Armand wonders where they are, exactly, in Daniel's mind. What city, what year. It's getting more difficult to tell, and soon, it will be impossible, save for that ineffable, inarticulate sense of empathy that Louis has spent the past week describing, desperate and calm, a terrible and unbreaking silver thread.
The facts of it are this: they are still in Dubai. Of what Louis had commanded of him, being gone was something Armand was happy to abide by. ('Happy'.) The anti-fire measures did their work. There is still historical documentation strewn about. He had told the staff touch nothing, and they won't.
The chair creaks as he stands.
Considers the mess of a half-form fledgling, considers the street outside. He should flick aside the curtains and be done with it. He should do a lot of things.
Instead, he wanders nearer. He sits at the edge of the bed alongside Daniel, placing a hand on his back while he brings his own wrist to his mouth. He leaves Daniel to draw his own conclusions about the sight of him pressing fangs into his own forearm, because in a moment it won't matter. The smell of blood is all-consuming, and when he offers it out to Daniel (dark blood welling out from neat little puncture wounds), he won't have much of a choice as to what he does next.
"Slowly," he instructs. Uselessly.
And a voice in Daniel's head, murmuring. I will tell you this: I begged for the gift, in the end. My maker denied me many times. He believed it to be a force of corruption. I thought it was preservation.
The groaning sound in the bathroom gives way to the sound of a heartbeat. Frantic. The rasp of breathing through a blocked nose. It all sounds as perfectly clear as the rest.
Louis, a merchant of pleasure, a dozen like him in every corner of his Storyville. A streak of violence, yes, the repression of desire and rage entwined. Would I have seen it? I don't know. Armand flexes his hand. Lestat, a player in an ever-increasing demographic of mediocre artists. And Claudia, I cannot begin to fathom. But all chosen. All with some spark that someone more monstrous than they desired to carry into eternity.
His voice is fading. Daniel's consciousness will rise with each long swallow.
no subject
The facts of it are this: they are still in Dubai. Of what Louis had commanded of him, being gone was something Armand was happy to abide by. ('Happy'.) The anti-fire measures did their work. There is still historical documentation strewn about. He had told the staff touch nothing, and they won't.
The chair creaks as he stands.
Considers the mess of a half-form fledgling, considers the street outside. He should flick aside the curtains and be done with it. He should do a lot of things.
Instead, he wanders nearer. He sits at the edge of the bed alongside Daniel, placing a hand on his back while he brings his own wrist to his mouth. He leaves Daniel to draw his own conclusions about the sight of him pressing fangs into his own forearm, because in a moment it won't matter. The smell of blood is all-consuming, and when he offers it out to Daniel (dark blood welling out from neat little puncture wounds), he won't have much of a choice as to what he does next.
"Slowly," he instructs. Uselessly.
And a voice in Daniel's head, murmuring. I will tell you this: I begged for the gift, in the end. My maker denied me many times. He believed it to be a force of corruption. I thought it was preservation.
The groaning sound in the bathroom gives way to the sound of a heartbeat. Frantic. The rasp of breathing through a blocked nose. It all sounds as perfectly clear as the rest.
Louis, a merchant of pleasure, a dozen like him in every corner of his Storyville. A streak of violence, yes, the repression of desire and rage entwined. Would I have seen it? I don't know. Armand flexes his hand. Lestat, a player in an ever-increasing demographic of mediocre artists. And Claudia, I cannot begin to fathom. But all chosen. All with some spark that someone more monstrous than they desired to carry into eternity.
His voice is fading. Daniel's consciousness will rise with each long swallow.