Daniel asked for it, once. He would have probably asked for it now, if it were just Louis, if he hadn't made the discoveries he'd made. A pathetic cry to be released from the degenerative disease, from the misery of human life, from his mundane emotional agonies. Does that leave him without a spark?
Armand never hears this questioning. Daniel, maybe, never even fully realizes he's thinking about it; the blood is too powerful, and by now, his experience is running out of usefulness. What was a steadying hand at the start of the staggering bloodlust is now of little value— it's too much, the loss is like a knife plunged into his gut, the center of the crippling starvation pain.
"Hope?"
He stares up at him. Glasses absent. There's barely any blood on his mouth, having devoured all that was offered to him so completely. Daniel hears people outside, far away outside, talking and thinking in languages he recognizes but doesn't really understand beyond pigin greetings and left or right. He can say 'bathroom', 'airport', 'embassy', 'hello' and 'help' in Arabic. He feels the panicking human in the bathroom. He hopes it's not Real Rashid, as he is not going to be able to control himself.
"Since when does your hope extend beyond being repulsed by a hole?"
Daniel has held still in the face of this man before, by force. He has been terrified of Armand before. He has been certain he would die, he has whispered his desire to live, he has been agreeable as any optimistic hostage pissing himself in terror. He offered to blow him. He'd have done so. He sits and waits for that answer even as his consciousness begins to spiral, hearing nothing but heartbeats. His. Armand's. The person in the bathroom's.
no subject
Armand never hears this questioning. Daniel, maybe, never even fully realizes he's thinking about it; the blood is too powerful, and by now, his experience is running out of usefulness. What was a steadying hand at the start of the staggering bloodlust is now of little value— it's too much, the loss is like a knife plunged into his gut, the center of the crippling starvation pain.
"Hope?"
He stares up at him. Glasses absent. There's barely any blood on his mouth, having devoured all that was offered to him so completely. Daniel hears people outside, far away outside, talking and thinking in languages he recognizes but doesn't really understand beyond pigin greetings and left or right. He can say 'bathroom', 'airport', 'embassy', 'hello' and 'help' in Arabic. He feels the panicking human in the bathroom. He hopes it's not Real Rashid, as he is not going to be able to control himself.
"Since when does your hope extend beyond being repulsed by a hole?"
Daniel has held still in the face of this man before, by force. He has been terrified of Armand before. He has been certain he would die, he has whispered his desire to live, he has been agreeable as any optimistic hostage pissing himself in terror. He offered to blow him. He'd have done so. He sits and waits for that answer even as his consciousness begins to spiral, hearing nothing but heartbeats. His. Armand's. The person in the bathroom's.