kind and mortal authorities.
All matters Daniel must learn on his own, and even recognizing the danger faced here does bring Armand a sense of smug satisfaction.
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He shouldn't be here. Daniel is a damning creature already, tempting him with games, the lure of the chase. Tempting his curiosity, a weakness and strength both. He leans unabashedly to read the message, a slow blink as he processes it.
Juvenile. He isn't sure if this cartoon movie reference is meant to be a pointed insult of some personal sort. Trite, ridiculous from a writer of Daniel's caliber, and the last line his eyes linger on. It should be ineffective, yet when he pulls the book to himself he runs his finger over the last line. Stupid, stupid boy.
So, probably not particularly shocking when he turns and leaves without saying a word. Some real spooked cat behavior, ignoring the few pointed thoughts of rude for how he slips away without even a thank you. Of course then the next book signing follows the day after, all set up for another long stretch of Armand shaped silence as he copes through petulant avoidance and centuries wary skewed perception of time. Instead he's sitting at the table Daniel's meant to be signing at, any employee who walks over suddenly turning around as if remembering something else.
Ramones t-shirt and worn jeans this time, boots and loose curls around his face with no contacts this time. Most might think ah, there's no higher purpose to these choices, but the costume choice of a former theater director is never pointless. So, symbolic, overblown lack of contacts and a reflection of Daniel's old aesthetic. What could this mind game possibly mean.
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But still funny, he'd say. (Because it was him.)
He said he wasn't going to follow Armand again. Does Armand believe him? Does Armand know that Daniel is definitely lying? It's only the sense he's developed, this ability to know his maker is nearby, that keeps him from cancelling the next day.
A pause, as he comes in. Messenger bag over his shoulder, phone in hand, answering texts to his assistant, ignoring texts from Raglan. A vampire. A costume. For a brief insane moment he wonders if Armand stole the shirt from his own closet— but when would he have time? He looks at him, stopped there two yards away, and does not wonder what this mind game means. He doesn't think it's a game. He thinks it's Armand silently asking him if he's doing it right this time. Even if Armand doesn't know what's what it is.
Daniel puts his phone in his bag, and moves to the table. Walks behind it as he sets his bag down, takes a few steps towards the 'young man' sitting there, until he's close enough to touch his shoulder, which he does. And then he bends and kisses the top of his head.
"Hey."
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Not that he'll admit it, yet. No, that throw away line isn't what captures his attention anyway. The last line he's fixated on to an absurd and likely pointless degree. It's why he's here now, in a way, regarding Daniel with a tilt of the head and, for once, all eyes averted from them by force. No quirky little mental comments about their age, their behavior, just them ignored in a bustling little book shop.
It's easier to imagine it all as a game, watching Daniel approach, the pause as he registers Armand at all. A game until Daniel comes over and kisses the top of his head in way that leaves Armand speechless for a moment. Casual, natural affection that is surely mockery, followed by no mockery at all. It makes Armand want to pin him to the table and drain him again only to feed him everything Armand is right back. It makes him want to make Daniel crawl for his blood, the red line of it between them like an unbreakable, blasphemous connection.
He stares up at Daniel with big, wide eyes for a stunned moment, even if the thrum of their bond could only be called ravenously possessive. "You were nearly late. Half the staff believe your insistence on night signings is absurd pageantry."
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Yes. Good. An animal part of himself curls around that feeling, the thread that connects them. The only unbreakable thing he's ever had in his life.
(Maybe they can do that later. The blood thing.)
"Yeah, my Uber got stuck behind a Tesla that gave up because it couldn't tell that an empty coffee cup wasn't a traffic light."
What a fascinating modern world they live in, huh? Daniel ends up sitting down next to Armand, and he can't help the contented feeling he radiates. It's nice to see you again. It was. It is. Daniel wants to hang out with him, annoy the shit out of him, dissect his freak brain, get smothered by boa constrictor cuddling in the afternoons.
"Feel like supervising?"
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Anyway. "Traveling by foot would be safer, and better practice for managing the shifting currents of time around you." Translation: practice your speedy vampire shit more and don't get into a Tesla related car crash. Fire and all that. Another person goes glassy eyed when they get close, turning and nearly running into a shelf.
"I could be persuaded. As they say, what's in it for me?" he asks, leaning a touch closer where they sit.
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"A piano could fall on me, on foot."
Food for thought. He's out here in the wild, basically anything can go wrong. Might as well take a cab if he's going to check his email on the ride over.
But anyway. He looks at Armand, and considers what might tempt his interest (more than it's already obviously tempted), and further, what might be the worst possible thing to try. There's always the wildcard option, which would be a cop-out with anyone else, but with Armand, would be like putting his entire head into an open crocodile mouth.
"I'll let you pick what we do after. No promises that I won't complain. But I'll cooperate."
Daniel doesn't need Armand's help, here. He's not trying to bribe him for his vital assistance. He's just giving this ticket out because he's reckless and he wants Armand to stick around.
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Heresy, one Daniel taunts at every turn. Poor behavior, as mentioned. Yes, that world too intent to take Daniel away in any number of ways.
He stews a little, at least until Daniel's offered payment snaps his attention with all the interest of a shark scenting blood in the water. Free reign is a dangerous thing to offer, Daniel knows it's a dangerous thing to offer, and that fact is what tempts him more.
"Hm," Armand answers, a few long moments before he tilts his head in the affirmative. "Very well."
The intricate rituals to just spend time together and have future plans, etc.
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One of those 'yeah whatever' death scenarios, for Daniel. A car crash could also kill a mortal. He should be compassionately euthanized by now, and this is borrowed time. Free years. The mindless fun afterparty. He doesn't give a fuck about dying.
(... Doesn't he? Sometimes he thinks about how long Armand waited to make a fledgling. Maybe he would just compartmentalize Daniel's demise away like he has everything else, if there was even very much to compartmentalize. But maybe it would be bad. Bad enough that Daniel wouldn't want to risk it.)
A smile, then. He knew Armand would accept, but it still feels nice.
"Deal."
He doesn't lean in, but shifts just slightly, like he might be about to. Like he might be considering closing the gap of space between them and stealing a kiss. He doesn't. A tease, or indecision? The world will never know. He slides a hand onto Armand's knee instead.
"Ready?"
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He eyes Daniel's smile, the answer to Armand's agreement, then the way Daniel almost seems to lean in. His hand on Armand's knee, the quiet intimacy of this little moment. He's enough in the moment itself he doesn't think of turning around the mortals walking by, including the bookshop worker who stops nearby to stand in awkward silence, unsure of interrupting and why the author is so cozy with a random young man.
Armand's fingers brush up Daniel's knuckles to his wrist. "Quite," he answers, before finally turning his attention to woman. She clears her throat awkwardly before introducing herself, stuttering through the schedule, before finally glancing to Armand and asking who he is as politely as she could manage.
Armand turns his gaze to Daniel again, a faint quirk to his lips as he tilts his head, waiting for Daniel to answer that for him. A little joke, how many times Daniel has asked for his name for these signings, curious to see what he decides to answer. Rashid, the assistant. Perhaps a question dismissed entirely.
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(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.
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Well, Daniel is choosing Armand to be at his side rather than Rashid or some other, easier name. His fingers stroke over Daniel's wrist one last time before offering the woman a charming smile.
He stays where he is as the first people come up, leaning back to eye those who show up and scan their thoughts vigilantly. There's a vampire far down the line interestingly enough, though when Armand dips into her thoughts she seems genuinely here for the signing and debating if she should flee as she senses Armand close. It would be easier if he could speak to Daniel in his mind but there is something to how he has to lean over and murmur close to his ear instead.
"You've made fans of our kind," he offers, both agitated and amused by this idea. Getting so close to Daniel sets off the thoughts of several people in line, all gossip and curiosity that Armand seems to enjoy in his own way, given he rests an arm around Daniel's chair so he can keep their conspiratorial proximity a little longer.
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And tonight, there's an element of having Armand here, sitting so close to him.
"Oh yeah?" turns to converse privately, the next patron standing with their book in hand, waiting to address him. "You know they'll notice. That okay?"
He tips his head down enough to look at Armand over the top edge of his glasses, eyes as amber-orange as his maker's. Maybe it's not that easy, maybe no one will see them together and go Oh, Molloy's definitely a vampire, oh, wow, Molloy's definitely a vampire and his maker is Armand.
But.
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"Notice what you are? Notice we are together or that you are mine?" Armand almost looks delighted by this question, as if it were a deeply amusing thing Daniel has asked him. Largely because yes, they no doubt already know given Armand's made it very clear in several cities with any brewing tension that the fledgling Daniel Molloy was not be harmed. On occasion that took very graphic examples being made. Some people pick up new hobbies when they get divorced, which is surely just what this is, probably.
"They already know it, if they have any sense. As they do not appear to be here to cause you harm I assume they have as much sense as any fan of yours does."
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Him? Some fucking old guy? He's not thinking about the further destruction of his own mortal reputation, fooling about with a man who looks so much younger. He's thinking about Armand broadcasting to the undead world that he transformed an annoying old journalist who then went on to expose them. But Armand is cool with it. With him. With people knowing, alive people and dead people.
His expression is painfully young. Happy but a little embarrassed for being that happy. Almost shy. Really?
"Alright."
Next patron. Daniel smiles up at them, and signs for the name given, chats a bit about the proposed translation into Afrikaans.
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No, there's just Armand watching Daniel a moment longer. He expected rolled eyes or reminders Armand did not own him. Another little debate on old vampiric terminology, snide remarks that Armand didn't make him beyond a fucked up blood transfusion. Perhaps regret at the end, bitterness, his reputation being dragged through the dirt of assumption. Always something, he's found, that makes Armand unideal to claim publicly. His waning power as maitre, old laws, the color of his skin in Venice.
Daniel's face looked more at ease than Armand can remember seeing it, if only for a brief moment. It's pretty in a new facet of Daniel, the appeal of hard, sharp edges finally softening in stellar contrast. When Armand finally pulls his eyes away he realizes with twitch of his fingers his heart is threatening to pick up. How easy it is to fall in love with Daniel, a matter nipping at his ankles for some time, even if he's done a resoundingly good job in avoiding it. The first time in perhaps his entire existence he claimed someone and they looked upon him like that was a wondrous thing.
The vampire gets closer- older than Daniel but young, and Armand fixes his gaze upon her in unblinking severity. One hand stays behind Daniel's chair, nails at the back of his neck. A woman nearby wonders how much Daniel pays this kid, another wonders if bestsellers really give a guy that much game. The vampire bows her head in nervous respect to Armand before trying to avoid looking at him entirely. Thanks Daniel for the book in a way that sounds quite genuine. Says it was very informative and helpful. That he's brave to write it.
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Right now, he feels like Armand's happy that he's his fledgling. Not for any fucked up kink reason, or because he wants to make Louis angry, or because he lost it when Daniel pulled the rug out from under the feet of his life in Dubai. Just because he thought Daniel was worth keeping around.
He knows it's a fantasy. Nobody feels that way about him, and that's fine, Daniel wouldn't keep himself around either. But it's nice, and it's especially nice right here, doing this thing, a part of his career, and even though it's a goofy part, Daniel's career means a lot to him. And Armand is sharing a piece of it with him.
Daniel smiles widely at the vampire who shows up, and is excited to talk to her, his appreciation genuine. He's met so few others, just listens in at night. He even forges to feel self-conscious about his appearance, made content through Armand's presence. Good enough for his maker, good enough for everyone else, too. Telepathically, he and the woman vampire agree to stay in touch, and wish each other well as she takes her leave.
Surely it's tangible in the bond: he's happy, he's appreciative, he's content. His presence curls up against Armand's, tangled in that silver thread, holding him close even as he laughs with a fan about her t-shirt about fangbangs and signs her book.
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Luckily for the well meaning fledgling she gets the time to chat and make this connection while Armand basks in Daniel's contentment. Maybe it's primal instinct, the sheer satisfaction he feels at his fledgling happy and safe. Maybe it's refreshing after decades of Louis' consistent melancholy, bright moments always slow and pierced with a dark undercurrent. Not Daniel, whose joy is as addictive as his regard. As addictive as his anger, is self righteous fury, the sparring across long tables with an insignificant little mortal who still kept up better than any vampire ever did.
If he's honest the process of all this intrigues him too, the book signing. For all his tall talk of mortals and separation Armand's curiosity with the world has never fully wavered, the mechanics of publishing and promoting almost quaint compared to the ruthless art markets Louis pulled them through. Armand's side of the bond when examined is typically guarded, and if not that then a low thrumming tension careful vigilance. Yet in the sphere of Daniel's contented presence he thaws a little, curiosity blooming like weeds. Not calm, not safe but closer to both than he's managed in some time.
One bold young man asks who he is, and when Armand answers as Daniel did the boy laughs. "Wow, you do look like how I imagined him. Love the contacts, by the way."
Armand watches the boy go, resisting the impish urge to bear his fangs and see how far mortal denial takes them. There aren't many left in the line regardless, and he has a prize to cash in. "Your descriptions did me justice, or so it seems." He says as if he didn't read every single scrap Daniel wrote about him obsessively while also making notes in the margins.
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But they aren't there yet. He won't be like Armand, rushing to the resentment. He'll enjoy it for now, while he still has it, still circling in his bloodstream, his brain chemistry; for now, while he can reflect it back at Armand. He knows it'll hurt in the morning, but he knew quaaludes and coke would hurt in the morning, too.
"I'm a professional, you know. I've won awards and stuff."
And maybe Armand is compelling to write about. A secret villain, lurking behind the bombastic one being painted in the forefront. It's a good role. A shitty interview, all of Daniel's observations that cut to the truth of him having to be accessed sideways, but the weight of Louis' made up for it. Mostly. Daniel still laments all the edits forced on him by the librarian spies.
Not many left. A man younger than Daniel, but close enough to be a contemporary, is next; between a sharp memory and glancing at his surface thoughts, Daniel realizes they've bumped into each other before. It's not the first book he's signed for the guy. And when he offers a slightly self-conscious smile while handing over the new one, Daniel nearly stumbles over saying hello.
The man is thinking that he doesn't want to make assumptions about Molloy and the young man he's sitting with, but that it reminds him of the relationship that defined him. He was Armand's apparent age, once, and the love of his life looked more like Daniel (looked more like the man does now), and it's making him feel bittersweet, and nostalgic. Maybe, this man is thinking, Molloy is working through something; the same something that he's been working through since the first book of is that he read.
Daniel signs his book. Says hello, asks if they've met before. It is nice, and it is surreal; he finds himself appreciating this moment more because he can violate this man's privacy and read his mind. He finds himself hoping Armand has done the same. Sweet outlined with just a thread of horror. Salt on caramel. Better for it.
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He thinks idly of it, only pulled from his musings when Daniel reacts in a different way to the man now approaching. The near stumble, enough Armand's eyes land on the man and his book with the assessment of threat only to find a mundane human man watching them with flavor of thoughts somewhat unique.
It's not as though all of the thoughts around have been scandal and self righteousness- plenty have been amused, congratulatory, or attracted one way or another. Spectacle, the pair of them huddled too close to be strictly platonic by many standards, and here is a personal flare instead. A man who sees reflection, old ghosts and older 'what-ifs,' bodies in unmarked graves. His nails scrape harmlessly down the back of Daniel's neck, fingertips lingering. Possessive but an odd moment of reflection too.
"Your time will soon belong to me," Armand says, watching this man and his bittersweet memories move away. "As we agreed."
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He is joking, he is making a joke, saying this very nerdy thing will calling Armand a joke. But he has won an awful lot of awards— the Pulitzers are just the best ones to brag about, especially these days when every dickhead with a Twitter account can declare themself a journalist.
But anyway.
They're about done, here, just a few more lingering, curious parties, who are wondering if they can get a cup signed or something else, interested in the oddity of Vampire Book Nutjob, but not willing to buy a book. Any other night, Daniel may have playfully instigated something. Tonight, he doesn't even consider it. He leans an elbow on the table, looks at Armand, lens-covered eyes flicking over him. Pleased that his maker is still here. It verges on smugness, in fact.
"Impatient?"
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His mood is eased enough he lets it pass- here is Daniel, coaxing him to stay. Smug he did. Addictive, being wanted or at least the heady illusion of it.
"Do you need to feed before my plans for you?" Speaking of maker instinct: the urge to coax the most rancid of those lingering around the store, like that robust man with his slow, predator heart and an ache in his knuckles from hurting something much weaker than he. Or maybe just the annoying shrill creature nearby who rolls her eyes overhearing that and thinks Daniel is too embarrassingly old for the larping, vampire schtick.
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"Don't worry, I'm not trying to weasel out of anything. My idea, remember?"
He dares to put his hand on Armand's knee again, and he appreciates both the potential for some observing party to find it grotesque, and the potential for Armand to cut his fingers off. It's like cuddling with an extremely beautiful inland taipan snake.
"Mm." Considers this, because it might very well depend on what those plans are (is he alarmed that Armand already has plans? is he excited?). Daniel is more or less always hungry, something he's been assured is just a side-effect of newness to this unlife, but he can ignore the constant internal nagging. Addict superpowers.
"Might as well."
Ultimately, he says yes mostly because he thinks it'll please Armand.
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Novel. He cared for many as coven master but the pull was a dense, drowning obligation like a shackle more times than it was not. This feeling with Daniel is oddly buoyant, and far more terrifying aside. "Fledgling appetite," Armand says with a hint of approval. "Come with me, then."
The store is winding down, the book signing already far later than it would typically allow for. Disgruntled workers eying customers clearly intent on lounging around as long as they can, said customers milling around shelves. Some fans of Daniel's lingering, though they seem intent on looking away with blank looks when Armand's eyes skim over the crowd.
He stands fluidly, hand to Daniel's shoulder as he scans the room and locks eyes on the robust man from before. "Him," he offers, eyes shifting to Daniel, waiting to see if he'll bite. Pun maybe intended.
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"Someone whose disappearance I'll be questioned about given this will be the last public place he was seen in?"
Kids these days. No sense of timing with murder. Do you know how many fucking murders Daniel has accidentally solved over the course of his career, while sorting through facts and running down leads on other stories? But—
"Sure, him."
Why the fuck not. He's got money now, he can get away with whatever. Daniel stands up and grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder. Reaches out with his mind to get the measure of the man, and considers the least suspicious way to go about it.
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Rude. He follows though, fixated on Daniel far more than some middling mortal and those mulling about. Not that he'll make it particularly easy for Daniel, as tempted as he is to turn all eyes away from his fledgling and ensuring his safety with their kind and mortal authorities.
All matters Daniel must learn on his own, and even recognizing the danger faced here does bring Armand a sense of smug satisfaction.
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