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.
Daniel leans down. Gives Armand a look over the edge of his glasses.
(Is he going to kiss him?)
"You like the book."
Lestat is the tragic villain, and Armand is the one without redemption, forever lurking in the shadows like a spider. The most frustrating role. The coolest, most fucked up role. In a book that exposes everything that Armand is supposed to hate about his existence. Louis changed his mind, didn't want it to go out; Lestat hates it. But Armand, Daniel thinks, likes the book.
He straightens back up. Time to go do a murder.
He says goodbye to the store manager, and leaves. The man is seemingly forgotten, left to mill around for minutes on his own before he exits. He turns down the street and away, going the opposite direction that Daniel went. Off to catch an Uber. He will, of course, be intercepted. And Daniel has gotten okay at detecting cameras through sound. He'll have gone to the corner store, which doesn't have great security camera coverage, and then in a few minutes, he'll be back in the corner store, having never left. This man will be in an alley, bloodless, having suffered a heart attack, or something like that. Who knows.
Armand tilts his head up as easy as breathing- not that he does much of that anymore, but still. No kiss sadly, just Daniel offering a little tidbit he's already patting himself on the back about. Theatrical, his fledgling, as though it runs down their line through their shared blood.
Armand wants to be irritated and is as he watches Daniel move. Annoyed because the idea of liking the book isn't one he's given himself time to consider and it's true. That Daniel can see that sliver of contradiction in him is annoying. That this book is an ugly death wish beneath it's grandeur is annoying. That people on the street occasionally think his name with any number colorful and insipid opinions is annoying. That it is a testament to his continued weakness and mistake is annoying.
But of course Daniel is right, the stupid, overblown whole of it is something Armand likes. He's read it again and again in varying stages of wrath, humor or dissociation. He listens to it's broad, brash ripples in the vampire community. He follows his fledgling and tells himself he must because of the damn book and its damn dangers.
He likes the way Daniel writes, infuriatingly enough. Like he's leaning in to share a secret. He loves and hates this is the first portrait of himself, in ink rather than paint, by Daniel's damning hand. A murky and ugly picture, unlike any portrait done of him before. Terrifying, to be portrayed candidly, unflatteringly, and he likes it. He likes it too much.
Armand appears at Daniel's side in the corner store, hand to Daniel's arm as if to feel the warmth of the feeding. A presence the entire time, if the pleased curl of his lips is any indication.
"The New York coven loathes you," he says like this is an attractive quality Daniel possesses, pissing them off. He plucks a pair of gaudy, cheap sunglasses from a nearby rack and looks them over as if they weren't ugly lumps of plastic.
Daniel believes that Armand wants to be seen. He wants to be seen, but he doesn't want to expose himself. Daniel has had to do quite a lot of meditating on him— like he has on Louis, and Lestat, and Claudia, dissecting them like fictional characters, like a psychologist. In the pages of the book, ones censored and edited, ones he omitted himself, is the portrait of a man who was jealously, bitterly waiting to be seen, who couldn't figure out why no one was seeing him or understanding him, who was behaving like an alien visiting from another planet, forever out of step, and lonely, and angry.
But that's just a theory. a GaMe tHeOrY
If any of it's true, Daniel gets it. Sort of. Armand was born so long ago that today must seem like an alien planet. If Daniel lives for five hundred years, and they end up living in a nice place in a little space station by Lagrange Point 2, it'll probably still bear more resemblance to 2022 than 2022 does to 1500. Armand's brain is cooked. It's soup. Fucked up, cult soup.
One of many reasons Daniel should ditch him, instead of give him a brilliant smile that's a little too toothy. Blood-warm, pleased, not too impressed with his meal on a personal level, but happy to be fed regardless.
"Fuck 'em," he says magnanimously, and then he does what he didn't do back in the book store, and leans over and kisses Armand. Right here in the shitty corner store, over a pair of cheap sunglasses, in front of the clerk and god and everybody.
Daniel's enthusiasm is doing troubling things to him, Armand decides. The toothy grin, it does not even show off his beautiful fangs but it is a reminder of them. If Armand presses he thinks he can even feel some facsimile Daniel's pleasure as a warmth in his own chest. A happy, well fed and skilled fledgling.
Armand opens his mouth to spew the script, remind Daniel of countless dangers or whatever archaic, potentially bullshit vampire etiquette that Must Be Maintained, Daniel, when Daniel leans in instead. A kiss like the one he was mildly peeved about not being granted before, in front of the clerk who squints and thinks something disparaging about May-December romances. Armand could and in his own mind should bring up something disparaging about bartering with desire, but instead he foolishly leans into the kiss instead.
His lips quirk, smothering it but making no move to be the one to pull back first. Hungry, the mistake of showing affection he can sink his teeth into and not easily let go. Even when the clerk will undoubtedly clear his throat should Armand have his way and let the little intimacy linger.
May-December, and cradle robber Armand who gets to look half exploited, half gold digging, getting pawed at by a dirty old man. Daniel remembers looking at gay couples who seemed as far apart in age as they seemed, and wondering what it was like. To want that much, and not give a fuck. It made something in him angry. He wanted to want. He wanted there to be something worth wanting.
Now he can eat people.
Armand likes the book. Armand likes this, too, Daniel thinks. He doesn't push too far, doesn't turn sharing a sweet kiss in public into the tacky mistake of actually making out in public, just shares a quick little thing there at the end before he pulls away. Lets Armand taste the blood still lingering in his mouth. He knows Armand was watching, but still: here, look, I did it. For you.
"I kinda hope you say you want to kill everybody in here," he says quietly. Just enough for the two of them. "But it'd be a pain in the ass. Maybe I can lure you to my hotel room instead. I've got a 500 piece Paul Klee jigsaw puzzle."
The fact the kiss is quick makes disappointment crack Armand's expression, the ridiculous near pout of it over a whirling, vertigo inducing depth of ugly want. A blink and he's reset, tongue over his teeth and bottom lip to chase the taste lingering there.
"As long as it is not a piece from his period in Tunis," Armand answers, running his hands over Daniel's shoulders in a way that seems both intimate and fussy, eyes just a touch brighter at how alluring he genuinely finds the idea of going to do a puzzle and nothing more. "You still owe me, but we could achieve my goals in your hotel room."
Looking at Daniel through his lashes at that, the faintest quirk to his lips.
They have things to do, they can't spend all day making out in shitty corner stores. This is what he tells himself when he catches that mean-tinged flicker of disappointment. Daniel has always wanted, never really been wanted in return, and it's still strange, disorienting, still not that believable when he catches moments of it.
Armand's wanting is so twisted as to feel true sometimes, though.
"It's fish," he informs him, about which Klee painting has been immortalized in puzzle form. Daniel has no clue if it's from whatever 'his period in Tunis' means; his art knowledge is more than a layman's, but miles behind the likes of Armand and Louis. "I know, I know. It was my idea, I'm still on board. Do you want the shades?"
"Yes," Armand answers with sudden brightness, pulling the ugly, clunky shades on as he breezes past to the register. The cashier is less than thrilled to deal with him, ringing him up with a silent sigh when Armand moves back to Daniel and links their arms. "Now tell me what one does with a puzzle when the initial entertainment component is completed and the finished work revealed. Do we do it again? Upside down, perhaps?"
He leads them out, seemingly content to stroll their way back unless Daniel points out other means of making it there much faster. He seems less than pleased at the attention Daniel occasionally draws, that double take look and thought of someone who recognizes his face from the about the author book blurb or television appearances.
Admittedly it is a novel experience to be this visible. In the theater sometimes, but his life with Louis was a far quieter thing, increasingly isolated for Louis' own good. He can already imagine Daniel's sneer if he said as much, or some quippy little comment, a matter that amuses him at the moment rather than annoy.
Daniel isn't ashamed to be out with Armand, even though he knows that all it takes is one particularly motivated, vampire-obsessed fan to post footage of them on TikTok, and in twelve hours it'll have reached Louis—
And then what? Louis left him alone with Armand. Louis walked away, and Daniel ceased to exist behind him once the door to the penthouse was closed. Daniel loves Louis, but if he pitches a fit about Armand, Daniel's not sure what he'll say. How's Lestat?, probably, which isn't kind. But oh well. They like to argue, it'll be alright.
"I think they just get broken up and go back in the box," he says. "Some people frame the ones they really like, but that was always weird to me."
And he started with puzzles to work on his motor skills when the shakes started, not because he really likes puzzles. Turns out they're nice, though, and they're good for luring in deeply fucked up 500 year old freaks.
"Is walking back alright? I wouldn't want to suggest you get into a car that might blow up with us inside."
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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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(Is he going to kiss him?)
"You like the book."
Lestat is the tragic villain, and Armand is the one without redemption, forever lurking in the shadows like a spider. The most frustrating role. The coolest, most fucked up role. In a book that exposes everything that Armand is supposed to hate about his existence. Louis changed his mind, didn't want it to go out; Lestat hates it. But Armand, Daniel thinks, likes the book.
He straightens back up. Time to go do a murder.
He says goodbye to the store manager, and leaves. The man is seemingly forgotten, left to mill around for minutes on his own before he exits. He turns down the street and away, going the opposite direction that Daniel went. Off to catch an Uber. He will, of course, be intercepted. And Daniel has gotten okay at detecting cameras through sound. He'll have gone to the corner store, which doesn't have great security camera coverage, and then in a few minutes, he'll be back in the corner store, having never left. This man will be in an alley, bloodless, having suffered a heart attack, or something like that. Who knows.
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Armand wants to be irritated and is as he watches Daniel move. Annoyed because the idea of liking the book isn't one he's given himself time to consider and it's true. That Daniel can see that sliver of contradiction in him is annoying. That this book is an ugly death wish beneath it's grandeur is annoying. That people on the street occasionally think his name with any number colorful and insipid opinions is annoying. That it is a testament to his continued weakness and mistake is annoying.
But of course Daniel is right, the stupid, overblown whole of it is something Armand likes. He's read it again and again in varying stages of wrath, humor or dissociation. He listens to it's broad, brash ripples in the vampire community. He follows his fledgling and tells himself he must because of the damn book and its damn dangers.
He likes the way Daniel writes, infuriatingly enough. Like he's leaning in to share a secret. He loves and hates this is the first portrait of himself, in ink rather than paint, by Daniel's damning hand. A murky and ugly picture, unlike any portrait done of him before. Terrifying, to be portrayed candidly, unflatteringly, and he likes it. He likes it too much.
Armand appears at Daniel's side in the corner store, hand to Daniel's arm as if to feel the warmth of the feeding. A presence the entire time, if the pleased curl of his lips is any indication.
"The New York coven loathes you," he says like this is an attractive quality Daniel possesses, pissing them off. He plucks a pair of gaudy, cheap sunglasses from a nearby rack and looks them over as if they weren't ugly lumps of plastic.
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But that's just a theory. a GaMe tHeOrY
If any of it's true, Daniel gets it. Sort of. Armand was born so long ago that today must seem like an alien planet. If Daniel lives for five hundred years, and they end up living in a nice place in a little space station by Lagrange Point 2, it'll probably still bear more resemblance to 2022 than 2022 does to 1500. Armand's brain is cooked. It's soup. Fucked up, cult soup.
One of many reasons Daniel should ditch him, instead of give him a brilliant smile that's a little too toothy. Blood-warm, pleased, not too impressed with his meal on a personal level, but happy to be fed regardless.
"Fuck 'em," he says magnanimously, and then he does what he didn't do back in the book store, and leans over and kisses Armand. Right here in the shitty corner store, over a pair of cheap sunglasses, in front of the clerk and god and everybody.
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Armand opens his mouth to spew the script, remind Daniel of countless dangers or whatever archaic, potentially bullshit vampire etiquette that Must Be Maintained, Daniel, when Daniel leans in instead. A kiss like the one he was mildly peeved about not being granted before, in front of the clerk who squints and thinks something disparaging about May-December romances. Armand could and in his own mind should bring up something disparaging about bartering with desire, but instead he foolishly leans into the kiss instead.
His lips quirk, smothering it but making no move to be the one to pull back first. Hungry, the mistake of showing affection he can sink his teeth into and not easily let go. Even when the clerk will undoubtedly clear his throat should Armand have his way and let the little intimacy linger.
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Now he can eat people.
Armand likes the book. Armand likes this, too, Daniel thinks. He doesn't push too far, doesn't turn sharing a sweet kiss in public into the tacky mistake of actually making out in public, just shares a quick little thing there at the end before he pulls away. Lets Armand taste the blood still lingering in his mouth. He knows Armand was watching, but still: here, look, I did it. For you.
"I kinda hope you say you want to kill everybody in here," he says quietly. Just enough for the two of them. "But it'd be a pain in the ass. Maybe I can lure you to my hotel room instead. I've got a 500 piece Paul Klee jigsaw puzzle."
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"As long as it is not a piece from his period in Tunis," Armand answers, running his hands over Daniel's shoulders in a way that seems both intimate and fussy, eyes just a touch brighter at how alluring he genuinely finds the idea of going to do a puzzle and nothing more. "You still owe me, but we could achieve my goals in your hotel room."
Looking at Daniel through his lashes at that, the faintest quirk to his lips.
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Armand's wanting is so twisted as to feel true sometimes, though.
"It's fish," he informs him, about which Klee painting has been immortalized in puzzle form. Daniel has no clue if it's from whatever 'his period in Tunis' means; his art knowledge is more than a layman's, but miles behind the likes of Armand and Louis. "I know, I know. It was my idea, I'm still on board. Do you want the shades?"
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He leads them out, seemingly content to stroll their way back unless Daniel points out other means of making it there much faster. He seems less than pleased at the attention Daniel occasionally draws, that double take look and thought of someone who recognizes his face from the about the author book blurb or television appearances.
Admittedly it is a novel experience to be this visible. In the theater sometimes, but his life with Louis was a far quieter thing, increasingly isolated for Louis' own good. He can already imagine Daniel's sneer if he said as much, or some quippy little comment, a matter that amuses him at the moment rather than annoy.
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And then what? Louis left him alone with Armand. Louis walked away, and Daniel ceased to exist behind him once the door to the penthouse was closed. Daniel loves Louis, but if he pitches a fit about Armand, Daniel's not sure what he'll say. How's Lestat?, probably, which isn't kind. But oh well. They like to argue, it'll be alright.
"I think they just get broken up and go back in the box," he says. "Some people frame the ones they really like, but that was always weird to me."
And he started with puzzles to work on his motor skills when the shakes started, not because he really likes puzzles. Turns out they're nice, though, and they're good for luring in deeply fucked up 500 year old freaks.
"Is walking back alright? I wouldn't want to suggest you get into a car that might blow up with us inside."
Daniel's funny.
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