"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
"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.