He wonders how much of himself Armand ever showed Louis. If he sat around peeling Rubik's cubes and bird wings apart while watching Pre-Codes cartoons while Louis looked up auction houses, or if Armand was all housewife, all the time. He wonders how much of himself Armand is willing to prune away, like some horrible self-mutilating gardener, growing wilder and wilder in the confines of his own, overpowered mind in total isolation.
Couldn't have been much, right? Louis acted like Armand was so normal. Just a person who, on good days, he was sick of. He didn't act like he was trapped with a psychopath megalodon.
Daniel lets Armand lean on him, and even slings an arm around his middle so that he doesn't slide away while he leans to fish the puzzle out of wherever he's got it stowed. Bag, maybe. Mysterious of the narrative. If they actually want to do it, they'll have to move to a table (or pull a door off of the hutch, whatever), but they can sort the pieces by color in the box.
"I've never been good once in my entire fucking life." He flops the box down. Behold. Fish. "Do you sound like a slightly creepy, slightly horny mad scientist on purpose?"
The power of vampirism is Armand can simply bring the table to them, though he does not do that. His eyes are set unblinking in the screen, only glancing away to the box when presented. In some ways it feels like a trap, though he isn't entirely certain what end of it is the snare. Daniel presenting a hobby and expecting engagement mirroring his own enthusiasm without tipping the scale to insulting apathy or unpleasant fervor? Perhaps the opposite, a pastime sometimes considered childish or dull, where sincere interest would be boring.
The truth is a guy who genuinely enjoys picking lint off the sofa and keeping everything in their neat little boxes with a side passion in dissection is one who feels a very genuine flare of interest on the matter. Even as he settles for mirroring Daniel's enthusiasm as a safety precaution, at least until he gets a better understanding of why it is Daniel brought this before him.
He tries not to get attached to the idea that each of these little offerings, puzzles and delightful animations, are offerings from Daniel's own interest with sincere intent. Given both their track records there's a good chance that would end in fire and brimstone one way or another. At least the heat is comfortable, as is Daniel's well known personal failings with interpersonal relationships. Some might call that common ground and not tactical advantage.
Anyway Armand considers saying Daniel was very good in San Francisco when Armand made him be, but he has the foresight to register he may be denied puzzles if he casually brings up Daniel's torture and all the histrionics his fledgling fell into about it. Worse, he might move away and Armand is quite cozy where he is, reaching to pluck up a puzzle piece and examine it.
"Then squirm and prolong the process, I will enjoy myself either way." Daniel's discomfort was and is cute, like abandoned animals in cardboard boxes probably. He smothers his own amusement when Daniel calls him a mad scientist. Unfortunate the bond likely gives away he enjoys the comparison more than when people call him otherworldly in his beauty or something similar.
"Do you enjoy it? For how often you pin your subjects to squirm under your relentless gaze perhaps you would enjoy being examined until you have nothing left to give."
The embarrassing truth is that Daniel doesn't want Armand to get bored. A frightful return of The B Word. Daniel is the one who has nothing in him but that black hole, who can offer nothing of himself (because there's nothing to offer) besides questions, poking, prodding. If he investigates and digs into Armand to find all the things he likes, all the niche interests and hobbies, preexisting and potential, then he can better trap his maker here for further observation and interaction. He can learn more, learn the most, before Armand gets tired of him.
Everyone does. Armand is going to. It'll look different, because Armand is who (and what) he is. Might take longer, too, with the way time doesn't hit the same for vampires, particularly not ancient ones whose fucked up makers lived at the same time as Actual Jesus Christ.
But it'll happen. So here are some cartoons, and here is a puzzle, and maybe Armand will stay past measuring him for a suit he'll never wear. Daniel isn't Louis, he isn't Lestat, he isn't beautiful or compelling, he isn't charming, he isn't actually very nice. There's no reason for Armand to stick around. Daniel has to figure something out.
A small chuckle. Mad scientist does suit him. What a freak.
"I did write a memoir," he points out. "Putting myself through the thing I put other people through, more or less."
Joke's on Armand. There's nothing to give to begin with. It's all there in the book, the one without mention of Louis or Armand in San Fransisco. Just stories, things that have happened to him, things he thinks about, false depth. But he's a good writer. It looks endless.
"You did no such thing. What you did is closer to offering up your weaknesses on your own terms, and made them into an armor. Look at the ugly truths of my life, you say, in your own words with only an editor to keep you honest.
"You would find the experience far different, having an antagonistic creature dissect every word to find the rot underneath the gilding," Armand answers, though rather than accusation he almost sounds approving, in his own way. A clever way of keeping control of the narrative, to protect himself, Daniel might be a survivor after all.
He begins sorting the pieces as he speaks, some system that seems based on shape and color.
Just a touch wry, shoulder to shoulder with the creature that tortured him for a week. A shard of ice, and all that. A mystery, still, why Armand didn't just get rid of him in the ensuing fifty years, why he's content with having given an eager black hole this unlife, these powers, such healing and stability.
Daniel keeps one arm around Armand, low on his hips, and he thinks of holding Alice this way; comfortable, casual, rarely the arm over her shoulders. Was it more like a hug, or more like people were less likely to notice? Insert slur here hooker Daniel Molloy, making it with a woman out of his league.
Well, anyway.
"I've never been creative. Not real creativity, like you with your animations." (Louis with photography, Lestat with music, Marius with painting...) "All I've got is poking around at other people."
Well, Daniel got him there. Armand considers that for a few fleeting moments, those spiraling days as an interview of a different kind. An unsatisfying one, he never really did get the answers he was seeking. All that came of the mess was a broken companionship and doing puzzles with the man who spearheaded its destruction.
Cuddled up, even, to the man who heralded his divorce. Slotted into his side and enjoying it more than he wishes he realized.
"I directed, I did not create," he answers after a beat, hands moving a little faster with the satisfying work of organizing and sorting. Despite the deflection he cannot help a sliver of surprised pride at the animations being considered at all. "Self effacement- you do not consider writing creation? Your damnable book and all it's kohl caked admirers with chipped black nail polish and mournful sighs are not proof?
"What do you consider yourself then, a taxidermist? A curator? A nosy neighbor peeking through the windows, jotting notes?"
Maybe Daniel had wanted to be creative. Maybe it's part of why Louis took a particular shine to him, a kid who so dearly wanted to have that spark, the fount of it pouring out of him— but it wasn't creation, it was hunger. Still is.
He watches Armand sort, not yet compelled to help out. It's more satisfying to observe him, and shift just a little bit to get more comfortable. Practically cuddled up, indeed. He wonders if the ancient vampire would mind if he leaned in enough to nose through his silky hair, enjoy the dense texture of midnight strands. But he's not sure where they land on idle affections. They did what they did, but they didn't go further, and that line drawn is still there, for Daniel.
Does Armand actually want him? ... Does it matter? Is Daniel's craterd self-esteem too good for experimentation?
"I like the truth of things, I guess. Even when it's horrible. Especially when, if my work suggests anything. And the truth of myself is pretty fucking horrible, when you get right down to it. Maybe I've got great self-worth after all."
"Curious, yes. Loudmouth, very much so. Unfortunately for the rest of us you contain multitudes," Armand answers with an airy wave of the hand, moving the edge pieces of the puzzle into a little pile. "If you did not you would be dead."
Now he seems curious about making piles of the pieces in similar shapes, for whatever reason. Not helpful but at this point he seems to be going about the puzzle not unlike a kid just making a mess or making piles of his toys instead. Focused on it as he leans against Daniel, though his attention couldn't be more obviously on Daniel himself.
Enough that he even breaks his nonchalance to look to Daniel, assessing as he asks, "What is the truth of Daniel Molloy 'when you get right down to it,' then?"
"Trying to get me to explain my psychological weaknesses because you can't pull them out of my head for free anymore?"
Naughty ancient mad scientist. Though Daniel thinks that some of this might be actual, genuine curiosity on Armand's part. Neither of them have any experience with being what they are to each other. Pretty nuts. His tone is teasing, anyway. Whether or not it's intentional, it's kinda funny that he's doing it.
"I'm just some asshole with no friends and a completely estranged family."
Horrible, as noted. But some horrible things are ordinary, and isn't that worse? There's more he could say, now. He could talk about how sometimes, he thinks Louis would be disappointed in him, and it's an unpleasant thought. But not as unpleasant as the idea of eating rats and barricading himself away from the world except to get in fights. He knows he should feel bad about murdering people, and he feels a little bad over not feeling at all bad. But still not as bad as he should.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Couldn't have been much, right? Louis acted like Armand was so normal. Just a person who, on good days, he was sick of. He didn't act like he was trapped with a psychopath megalodon.
Daniel lets Armand lean on him, and even slings an arm around his middle so that he doesn't slide away while he leans to fish the puzzle out of wherever he's got it stowed. Bag, maybe. Mysterious of the narrative. If they actually want to do it, they'll have to move to a table (or pull a door off of the hutch, whatever), but they can sort the pieces by color in the box.
"I've never been good once in my entire fucking life." He flops the box down. Behold. Fish. "Do you sound like a slightly creepy, slightly horny mad scientist on purpose?"
no subject
The truth is a guy who genuinely enjoys picking lint off the sofa and keeping everything in their neat little boxes with a side passion in dissection is one who feels a very genuine flare of interest on the matter. Even as he settles for mirroring Daniel's enthusiasm as a safety precaution, at least until he gets a better understanding of why it is Daniel brought this before him.
He tries not to get attached to the idea that each of these little offerings, puzzles and delightful animations, are offerings from Daniel's own interest with sincere intent. Given both their track records there's a good chance that would end in fire and brimstone one way or another. At least the heat is comfortable, as is Daniel's well known personal failings with interpersonal relationships. Some might call that common ground and not tactical advantage.
Anyway Armand considers saying Daniel was very good in San Francisco when Armand made him be, but he has the foresight to register he may be denied puzzles if he casually brings up Daniel's torture and all the histrionics his fledgling fell into about it. Worse, he might move away and Armand is quite cozy where he is, reaching to pluck up a puzzle piece and examine it.
"Then squirm and prolong the process, I will enjoy myself either way." Daniel's discomfort was and is cute, like abandoned animals in cardboard boxes probably. He smothers his own amusement when Daniel calls him a mad scientist. Unfortunate the bond likely gives away he enjoys the comparison more than when people call him otherworldly in his beauty or something similar.
"Do you enjoy it? For how often you pin your subjects to squirm under your relentless gaze perhaps you would enjoy being examined until you have nothing left to give."
no subject
Everyone does. Armand is going to. It'll look different, because Armand is who (and what) he is. Might take longer, too, with the way time doesn't hit the same for vampires, particularly not ancient ones whose fucked up makers lived at the same time as Actual Jesus Christ.
But it'll happen. So here are some cartoons, and here is a puzzle, and maybe Armand will stay past measuring him for a suit he'll never wear. Daniel isn't Louis, he isn't Lestat, he isn't beautiful or compelling, he isn't charming, he isn't actually very nice. There's no reason for Armand to stick around. Daniel has to figure something out.
A small chuckle. Mad scientist does suit him. What a freak.
"I did write a memoir," he points out. "Putting myself through the thing I put other people through, more or less."
Joke's on Armand. There's nothing to give to begin with. It's all there in the book, the one without mention of Louis or Armand in San Fransisco. Just stories, things that have happened to him, things he thinks about, false depth. But he's a good writer. It looks endless.
no subject
"You would find the experience far different, having an antagonistic creature dissect every word to find the rot underneath the gilding," Armand answers, though rather than accusation he almost sounds approving, in his own way. A clever way of keeping control of the narrative, to protect himself, Daniel might be a survivor after all.
He begins sorting the pieces as he speaks, some system that seems based on shape and color.
no subject
Just a touch wry, shoulder to shoulder with the creature that tortured him for a week. A shard of ice, and all that. A mystery, still, why Armand didn't just get rid of him in the ensuing fifty years, why he's content with having given an eager black hole this unlife, these powers, such healing and stability.
Daniel keeps one arm around Armand, low on his hips, and he thinks of holding Alice this way; comfortable, casual, rarely the arm over her shoulders. Was it more like a hug, or more like people were less likely to notice? Insert slur here hooker Daniel Molloy, making it with a woman out of his league.
Well, anyway.
"I've never been creative. Not real creativity, like you with your animations." (Louis with photography, Lestat with music, Marius with painting...) "All I've got is poking around at other people."
no subject
Cuddled up, even, to the man who heralded his divorce. Slotted into his side and enjoying it more than he wishes he realized.
"I directed, I did not create," he answers after a beat, hands moving a little faster with the satisfying work of organizing and sorting. Despite the deflection he cannot help a sliver of surprised pride at the animations being considered at all. "Self effacement- you do not consider writing creation? Your damnable book and all it's kohl caked admirers with chipped black nail polish and mournful sighs are not proof?
"What do you consider yourself then, a taxidermist? A curator? A nosy neighbor peeking through the windows, jotting notes?"
no subject
Maybe Daniel had wanted to be creative. Maybe it's part of why Louis took a particular shine to him, a kid who so dearly wanted to have that spark, the fount of it pouring out of him— but it wasn't creation, it was hunger. Still is.
He watches Armand sort, not yet compelled to help out. It's more satisfying to observe him, and shift just a little bit to get more comfortable. Practically cuddled up, indeed. He wonders if the ancient vampire would mind if he leaned in enough to nose through his silky hair, enjoy the dense texture of midnight strands. But he's not sure where they land on idle affections. They did what they did, but they didn't go further, and that line drawn is still there, for Daniel.
Does Armand actually want him? ... Does it matter? Is Daniel's craterd self-esteem too good for experimentation?
"I like the truth of things, I guess. Even when it's horrible. Especially when, if my work suggests anything. And the truth of myself is pretty fucking horrible, when you get right down to it. Maybe I've got great self-worth after all."
He's got jokes!
no subject
Now he seems curious about making piles of the pieces in similar shapes, for whatever reason. Not helpful but at this point he seems to be going about the puzzle not unlike a kid just making a mess or making piles of his toys instead. Focused on it as he leans against Daniel, though his attention couldn't be more obviously on Daniel himself.
Enough that he even breaks his nonchalance to look to Daniel, assessing as he asks, "What is the truth of Daniel Molloy 'when you get right down to it,' then?"
no subject
Naughty ancient mad scientist. Though Daniel thinks that some of this might be actual, genuine curiosity on Armand's part. Neither of them have any experience with being what they are to each other. Pretty nuts. His tone is teasing, anyway. Whether or not it's intentional, it's kinda funny that he's doing it.
"I'm just some asshole with no friends and a completely estranged family."
Horrible, as noted. But some horrible things are ordinary, and isn't that worse? There's more he could say, now. He could talk about how sometimes, he thinks Louis would be disappointed in him, and it's an unpleasant thought. But not as unpleasant as the idea of eating rats and barricading himself away from the world except to get in fights. He knows he should feel bad about murdering people, and he feels a little bad over not feeling at all bad. But still not as bad as he should.
He flips over a puzzle piece. Fish nose.