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."
Armand considers that with normal thought processes, such as if Daniel liked the depicted work so much Armand would hardly be against simply getting it for him. An apologetic gesture, maybe, for the deadbeat maker thing and not several other less important matters like the torture and mind wipe. Not like the Dubai penthouse didn't proudly display stolen works for the hell of it. Anything can be a date if you try hard enough, like art heists.
Daniel's a little funny. Armand refuses to roll his eyes but the spirit is there in his tone. "Walking is fine, to spare my fledgling the dangers of motor vehicles. What would this world do without Daniel Molloy to irritate tv personalities on streaming services only a handful of people own?"
Despite the the quip he seems rather pleased by the chance to walk, regarding the area with somewhat new eyes- a rarity that is delightful if not for the reason. Here is Daniel's era and world, that will one day crystalize in his mind in formative foundation, blessing and curse alike.
"Besides, it would not kill me," he sniffs. "What is an lackluster automobile to a five hundred year old vampire?"
The 60s, and 70s, and 80s.. all the way until now, a rapid, flip-book of technological progress and culture wars. It's already seemed to go by too fast for Daniel to comfortably keep up with— something he had a period of complaining about, until some guy with a George Bush hat on agreed with him, and then he dedicated himself fully to the task of maintaining familiarity with contemporary beats. Fuck that. Fuck sitting on a porch somewhere in Montana and watching the wind ruffle the tall grass, fuck thinking it's nice when time doesn't move so fast.
Just live, and like it. Or don't live, and take a nap for fifty years, and then have fun puzzles to do when you wake up. Daniel doesn't know if he'd ever be able to hibernate, but even the prospect of doing so is kind of interesting. Is it like coming out of a space ship onto a new planet after being in cryosleep, like some weird space movie? Is it like being lost in the dark? He wants to know. He wants to know everything.
Daniel pinches Armand's side for his bad joke, playful and tickling.
"Yeah, yeah, you're the coolest."
It'd be more mocking if he didn't mean it. Armand is the scariest thing in the world.
The hotel isn't too long of a walk away, but it is still a walk. But the night air is nice, and they get to be in public together, and Daniel gets to look relaxed and happy about it. The scariest thing in the world, and he's got his arm linked with Daniel's, deceptively beautiful, but horrible, a nightmare of a monster that's devoured thousands of lives. And he makes bad jokes.
Into the hotel, into the elevator, finger to button, and up.
Armand's lips tug into a faint little smirk at the reaction then stay that way as they walk. The ease is alarming, he finds himself wanting to point out every passing detail he's missed in his studies of the modern world and ask 'what is that? why is that?' It's hardly much, this minor display of ignorance, but he can recognize a shift in the fact he feels no need to guard himself, or handpick which ignorance to offer up for proper effect.
What's more is the fact he feels very little in the way of alarm at the revelation. This is his, every instinct tells him, for better or for worse. His fledgling, blood of his blood, uniquely capable of harming him but also a lone safe haven in the world.
No, perhaps not safe but still he has a place here, carved out in a form he does not yet recognize. To find the shape of it is a terrifying prospect as much as it is an alluring one, and he dwells on it until the elevator opens for them.
It isn't until they reach the room that Armand untangles, the door opening before him with a click of manipulated mechanisms in a dramatic little flourish. He's pulling out his phone, banishing the thoughts of before when he decides he will be paid back as promised, striding further in as he taps at the screen.
"Let me see your wardrobe," he orders as he tap tap taps away. "I assume you brought at least one formal attire."
To reference another thread, perhaps out-of-continuity with this one— in hell together. And sometimes it's nice to have company in hell. Armand is dismal about it, but Daniel likes it. Armand can't divorce him, can't get emancipated. They already hate each other. So he's stuck. It's fucked up, but Daniel likes it. He likes being handcuffed, and knowing that even if they decide not to speak to each other, even if Armand runs off, they're still tethered.
Safe from everything but each other.
Show off, he thinks, about the door. But it's fond, and it might not be showing off. Armand is so many miles away from human, why should he pretend otherwise?
"My wardrobe?" Oh, brother. "No, I just brought a few changes of clothes. I'm not even really unpacked."
He's shrugging off his jacket, meanwhile, and the alluded-to suitcase is there on the luggage stand, containing another pair of jeans, some slacks, pajamas, and a small variety of shirts. Another band tee, but a button-up, too. Socks. Underwear. A sweatshirt. It's not very exciting.
Time to make an immediate b-line to that suitcase, tossing it on the bed to begin rifling through it shamelessly. To his credit he doesn't actually turn his nose up at any of it, no matter how worn the shirt or jeans, looking over each with the critical eye of an appraiser brought delicate family treasures to prove their worth.
Then again each time he's finishes he just tosses the offending article of clothing to the side in a big pile that seems a little too much like a 'toss' pile in organizing. The band tshirts do get more attention, apparently charmed by the history of them and how they proudly display Daniel's taste in that way Daniel's era seems to adore. Armand found the business rather tacky at first, wearing billboards across their chests, but it's grown on him in the way tacky things tend to.
Like his fledging, as it turns out. He makes a mental note to call Daniel tacky sometime in the future just to see his reaction, before he drops the shirt and sits on the bed, phone back at the ready. He picks up a pair of socks with similar fascination before they get tossed aside too.
"You really should have formal wear prepared in case of unexpected business on trips such as this, Daniel," Armand tuts. "That is fine, I know your measurements. Have you ever owned a tuxedo? I admit I find them quite charming, are they outdated yet?"
Faintly exasperated, watching as Armand dissects his clothes. Of course he wants into every little nook and cranny of Daniel's life, as though he isn't already sliding around inside his veins. Daniel wonders just how much intimacy they're going to end up entwining around each other— they haven't revisited sex since he'd hit the brakes that one night in his apartment, and maybe they won't ever. Not really companions, not lovers, just some other, weird thing that maybe only exists for vampires.
He still believes that, eventually, Armand will find someone more suited to him. Someone who looks beautiful, who wasn't made in a panic attack. But until then, this is nice, even if it means his things get rifled through.
"I'm on a book tour, there's nothing unexpected," he says. "I've rented a tuxedo a few times. I look like a Batman villain in them."
He gestures, arms curved around him. Evocative of waddling.
"The Penguin. It looks stupid. And, look, I know I'm pushing the 'looks stupid' thing with band shirts and leather," heaven forbid anyone think Daniel Molloy is not self aware, "but I like those. And I only get one spiral into a hedonistic burnout 'death' of my mortal life."
"Of course it looks foolish, you rented. It was not tailored to your figure, which does not look like- are you referring to the Adam West series or the 1992 film?" Armand looks Daniel over for a moment before shaking his head. "Regardless, a ridiculous comparison."
He lifts himself from the bed, moving over to smooth his hands over Daniel's shoulders. A subtly possessive gesture in how it lingers, and his eyes fall on Daniel's lips one time too many before he sniffs and catches his eye.
"So what does not 'look stupid?' Will you wear cardigans and slacks for the rest of eternity?" he asks with an arched brow. "It hardly matters in this moment. You owe me, and I will not be denied what is owed."
Teasing. He sees those looks. Wonders about them, about how much Armand liked being kissed in public in a shitty corner store, how happy he was at buying tacky little sunglasses. It feels good, to be wanted. Something Daniel could get used to— knows he shouldn't, knows it's a bad idea, that Armand will get sick of him, like everyone gets sick of him, and leave permanently, not just to have space or play tag like they've been doing.
There will always be this tether, though. This bond. Armand says Daniel will resent him eventually, but what about the other way around? What happens when Armand regrets making some mean old man his first fledgling, and there's Daniel at the other side of the link, spitefully happy?
"I'm not protesting," he says, and pats Armand's side as he rests hands on his hips. "I'm just letting you know. You can dress me up in any penguin suit you want, if that's the reward you're deciding on."
"Peckish," Armand answers, lashes lowering in a way that could be flirtatious and maybe comes off a little as genuinely assessing Daniel's skin for where to take a bite out of. Not all that strange in the greater world of vampires, though in the greater world of Armand he is usually the one offering up his wrist and neck and blood rather than the other way around.
He considers the wisdom of procrastination in the form of seduction and maybe seeing if he could get Daniel's marvelous new fangs into his neck within the next few minutes, but Daniel says 'penguin suit' and he can't help but find that charming. Maybe more so how Daniel isn't fighting him about this, even playful back and forth. Just going with it, perhaps an offshoot of the man's burning curiosity. What happens next is easier to find out if it isn't impeded and allowed to unfurl.
Strange boy, though curiosity made for a dangerous vampire. A buffer against eternity.
"I'm going to get you a tuxedo," he says, eyes bright with delight as he cups Daniel's jaw. A sweet gesture, until he moves his head around like he's examining a prized dog at all angles. "Hm, and a few other pieces. Those you can do with as you will, but you will keep the tuxedo."
Hungry for blood, hungry for..? Daniel sways, just slightly, knowing that Armand is a creature capable of noticing even the smallest movements and understanding that they're deliberate, whereas a human might miss it. Tiniest degrees of overt interest. Wondering still.
Daniel wants to kiss him. Doesn't, yet.
"Alright. I'll try to restrain myself from a Burgess Meredith impression." To answer which Penguin, a question he skipped earlier, more interested in other things. "I never met him, just, like, the evil florist gangster. What's his name. Berle, I think. Because I did this chronicle project with Yyvone Craig. Motorcycles and Elvis and activism, you know?"
Nobody knows about any of that, Daniel. She's just Batgirl.
"Where the fuck am I going to wear a tuxedo, though?"
That tiny bit of interest Armand devours greedily, hungry for it in a way that surprises him. Being desired in such a way is hardly novel, but being desired by a man who dissected his ugliness and weakness brutally yet still asked him to come back here for a puzzle of all things, who kissed him in a dirty little bodega- well, that's a different beast.
The corners of his eyes crinkle a bit in mirth to hear the answer to his earlier question, charmed again that Daniel found his way back around to it. "I was more a fan of the Green Hornet that era I admit. If you are looking for impressions to dredge up."
He pats Daniel's cheek before pulling away, sitting elegantly on the bed and patting beside him in forceful invitation as he starts tapping away at his phone again. "Award shows, galas, fundraisers, gallery openings, opera, high society events, certain upscale restaurants- admittedly far less reason to go to the latter now, but the idea remains. Weddings, I suppose." He crinkles his nose as if that's the distasteful gathering of all of those.
But he makes a mental note about it. Bruce Lee movies? ... Green hats? Or maybe Armand will like wuxia films, with their magical realism. More weird than not. He gets a kick out of trying to find things that fixate Armand's attention. He wants to dig into him and find the artist, because he's sure there is one, even if he's buried it.
"I hate weddings." Daniel sits beside him, and leans back on his hands with a lilt over towards his maker, so he can spy on his phone screen. Does he think someone's going to show up with a tuxedo overnight and fit him? ... He might. That might be a thing ultra-wealthy people with spooky vampire connections can make happen. "I've got a suit jacket somewhere. No, two. I've got a brown one and a navy one. I don't think I've worn either in like twenty years."
Armand makes himself comfortable, not quite the intimacy of lounging against Daniel but shifts himself so they share the space seamlessly. Happy to show his phone screen, which is on some sleek website that screams overpriced rich people nonsense based purely on the somehow gaudy minimalism. "I would be curious to hear what impressions you are permitted by law and good taste to attempt- perhaps a dark navy would work well."
He considers Daniel for a few moments before tapping something on screen- oh there's a price tag for whatever's happening and it is indeed eye searingly high. More expensive than Daniel's first and potentially second car high. Not billionaires though, just multi million.
"You chafe against such uniforms, I take it. Daniel Molloy is not one for button ups and ties," Armand drawls, somewhere between biting mockery and maybe a hint of fondness. "I have never been to a wedding as an invited guest. We drained several wedding parties in Paris over the years, it was good practice for the coven."
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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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Daniel's a little funny. Armand refuses to roll his eyes but the spirit is there in his tone. "Walking is fine, to spare my fledgling the dangers of motor vehicles. What would this world do without Daniel Molloy to irritate tv personalities on streaming services only a handful of people own?"
Despite the the quip he seems rather pleased by the chance to walk, regarding the area with somewhat new eyes- a rarity that is delightful if not for the reason. Here is Daniel's era and world, that will one day crystalize in his mind in formative foundation, blessing and curse alike.
"Besides, it would not kill me," he sniffs. "What is an lackluster automobile to a five hundred year old vampire?"
He can try to do funny callbacks too, thanks.
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Just live, and like it. Or don't live, and take a nap for fifty years, and then have fun puzzles to do when you wake up. Daniel doesn't know if he'd ever be able to hibernate, but even the prospect of doing so is kind of interesting. Is it like coming out of a space ship onto a new planet after being in cryosleep, like some weird space movie? Is it like being lost in the dark? He wants to know. He wants to know everything.
Daniel pinches Armand's side for his bad joke, playful and tickling.
"Yeah, yeah, you're the coolest."
It'd be more mocking if he didn't mean it. Armand is the scariest thing in the world.
The hotel isn't too long of a walk away, but it is still a walk. But the night air is nice, and they get to be in public together, and Daniel gets to look relaxed and happy about it. The scariest thing in the world, and he's got his arm linked with Daniel's, deceptively beautiful, but horrible, a nightmare of a monster that's devoured thousands of lives. And he makes bad jokes.
Into the hotel, into the elevator, finger to button, and up.
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What's more is the fact he feels very little in the way of alarm at the revelation. This is his, every instinct tells him, for better or for worse. His fledgling, blood of his blood, uniquely capable of harming him but also a lone safe haven in the world.
No, perhaps not safe but still he has a place here, carved out in a form he does not yet recognize. To find the shape of it is a terrifying prospect as much as it is an alluring one, and he dwells on it until the elevator opens for them.
It isn't until they reach the room that Armand untangles, the door opening before him with a click of manipulated mechanisms in a dramatic little flourish. He's pulling out his phone, banishing the thoughts of before when he decides he will be paid back as promised, striding further in as he taps at the screen.
"Let me see your wardrobe," he orders as he tap tap taps away. "I assume you brought at least one formal attire."
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Safe from everything but each other.
Show off, he thinks, about the door. But it's fond, and it might not be showing off. Armand is so many miles away from human, why should he pretend otherwise?
"My wardrobe?" Oh, brother. "No, I just brought a few changes of clothes. I'm not even really unpacked."
He's shrugging off his jacket, meanwhile, and the alluded-to suitcase is there on the luggage stand, containing another pair of jeans, some slacks, pajamas, and a small variety of shirts. Another band tee, but a button-up, too. Socks. Underwear. A sweatshirt. It's not very exciting.
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Then again each time he's finishes he just tosses the offending article of clothing to the side in a big pile that seems a little too much like a 'toss' pile in organizing. The band tshirts do get more attention, apparently charmed by the history of them and how they proudly display Daniel's taste in that way Daniel's era seems to adore. Armand found the business rather tacky at first, wearing billboards across their chests, but it's grown on him in the way tacky things tend to.
Like his fledging, as it turns out. He makes a mental note to call Daniel tacky sometime in the future just to see his reaction, before he drops the shirt and sits on the bed, phone back at the ready. He picks up a pair of socks with similar fascination before they get tossed aside too.
"You really should have formal wear prepared in case of unexpected business on trips such as this, Daniel," Armand tuts. "That is fine, I know your measurements. Have you ever owned a tuxedo? I admit I find them quite charming, are they outdated yet?"
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He still believes that, eventually, Armand will find someone more suited to him. Someone who looks beautiful, who wasn't made in a panic attack. But until then, this is nice, even if it means his things get rifled through.
"I'm on a book tour, there's nothing unexpected," he says. "I've rented a tuxedo a few times. I look like a Batman villain in them."
He gestures, arms curved around him. Evocative of waddling.
"The Penguin. It looks stupid. And, look, I know I'm pushing the 'looks stupid' thing with band shirts and leather," heaven forbid anyone think Daniel Molloy is not self aware, "but I like those. And I only get one spiral into a hedonistic burnout 'death' of my mortal life."
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He lifts himself from the bed, moving over to smooth his hands over Daniel's shoulders. A subtly possessive gesture in how it lingers, and his eyes fall on Daniel's lips one time too many before he sniffs and catches his eye.
"So what does not 'look stupid?' Will you wear cardigans and slacks for the rest of eternity?" he asks with an arched brow. "It hardly matters in this moment. You owe me, and I will not be denied what is owed."
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Teasing. He sees those looks. Wonders about them, about how much Armand liked being kissed in public in a shitty corner store, how happy he was at buying tacky little sunglasses. It feels good, to be wanted. Something Daniel could get used to— knows he shouldn't, knows it's a bad idea, that Armand will get sick of him, like everyone gets sick of him, and leave permanently, not just to have space or play tag like they've been doing.
There will always be this tether, though. This bond. Armand says Daniel will resent him eventually, but what about the other way around? What happens when Armand regrets making some mean old man his first fledgling, and there's Daniel at the other side of the link, spitefully happy?
"I'm not protesting," he says, and pats Armand's side as he rests hands on his hips. "I'm just letting you know. You can dress me up in any penguin suit you want, if that's the reward you're deciding on."
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He considers the wisdom of procrastination in the form of seduction and maybe seeing if he could get Daniel's marvelous new fangs into his neck within the next few minutes, but Daniel says 'penguin suit' and he can't help but find that charming. Maybe more so how Daniel isn't fighting him about this, even playful back and forth. Just going with it, perhaps an offshoot of the man's burning curiosity. What happens next is easier to find out if it isn't impeded and allowed to unfurl.
Strange boy, though curiosity made for a dangerous vampire. A buffer against eternity.
"I'm going to get you a tuxedo," he says, eyes bright with delight as he cups Daniel's jaw. A sweet gesture, until he moves his head around like he's examining a prized dog at all angles. "Hm, and a few other pieces. Those you can do with as you will, but you will keep the tuxedo."
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Daniel wants to kiss him. Doesn't, yet.
"Alright. I'll try to restrain myself from a Burgess Meredith impression." To answer which Penguin, a question he skipped earlier, more interested in other things. "I never met him, just, like, the evil florist gangster. What's his name. Berle, I think. Because I did this chronicle project with Yyvone Craig. Motorcycles and Elvis and activism, you know?"
Nobody knows about any of that, Daniel. She's just Batgirl.
"Where the fuck am I going to wear a tuxedo, though?"
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The corners of his eyes crinkle a bit in mirth to hear the answer to his earlier question, charmed again that Daniel found his way back around to it. "I was more a fan of the Green Hornet that era I admit. If you are looking for impressions to dredge up."
He pats Daniel's cheek before pulling away, sitting elegantly on the bed and patting beside him in forceful invitation as he starts tapping away at his phone again. "Award shows, galas, fundraisers, gallery openings, opera, high society events, certain upscale restaurants- admittedly far less reason to go to the latter now, but the idea remains. Weddings, I suppose." He crinkles his nose as if that's the distasteful gathering of all of those.
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But he makes a mental note about it. Bruce Lee movies? ... Green hats? Or maybe Armand will like wuxia films, with their magical realism. More weird than not. He gets a kick out of trying to find things that fixate Armand's attention. He wants to dig into him and find the artist, because he's sure there is one, even if he's buried it.
"I hate weddings." Daniel sits beside him, and leans back on his hands with a lilt over towards his maker, so he can spy on his phone screen. Does he think someone's going to show up with a tuxedo overnight and fit him? ... He might. That might be a thing ultra-wealthy people with spooky vampire connections can make happen. "I've got a suit jacket somewhere. No, two. I've got a brown one and a navy one. I don't think I've worn either in like twenty years."
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He considers Daniel for a few moments before tapping something on screen- oh there's a price tag for whatever's happening and it is indeed eye searingly high. More expensive than Daniel's first and potentially second car high. Not billionaires though, just multi million.
"You chafe against such uniforms, I take it. Daniel Molloy is not one for button ups and ties," Armand drawls, somewhere between biting mockery and maybe a hint of fondness. "I have never been to a wedding as an invited guest. We drained several wedding parties in Paris over the years, it was good practice for the coven."
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