Good. Armand would like to participate in granting him the ability.

He reaches down, takes Daniel by the wrist, tugs his hand away from himself. The plan had been to then touch him, but whim dictates he look him over. His own spend glistens on his skin, rough grey hair, the thready dregs of annihilated cloth clinging here and there to both of them like persistent spider web.

"Do you recall what the sun feels like, still?" he asks, as he makes this study. Imagines it rendered in charcoal, decidedly pornographic, a frame that cuts Daniel off at the knees and neck, a needing cock rendered only in vague strokes and shadows.