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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Nov 30, 2008 20:43:25 GMT -5
Armand's words did make a mark, but not a terrible one. Particularly in contrast to his laughter, Nicolas took them very well. That laughter had thrown him off, and his smirking, sardonic words had been his effort to resettle, but Armand had taken the matter out of his hands. His own words had resettled Nicolas where nothing Nicolas himself could do would have; he was thankful for that, and assumed Armand had done it deliberately. He was not gushing with gratitude, but he felt more at ease in the sea of anxiety that was this tower, and the soft look he gave Armand, quickly, was his attempt to communicate his thanks.
The astute observation put things very much into focus for him, always a good thing for someone so out of control as he was. The words had the effect of reminding Nicolas that he was not close to Lestat, and giving him a reason for it. Because all things considered, it was guilt, wasn't it, driving Nicolas to speak of his maker and former dear friend so derisively? He could never see Lestat clearly. He hated himself for something, and it made him hate Lestat, too. He wondered if he hated Armand, and realized, looking up at him sharply in his thoughts, that he didn't, for all his scorn. It was comments like that that were why. It was easy to hate Lestat; he was such a compulsive liar, he didn't even know he was deluding himself. Armand's honesty was brutal and he disdained it, but he respected it; it was what he aspired to. This knowledge discomfited him, and he looked down again, still contemplating.
"Absolutely right," he said, still glancing down, turning the words over and over on his tongue before his spoke them. "Very well, let me remain the errant child." He thought of Armand's words, that he not be misled by him, and smiled at the irony. It was pleasing. "Funny." But his parents had not known him, either, so that Lestat should not know him, this was nothing. It occurred to him that what he needed in this life was what he had found in the last - the one who gave him gravity, gave him meaning, gave him existence. He needed another Lestat. He set his jaw obstinately, this thought enormously displeasing to him.
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Post by Armand on Dec 1, 2008 8:56:21 GMT -5
(( Ha, I love how completely off they are about one another.
Armand: I want to hurt him. Let's try this.
Nicolas: Oh, Armand must have been saying that to put me at ease. Deary me, I do feel better. Thanks Armand!
Heh. ))
If Armand had been in Nicolas's head at the moment and heard his thoughts about a replacement for Lestat, he would likely have fled screaming. Fortunately for Nicolas, he was not and he did not, and instead was simultaneously startled by the soft look Nicolas had given him and disappointed that his words had not produced more of a rise. It was faint disappointment, easily overshadowed by a mix of curiousity and suspicion at Nicolas's easy agreement and thoughtful nature.
He leaned forward a little, still standing beside the chair, one arm propped up on the back of it and his hand under his chin. He wanted to know what Nicolas was thinking very badly, an urge he did not often feel because usually he could really care less what Nicolas was thinking. With Nicolas, he often did things the old-fashioned way, the "mortal" way- stealing into his mind wasn't an option unless Armand felt like dealing with the possibility of a violent fit.
"Penny for your thoughts, monsieur."
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Dec 1, 2008 9:34:37 GMT -5
((I love reading Armand's posts and thinking immediately of what Nicolas' response will be. Sometimes it is just so out there. And often, Armand's replies aren't at all what I expect. They each think they have the other down so well, but...no.))
Nicolas knew, as Armand asked him, that Armand was more than capable of slipping into his head to try and feel things out for himself, and it was a further relief to him that Armand was not trying this. It would only have upset him, and in a manner that Nicolas was certain Armand did not want to suffer. Nicolas was as much of victim of his own mania as anyone else, at least in his opinion; he could not intervene on anyone's behalf or exert control over his mind. He had tried. It wounded him as though he struck out in self-defence at himself.
Armand's words, therefore, startled him somewhat. He had not realized how lost he was in contemplation until Armand pointed it out. Selfish of him, wasn't it, to hoard his thoughts like that, not sharing them with Armand. "Nothing really," he said mildly, although his eyes were intense - they were always intense. "You are just correct. It is good to be told. I know the words are true, but I can't seem to believe them if I am the one saying them." He glanced away, eyes distant and dark. "No, Lestat never knew me, though I tried to tell him a few times, hoping as I did that he would not understand. I don't think he would have given me this - " he made a gesture in his hand, but whether it was meant to include himself or this tower and the experience he'd had in it or something intangible, it was uncertain - " if had had. I wonder if we would ever, if we did know each other." He looked up at Armand suddenly, a stray, round curl falling into his eyes. He suddenly, desperately, wanted to know something. "Was it that way for you, also? It clearly was for Lestat. Did he not know you...your maker?"
Because - and Nicolas thought this without cruelty or cynicism - he could not imagine anyone choosing to make Armand, not as Armand was, really, for many of the same reasons he did not think Lestat would have make Nicolas had he really known him.
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Post by Armand on Dec 1, 2008 9:42:09 GMT -5
(( Nooot at all. ))
Armand listened, leaning on his chair, and didn't say a thing. It wasn't his habit to speak unnecessarily.
"My maker knew me very well," he said mildly, and with a small amount of inner cynicism. It was true, entirely true- Marius had known Amadeo very, very well indeed. It was Armand who would be a stranger to him now.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Dec 1, 2008 11:20:20 GMT -5
Nicolas looked away, almost bitter, almost disappointed - almost, but not quite. He had felt he was close to something. But now he was no longer certain it had been something about vampires. It might have been one specifically. He disliked the idea that his mind was coming up with elaborate ways to ask Armand personal questions. He did not really want to know that much about Armand's history. If it proved parallel to his own at all, if it provoked sympathy, he certainly wanted to remain ignorant.
Nonetheless, he said shortly afterwards, voice soft, "He's dead, isn't he?" The mockery in this remark struck him suddenly, and he shook his head. "Je regrette, it was not my intention to..." The apology made him pause. He felt as though something distasteful were in his mouth, and he sucked on his tongue a moment trying to get rid of it. "Never mind that I asked."
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Post by Armand on Dec 1, 2008 16:37:43 GMT -5
Armand blinked, the sudden nature of the question unsettling somehow. He didn't particularly want to tell anything to Nicolas, but the answer that rose immediately to his tongue was Yes. But it wasn't true- even before Marius had reappeared in his life, Armand had wondered. He hadn't died. He was here in Paris. And for an impractical, reckless moment, Armand wanted to tell Nicolas.
It didn't make sense. He didn't want Nicolas to meet his master, nor to even approach him. Perhaps it was a hysterical little bubble of disbelief that led him to this, to wanting occasionally to stop complete strangers in the streets and tell them, to demand of them the reason why. None of them would know, they'd just think he was mad. Armand felt a little unstable.
"All right."
Yes, yes, he could ignore that happily. Would Nicolas be happier if Lestat was dead? Absently Armand dug in his pocket and tossed Nicolas something, a small thing that reflected dully with the light from the window- an English penny.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Dec 1, 2008 16:52:10 GMT -5
Although all that they had agreed to was to ignore that Nicolas had asked a question, and accept that Armand not answer it, somehow Armand's soft, casual response seemed intimate. It was as though they were sharing something. Perhaps they did just that, though not in words. He met Armand's eyes and nodded slowly, as though, for a moment, he were satisfied and understanding.
Even with his vampire eyes and his reflexes, being thrown something caught Nicolas completely off guard. He caught it deftly with one hand and looked at it in surprise. It was decades old and dull, and he tilted it in his hand to try and make it glimmer. It hardly worked. He would be working at cleaning it now, he knew, it would be his newest preoccupation for days. He brushed his thumb over it wonderingly.
He imagined Armand in London absent-mindedly before he realized like a slap to the face that the London he had been picturing had been an 18th-century London. He couldn't even conjure up an image of a 19th century Londoner at all. He looked back up to Armand, closed his fingers around the penny, and lifted his hand to him before slipping it away.
"Thank you. It's gracious of you," and whether he meant the penny or the acceptance of forgetting Nicolas' question, it was uncertain. Privately, though, he still wondered. His maker was dead, wasn't he? And yet Nicolas thought not. He'd heard little of it, but knew enough to gather that Lestat had left to look for him. It made him feel slightly bitter to imagine Lestat seeking out Armand's maker, likely to be as benevolent and bright as Lestat himself was. And here were himself and Armand, two broken children in the dark.
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Post by Armand on Dec 1, 2008 17:04:19 GMT -5
It was not particularly gracious of him to give Nicolas an old penny, nor to excuse a question he hadn't wanted to answer in the first place, but Armand took the comment with a one-shouldered shrug. This conversation- this situation- was becoming dangerously comfortable.
Strangely enough, the calmer Nicolas remained the more restless Armand became, as though the roles had to be taken on no matter which actor played which. Thinking of his Master- Marius- had not helped, and Armand's lips twisted in a faint frown. Nor had the realization that he was in fact comfortable, here and now- it made him want to shatter the tranquility.
He could not simply ask Nicolas to leave- no, he could, couldn't he? He do whatever he liked, it was only a matter of whether or not Nicolas would obey him. And what would he do if Nicolas did obey him? He could not sit still and read a book now, and the only thing waiting for him was the city.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Dec 2, 2008 9:18:36 GMT -5
Nicolas was perfectly capable of remaining ridiculously still for an extended amount of time, it was sometimes his chief occupation - he had sufficiently scared poor mortal passers-by in the past simply by reanimating himself rather violently in their presence. He usually didn't even know if he had gone very still. But at the moment, the penny seeming to burn a hole in his pocket, he felt completely aware of the dawning silence between them.
He started up very quickly after a few long moments, standing from Armand's desk as though something had disturbed him. This was not what he'd come here for. It did not at all feel right. He passed a hand over his hair and looked long and hard at the wall, then looked back to Armand. He felt as though he was drowning. What was going on in Armand's head? Could that be such a difficult question to ask? He crossed the room in a few swift steps and placed his hands behind Armand, on the back of the chair Armand leaned against, and, tilting his head, stared into his eyes levelly.
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Post by Armand on Dec 2, 2008 10:24:29 GMT -5
What was this constant affiliation with staring soulfully into Armand’s eyes? Armand stared back, gaze narrowing a little- this was the second time, the third, the fourth? in the past week.
“Nicolas, why do you have this penchant to look at me so? I don’t know what you think you’re going to find.”
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Dec 2, 2008 10:43:24 GMT -5
Armand's question - irritation without total expression, as seemed to be Armand's fashion - seemed suddenly quite funny to him, in a warm way, and a suggestion entered into his mind before his ego could filter it out. He thrust it back suddenly; it had been quite sobering. Nonetheless, it did not sour his mood, and he smiled widely, disarmingly, at Armand, eyelids half-lowered in informal enjoyment.
He stroked a curl that framed Armand's face on a whim, wrapping it around the tip of his finger. "I think you're a liar," he said gently, in amusement, "and I think this is where you hide your honesty."
He released him and slipped around very calmly, dropping into Armand's chair and crossing his legs, then leaning back and tilting his head upward to gaze at Armand, still smiling. "If you are so uncomfortable being looked at, perhaps I am correct." For all this serious accusation, though, it was still more banter. He was pleased again with Armand's ability to lighten the mood, although this time he believed it had been accidental. The tension that had driven him to stare into Armand's eyes like that had vanished like hydrogen out of a popped balloon with Armand's words. They had seemed so petulant. He had been feeling a terrible itch of unease, of mania, and had felt he was moments away from leaping out the tower window and climbing down, just to get away from him. But his mood was much improved, and he no longer felt the need to vanish.
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Post by Armand on Dec 2, 2008 17:42:38 GMT -5
(( And Armand is like…”Damn it.”
Also, you didn’t fool me! I know you were wishing a certain kitteh would show up right about then…))
Armand managed to look utterly disapproving as Nicolas moved around him to sit down. He shifted his hands as the musician leaned back, settling them on the very ends of the chair’s back so that they did not so much as brush the fabric of Nicolas’s coat. Pale thumbs tapped a staccato beat on the wood of the chair as he stared at the other vampire, his lips twisted, a faint indention in the center of his brow as though someone had placed a fingertip there. He looked some strange cross between irritated and thoughtful, lips now parting as if to ask a question; instead, they twisted again, skeptical.
“I was not aware that I needed to explain the concept of personal space to you.”
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Dec 2, 2008 17:52:12 GMT -5
((It wasn't even on my mind! I figure that if kitteh ever came into one of our scenes we'd have talked about it first.))
Nicolas glanced up at him very unassumingly, now his turn to look thoughtful and confused, eyebrows puckered. Whether Armand was aware of it or not, he did have to explain that concept, or would if he wanted Nicolas to understand it. Personal space? Of course he understood it, basely, as every mortal had felt their space intruded upon by the too-close presence of another, but how this applied to vampires, he didn't know. Privacy? What was that for a killer who killed as they did, that intimacy, that violence, that love?
"I don't think that there's anything at all on your being, Armand," he said, looking up at him in the same fashion, frowning, "to which you can stake claim and call it personal." And it sounded very specific and rather insulting until he made a hand gesture that seemed detached at first and then agitated when he used that same hand to brush through his hair in the next moment, and spoke, now glancing away, tone of voice dubious and indifferent. "Can any fiend of our kind feel that way? Our existence is founded upon such intrusion. It is prolonged by it. If we do the slightest thing to each other, it's purely innocent." He peered up at him again and tilted his head as though protesting his own innocence in his earlier gesture.
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Post by Armand on Dec 2, 2008 20:47:26 GMT -5
(( Uh-huh. Sure. >_> ))
“Purely innocent?” Armand’s eyes widened in his amusement. The things they did to one another were an attempt to gain even a pale shadow of the kill, and were never innocent; this Armand believed fully. Even mortals sought their own completion, but the the same intimacy ended in their death. "Find another excuse; I won’t believe that one.” He doubted Nicolas had ever done anything purely innocent in the entirety of his existence. Maybe he had been different as a mortal- maybe he had been sweet once. Or maybe not. Besides using him as bait for Lestat, Armand had not had much experience with Nicki the mortal. “The intimacy of the act couldn’t be measured without boundaries to tear down, Nicolas. Were I at your throat, you could tangle your hands in my hair or touch my face as much as you wanted, as you seem to like doing, and I would let you; until then, it remains an intrusion of a less satisfying nature.”
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Dec 3, 2008 9:01:27 GMT -5
((Maggie: I think we are doomed. I read further in TVL and it says in several places that Armand and Nicki liked each other quite well.
Here: "The last time we saw Armand in the 18th century, he was standing with Eleni and Nicolas and the other vampire mummers before the door of Renaud's theater, watching as our carriage made its way into the stream of traffic on the boulevard. I'd found him earlier closeted in my old dressing room with Nicolas in the midst of a strange conversation dominated by Nicki's sarcasm and peculiar fire...." And, in a letter from Eleni: "I cannot say that we do not love him [Nicolas]. For your sake we would care for him even if we did not. But we do love him. And Our Oldest Friend, in particular, bears him great affection. Yet I should remark that in the old times, such persons would not have endured among us for very long." And later when she describes him going into the fire: "I know how this news will affect you. But understand we did all that we could to prevent what occurred. Our Oldest Friend was bitter and grieved."
So, um...yeah. Maybe we should talk about this? I'm not quite sure what to do.))
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