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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Dec 5, 2008 17:10:32 GMT -5
Nicolas carefully picked at a loose thread in his sleeve. He couldn't imagine how that might have gotten there. Pulling at it, it frayed. A slow smile spread over his features, a rather private one, and he continued to slowly tug at it as it unraveled, as though he were watching a burlesque dancer.
"You should see some of the mortals," said Nicolas, the smile in his voice but not referring to the subject at hand. "Gruesome stuff. Remove wombs and hearts and organs..." He let a piece of thread that had broken flutter to the floor. "Mine just bleed out."
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Post by Armand on Dec 6, 2008 12:12:57 GMT -5
“You’re not some slavering newborn vampire ripping his way through the city. You can clean up after yourself.”
Armand had never been particularly violent in his kills. Not out of any lingering mercy for the victim, but because it was messy and harder to hide. Once, before the boom of newspapers and chapbooks and other such mediums, it was excusable to leave a victim somewhere in the depths of the city, to tear open organs, to rip out hair, licking up every last drop of the shimmering blood out of a hunger that went deeper than mere thirst. The sprawl of poverty could handle it; superstition still kept suspicion at bay. But Paris was an enlightened city, slowly progressing to the point where such behavior was noticed, every human life being accounted for in theories argued by café philosophers and street-side saints.
However, theory occasionally filtered its way down to the helpless, hopeless masses, and Nicolas wasn’t making any attempts to hide himself. What an old, old passion-play, repeated enough to lose the original fury; Armand could recite this in his sleep.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Dec 6, 2008 15:16:18 GMT -5
Nicolas stretched his legs lazily, a dark, pleased smile stealing into his face for a moment. Oh, this was shameless, but he loved it, he loved the attention and the disapproval and receiving all of it from Armand seemed familiar, a glimmering memory amidst the filth of this newfound confusion.
"Well, well, that's up to debate, isn't it?" Or maybe Nicolas could clean up after himself, but it would never be put to the test. It hadn't even been in the past. He put his hands on his knees and tilted his head and waited for Armand to continue the practiced coven master's lecture, clearly enjoying it.
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Post by Armand on Dec 6, 2008 16:28:58 GMT -5
Armand leaned forward in his chair, dark eyes intent, lips pressed together in distaste. He knew this too, this shameless preening; Nicolas was not paying the slightest attention to his words other than to revel in them.
"No, it is not," he said sharply. Had he been standing close to him, Armand would have taken Nicolas by the shoulders to emphasize it, to make him look at him, but that would have been just as hopeless. Nicolas would never listen. Maybe this passion-play was not as redundant or as worn-out as he'd thought; watching Nicolas enjoy himself now, at Armand's warnings, at his expense, stirred the flames of old irritation.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Dec 6, 2008 22:32:32 GMT -5
Nicolas laughed, tilting his head with a cheeky smile, sliding off of the desk and into the chair before it, a little hussy there just for the attention. He would have sobered had he thought it, but he was really not so different from Lestat in this, in this odd craving, although it was much more personal for him, having more to do with watching the colors shift in Armand's large, pretty eyes, his frowning. He was such a finely made thing. That couldn't be helped but be noticed. And being scolded was more fencing in than he was used to. He could lean back against it and catch his breath awhile, be comfortable, be looked out for. He had hated it in the Theatre, very quickly; but from Armand it was different, or had been, a short time.
"Tell me about it, Armand, mm? I can stop it if I wish. I can change it. Do you want me to want to?" After all, he only ever had when trying to earn a few more of these soft-spoken conversations with Armand. Did Armand want to be responsible for him again so quickly? Nicolas almost wanted the answer to be yes.
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Post by Armand on Dec 6, 2008 23:21:25 GMT -5
It was a faintly visible thing, Armand's skepticism, evident in his voice and the way an eyebrow vanished into his hair. "Can you, Nicolas?" He was wary by virtue of the musician's sudden affability, sharp and double-edged as it was. What was it behind his words? He meant something more by offering this, and Armand could not be sure what it was he wanted. But he wouldn't let Nicolas play coy, either. Calmly, slowly, still trying to figure out the trick: "You know I do."
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Dec 7, 2008 13:35:00 GMT -5
Nicolas laughed, sounding boyish and innocent and altogether somewhat delighted, but the smile was still something of a smirk on his face and Armand would be very right to be wary and mistrustful of him. It was so tempting, to reach out and touch, to bend at the knees and obey, to think of coming back to Armand and his tower and lighting candles every night of their long lives and speaking to him, imagining that Armand's expression was changing depending on the words he said, rather than the candlelight simply flickering over it and making it look as though it did.
Nicolas lifted a hand as though Armand was merely a foot away from him, and his fingers moved as though he were tracing the line of his eyebrow, down to his cheekbone, brushing away strands of auburn hair that fell against his fingers. "What can you do to make it worth it?" It sounded both longing and mocking at the same time, as though he anticipated the answer, but the emphasis on the pronoun suggested he derisively did not expect Armand could answer anything well.
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Post by Armand on Dec 7, 2008 19:12:24 GMT -5
"I shouldn't have to offer anything at all," he said, quite softly. It took him a minute to realize what the purpose of Nicolas's hand caressing the air was; until then, he'd just thought it looked foolish. At the very least, the other vampire was not actually touching him, but Armand couldn't help but think it was only because he was too far away. He ignored him, although it was difficult not to imagine Nicolas's fingers skittering over his cheek.
Almost dreamily, "You'd make good company if you were to be chained up, hands tied, in a cage; I think the bars of the dungeon below are strong enough for it." And a victim, once a night or two, but Armand would have to get rid of the bodies, and that would be a loathsome task. He could leave them in with Nicolas, but he wasn't quite that cruel, and Nicolas would be clawing at the walls to get away. "That would be fun, wouldn't it? Think of the conversations we would have. Just like old times- I have missed your peculiar brand of hellfire, Nicki."
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Dec 7, 2008 19:47:05 GMT -5
The moment soured, like unripe forbidden fruit the pretty little snake that Armand was had tempted Nicolas to bite into too soon; but never mind. He felt certain it would ripen up soon enough, and really, he did not think that Armand was serious in the least. Armand would find it difficult enough looking after him if Nicolas were to remain with him as a companion of sorts, but keeping him enchained would be far worse. He doubted very much that Armand would trouble himself with it, and was prepared to wait.
He managed to match Armand's faint mockery of nostalgia as Armand spoke of the past, at least until Armand used the old nickname he knew well that Lestat had once called him by. Nicolas felt suddenly struck forcibly in the chest, and couldn't hide the surprise, nor the wounded grimace that followed it.
Nicolas stood abruptly, as though he were going to speak to Armand, but his eyes were bright with pain, and he was distracted. Then he walked - not even with vampiric swiftness - across the room and climbed out the window without a backward glance.
Fine. That was what you wanted, wasn't it, Armand? Nicolas normally would have hated to be so predictable, but his mind was blurred with images and he could hardly see for it, so he would have to forgive himself this time around.
When he dropped to the ground, it struck him what little revenge he could have, and vanished into the streets in the blink of an eye.
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Post by Armand on Dec 7, 2008 20:03:16 GMT -5
Left alone in the tower, Armand looked faintly stricken for a second, as though he'd no idea how the mention of Lestat's little nickname would affect Nicolas. But that was a lie; he'd known fully and had relished it anyway. It was the predicticality of the musician's reaction that made is so surprising. Armand had somehow gotten it into his head he could be as cruel as he liked and Nicolas still wouldn't leave.
He rose to push his chair back against the wall and to sit at the desk again, as he had before Nicolas had interrupted. He cradled his chin in one hand and stared, fingers of the other tapping on the wood of the table, at his unopened book.
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