Maybe this is the sequel. The Vampire Armand. Daniel retells the experience of being tortured in 1973, in full detail past what Talamasca wanted him to expose (what he felt safe exposing— Louis, a serial killer in two countries, Daniel couldn't bring himself to state it all so directly), and the mind games in Dubai, and then a series of encounters.
The creature that kept torturing me, that struggled with his desire to kill me versus save me, sat politely in the audience and asked if I ever felt like he might go through with it.
A little smile. What the fuck is wrong with you. (Oh, are we playing a game, again.)
"Yes." So there's that. Another ripple of laughter in the room, because of course, of course. "A vampire could kill me. Easily. So could a gunshot to the head or a bus hitting me, though."
More audience chuckles.
"I like my life." Echo. Still. He looks at Armand. He knows he is dead. He liked his life before, in the 70s. He did not like it very much six months ago, something he told 'Rashid'. Did you have a restful sleep. Funny. Horror, perhaps: he likes it again, now. "It's not that I don't care about risk or that I think I'm untouchable. I just acknowledge it and try to get on with the work anyway, and then it fades away, because I care about the work. The unsettling thing about the threat of death from a vampire versus the threat of death from a Boeing CEO or whatever," the host goes Oooooo at that around more audience reactivity, topical!! stop assassinating people, Boeing, "is how death doesn't mean the same thing to a vampire as it does to a CEO. If I look at a vampire, and I did, and I think 'This guy is going to kill me', do I even know what that means? What's the experience of death going to be like? Am I changed, in those final moments? How changed? If I die, permanently die, was I a different person for a few seconds? Is the vampire who killed me changed, through me?"
And what if he didn't die. What if the vampire let him go for fifty years. What if the same vampire came back, and killed him, and changed him.
"Art is immortal, and climate damage is immortal, microplastics, vampires. It's an intimidating concept to grapple with while trying to take notes on somebody's love life. So— yeah, I was afraid, in there. In that way."
no subject
The creature that kept torturing me, that struggled with his desire to kill me versus save me, sat politely in the audience and asked if I ever felt like he might go through with it.
A little smile. What the fuck is wrong with you. (Oh, are we playing a game, again.)
"Yes." So there's that. Another ripple of laughter in the room, because of course, of course. "A vampire could kill me. Easily. So could a gunshot to the head or a bus hitting me, though."
More audience chuckles.
"I like my life." Echo. Still. He looks at Armand. He knows he is dead. He liked his life before, in the 70s. He did not like it very much six months ago, something he told 'Rashid'. Did you have a restful sleep. Funny. Horror, perhaps: he likes it again, now. "It's not that I don't care about risk or that I think I'm untouchable. I just acknowledge it and try to get on with the work anyway, and then it fades away, because I care about the work. The unsettling thing about the threat of death from a vampire versus the threat of death from a Boeing CEO or whatever," the host goes Oooooo at that around more audience reactivity, topical!! stop assassinating people, Boeing, "is how death doesn't mean the same thing to a vampire as it does to a CEO. If I look at a vampire, and I did, and I think 'This guy is going to kill me', do I even know what that means? What's the experience of death going to be like? Am I changed, in those final moments? How changed? If I die, permanently die, was I a different person for a few seconds? Is the vampire who killed me changed, through me?"
And what if he didn't die. What if the vampire let him go for fifty years. What if the same vampire came back, and killed him, and changed him.
"Art is immortal, and climate damage is immortal, microplastics, vampires. It's an intimidating concept to grapple with while trying to take notes on somebody's love life. So— yeah, I was afraid, in there. In that way."