and he remembers that stubbornness, how much work it had taken to have Daniel fold into him. Armand remembers it as having finally succeeded, but he is no longer certain. His own gentle, relentless convincing, winnowing willpower right down to the edge of itself, and then in that final moment, had he simply reached in and forcibly pulled Daniel's heart out through his chest?
The taste of his blood. He hadn't been hungry for anything it offered save for some other ineffable thing, something he had been trying to discover all week. Maybe he could take it into himself, and be changed by it.
It's a good answer. The audience, drinking it in. Save for one, and Armand turns to look after the sound of a quiet scoff. The sound isn't for show, quiet, only drawing his own attention and that of the woman this audience attendee is with, who lists her shoulder into his to encourage him contain himself. A skeptic who is almost angry at the level of bullshit being spun.
He smells like laundromat soap and synthetic vanilla, and she, some kind of flowery hand cleanser. Armand's attention flicks back forward, offering a small smile that indicates he is content.
no subject
and he remembers that stubbornness, how much work it had taken to have Daniel fold into him. Armand remembers it as having finally succeeded, but he is no longer certain. His own gentle, relentless convincing, winnowing willpower right down to the edge of itself, and then in that final moment, had he simply reached in and forcibly pulled Daniel's heart out through his chest?
The taste of his blood. He hadn't been hungry for anything it offered save for some other ineffable thing, something he had been trying to discover all week. Maybe he could take it into himself, and be changed by it.
It's a good answer. The audience, drinking it in. Save for one, and Armand turns to look after the sound of a quiet scoff. The sound isn't for show, quiet, only drawing his own attention and that of the woman this audience attendee is with, who lists her shoulder into his to encourage him contain himself. A skeptic who is almost angry at the level of bullshit being spun.
He smells like laundromat soap and synthetic vanilla, and she, some kind of flowery hand cleanser. Armand's attention flicks back forward, offering a small smile that indicates he is content.