Imbalanced. Daniel is even shorter this way, though he's always been short, so it hardly matters. He looks up at Armand, with eyes swirling from gold back to blue, the jolt of a pleasant blood-high despite the depressing transfer warming him.
Food, like Claudia said. (More, like everyone else said.)
"It wasn't a test, it was a dare," he reminds him. "And you pulled through, so it's your turn to pick."
Has Armand ever played Truth or Dare? Probably not. Daniel should not be handing him this power. But he just doesn't feel like antagonizing him right now— he has a sense, strangely, that this surreal interaction is plenty, in terms of being a stand-in for needling him about what the fuck he's doing by eating sad people who he's made sadder.
"Doesn't have to be now, now, though." Up the slope. Shoulder to shoulder (and a little lower still, on Daniel's part) in opposite directions.
It doesn't come out snippy, or angry, or really at all bothered. It was a dare, and at some point in the future, it will be Daniel's turn. Armand knows an impulse to pivot, to follow after Daniel. To demand reflection. Judgment. Something true, something cutting. How dare Daniel walk away from him, face clean, and provide no commentary at all.
Commentary could come. Keep walking with him and find out. He might not even need to ask for it. Daniel talks, for a listener. And yet—
Armand has to wonder what he's doing. Macro, micro. Turning this man. Trying to teach him something. He finds he does not know what to do now, and that simply cannot stand.
A drift in the air, a sense of motion. Even to Daniel's heightened senses, his changing eyes, sharply attuned ears, Armand is capable of a kind of disappearance—and, after the sound of one footfall, disappear he does.
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no subject
Food, like Claudia said. (More, like everyone else said.)
"It wasn't a test, it was a dare," he reminds him. "And you pulled through, so it's your turn to pick."
Has Armand ever played Truth or Dare? Probably not. Daniel should not be handing him this power. But he just doesn't feel like antagonizing him right now— he has a sense, strangely, that this surreal interaction is plenty, in terms of being a stand-in for needling him about what the fuck he's doing by eating sad people who he's made sadder.
"Doesn't have to be now, now, though." Up the slope. Shoulder to shoulder (and a little lower still, on Daniel's part) in opposite directions.
no subject
It doesn't come out snippy, or angry, or really at all bothered. It was a dare, and at some point in the future, it will be Daniel's turn. Armand knows an impulse to pivot, to follow after Daniel. To demand reflection. Judgment. Something true, something cutting. How dare Daniel walk away from him, face clean, and provide no commentary at all.
Commentary could come. Keep walking with him and find out. He might not even need to ask for it. Daniel talks, for a listener. And yet—
Armand has to wonder what he's doing. Macro, micro. Turning this man. Trying to teach him something. He finds he does not know what to do now, and that simply cannot stand.
A drift in the air, a sense of motion. Even to Daniel's heightened senses, his changing eyes, sharply attuned ears, Armand is capable of a kind of disappearance—and, after the sound of one footfall, disappear he does.