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Post by Armand on Jan 4, 2009 17:47:42 GMT -5
Armand was faintly astonished, his face slackening a little in his thoughtful surprise. Nicolas was disgusting and endearing, railing at him one moment and confiding in him the next. It never failed to surprise Armand, to flatter him a little, even back in the theatre. And it made him wonder, like it always did, what he was to Nicolas that the violinist would treat and trust him this way. Was he the only one Nicolas deemed worthy to hear it? The only one he respected? Or was it only chance that Armand happened to be here when Nicolas was in this mood, and were he not there the other vampire would have been talking to the wall in the same harsh desperate whisper? Anything but the latter, and it put a strange heavy responsibility on him, almost as though he should feel guilty. Armand never felt guilty.
He was to be more comforting this time, but Armand didn't know what he was expected to say. He'd been the one to put Nicolas in the cage in the first place, as bait for Lestat; he'd been the one to allow the plan to proceed if he had not thought of it himself, and he'd drank from Nicolas along with the others. But he hadn't regretted it- not that part of it. Just a mortal, more cynical than most. But Armand's lips tightened thinking of it, Nicolas's words finding a curious resonance in his mind- He always destroyed...what he didn't understand.
This was good, wasn't it? This was what Armand had intended from the start. He didn't want Nicolas, not at all like he'd wanted... like he'd wanted Lestat. But he couldn't trust Nicolas on his own, such a loose unpredictable force, and after all...once they had liked each other, or so Armand liked to think. Better to say he hadn't minded Nicolas and he didn't think Nicolas had minded him either, and in the other Armand had found an unexpectedly sharp mind and a certain tenderness that was both unconscious and sweet. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad for Nicolas to stay here, perhaps they would get used to one another. Armand preferred his solitude; but at the same time, he needed someone else. He needed a purpose, and while less than desirable Nicolas was a start. This was how he'd convinced himself that apprehending Nicolas at his crimes and dragging him back to the tower until he behaved was the best course- even if, as Armand fully knew was the case, Nicolas would likely never be able to be left on his own.
But now the matter was that he had to convince Nicolas of that too. Oh, he could keep the violinist here by force; Armand had imprisoned him before, and it had ended in Nicolas's willing death. But an idea like that was counterproductive, because Armand would have to keep it up. Imprisoning Nicolas for a few weeks was one thing; but for this? Who knew how long this little arrangement would last? But a Nicolas who was willing, that was more favorable than resentment and rebellion.
A kiss, empty words, what did it matter if it accomplished what Armand wanted? He could promise anything while lying through his teeth. As Nicolas had pointed out, he did it so often.
"There are some things," he said, eyes on Nicolas's bowed head. "That even you can't destroy, Nicolas."
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 4, 2009 18:01:11 GMT -5
Maybe it was a little as though Nicolas would rather be talking to the wall; it might have seemed it, to judge by his stillness and near-complete silence. He rested there - almost not really resting against Armand at all, and not looking at him - and seemed to be thinking of nothing. But this was hardly true. Nicolas would have supposed he did this sort of thing in solitude and that it vanished from his memory later, but the chief difference was that when he was in solitude there was no comfort from the knowledge of his being isolated; here, confiding in Armand as long as he was willing to sit still and listen to him, there was some bond. A connexion. He needed to believe in this. Armand's voice only strengthened his awareness of it. Something in him warmed at that as much as any part of his cold being could.
"Apparently," said Nicolas softly, licking his lips in thought and surprised suddenly to find blood on him, the exquisite pleasure of the immortal, vampiric blood. Not the blood and body of Christ, he understood, just the blood and body of this strange orphan in the middle of the tower. He looked so inhuman compared to Nicolas, just then, so like the beguiling demon that had head the hunt to pull him into that gruesome underworld. Orpheus, then, was he to be? He had played to the demons, hadn't he? Or was it Lestat, who had rescued Nciolas from their grasp, who was to take that role, only to lose Eurydice to them in the end anyway, for all his troubles? "Since I have failed so in destroying myself."
Gently, unassumingly, he leaned forward to respectfully return to Armand what was his, the inside of his lower lip bitten as he pressed his mouth to Armand's without the excesses of passion associated with the action in mortals.
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Post by Armand on Jan 4, 2009 18:21:36 GMT -5
Armand's eyes lowered and narrowed, almost thoughtfully, into little more than slits of white through gleaming lashes. There was no more passion in this kiss than their earlier one, as Armand softened and leaned in only for the blood.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 4, 2009 18:27:55 GMT -5
((Hey, 500 Armand posts exactly!))
Nicolas' hand only came up to cup Armand's face - simulated passion, perhaps; it was more than fortunate that Armand's new flatmate did not take this moment to waltz in, for there was likely very little Armand and Nicolas would collectively loath the misrepresentation of which more - when he pulled back just slightly. He stroked his cheek once, looking back at him as though trying once more to understand him, although, perhaps in the intimacy of the moment, there was maybe a strain of tenderness in it.
"You needn't fear my trying to destroy you," he said, voice sounding soft, as though were he to raise it it would take on a certain roughness. "I've never understood you. I suppose that's why I won't let you be."
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Post by Armand on Jan 4, 2009 18:46:58 GMT -5
(( Yayyy! And I kind of like that as my 500th post... ))
"You couldn't," Armand said, not sounding boastful but rather completely certain, a fact, spoken straightly. He had leaned back, because the kiss was over and to let Nicolas's hand fall from his face, but was still regarding the other with the thoughtful, reserved expression that had barely faltered or changed since he'd kissed Nicolas the first time. "Will you stay with me?"
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 4, 2009 19:29:50 GMT -5
Nicolas's hand withdrew slightly, as though he'd begun to pull it back and forgotten it halfway; it wasn't entirely far from the truth, and far from impossible, for he did that sort of thing regularly. The fingers curled, and his head tilted slightly, the faintest look of confusion coming into his eyes, well-accented by a dusty curl that slipped into one eye.
"Stay with you?" For a moment it looked as though he had only suddenly understood, and then this darkened into further confusion, as though the knowledge had only made him even less aware of Armand's motives. His voice was softer when he spoke again. "Do you want me to stay with you?"
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Post by Armand on Jan 4, 2009 19:41:04 GMT -5
"Yes, I do." Armand waited to see the reaction; yielding acceptance or violent backlash? He never knew with Nicolas, although he'd waited to ask in his gentlest manner. If Nicolas would agree, if he wanted it himself, if with his own free will he chose this...it would be so much easier to keep something like his rampage through Paris from happening again, if he were here where Armand could watch him. "What makes more sense, Nicolas, than you and I?"
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 5, 2009 13:21:15 GMT -5
Nicolas might have leaned forward or done some other action in response, impulsively, but for the fact that this was the one feeling he was usually wary about, usually aware of. His hand reached out again and with two fingertips, he separated two curled locks of Armand's hair that were near one another and loosely tangled, an act not done out of tenderness, but the prevention of it. He focused primarily on his fingers in Armand's hair, not looking at the vampire's face as he did so, or giving his mind room to wander far off enough to become lost, leaving Nicolas to say things he would regret painfully later on.
He did not respond for a while, head bowed, eyes cast down to his fingers curling themselves in the auburn threads. "Is it all sense and logic, what you want?" It wasn't a real question; to Nicolas' mind, the answer was yes, just as the answer was yes to the invitation. He looked up at him finally, anomalously carefully composed. He couldn't understand a desire of that kind; his desires were not like that. "I'll stay with you," he said softly. "I want to stay with you."
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Post by Armand on Jan 5, 2009 16:37:19 GMT -5
Armand's head turned a little, his eyes on Nicolas's fingers, but he didn't say a thing nor move away as he waited for the response. He didn't bother responding to Nicolas's question either, as it seemed lacking in real conviction or even rhetorical. He didn't mind waiting, as Nicolas seemed to be considering it so very fully. Armand could wait forever.
Then he smiled. "Good," he said simply, pleased at Nicolas's phrasing and his answer. He was pleased too that it wouldn't take any more convincing, for his heart was not entirely in it; as much as he wanted the control this would give him, he still felt a pang at the final invasion. He'd never let the theatre vampires into the tower but had kept it for himself, and now... well, there was always the secret room where he slept, with the three stone sarcophages, that at least would be his. And Nicolas would be here where he could be watched, and perhaps controlled, and there was nothing unwelcome about his curiousity or the discussions they might engage in over the nights. Nicolas was not unintelligent, nor dull, nor trite. He never parroted the words of others, and if Armand were to admit it he was looking forward to those discussions again, those debates, for Nicolas was also never boring.
"There are coffins in the dungeon, and you are welcome to the books and the other things of the tower." Of course Armand would offer. There was no way to keep Nicolas out of them if he wished.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 5, 2009 17:18:35 GMT -5
Nicolas shook his hand, closing his fingers around the strands of Armand's hair that he held unthinkingly. "I shall need to get my coffin into the dungeon; I won't sleep in another." It had been unnerving enough to sleep in the mysterious Vincent's bed, and he had gotten a coffin very quickly. "And I can't stay tonight."
He did not suppose Armand would object to that; he did not supposed it was a matter of affection that had led to Armand's asking. It seemed obvious that it wasn't. Doubtless he was still bewitched by Armand in some way, for he had very much confused him, and often when Nicolas was confused by someone he also had reason to respect, he was oddly humbled and backed down; but on that, at least, there was no pretense. "I've been staying with someone else and I will have to get my coffin away from him."
He didn't imagine Aurel would object to that either. He felt the sudden, sharp pain - unusually strongly, for generally he was not in a position to put things into perspective to much of a high degree - of bitter realization at this, that there was no one really who would object to his absence. He looked over at Armand, a certain hardness in his eyes. Armand would be no worse off for his disappearing off the face of the earth; and were Armand to vanish, he would be utterly lost. It was humiliating to think so, and he felt frustratingly helpless as he tries to imagine what he could do to make himself indispensable and thought of nothing.
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Post by Armand on Jan 5, 2009 22:17:27 GMT -5
Armand's eyes didn't flicker towards the fingers wound in his hair, although he had not forgotten them; strange, on their third meeting in years and he was already becoming desensitized to it. Or maybe he was just becoming better at ignoring it. (Nicolas hadn't touched him so much in the past, had he?) It was a hopeless cause in any case.
He shrugged, a shockingly easy and open gesture that made him look like a boy. What did Armand care? Certainly Nicolas was to have his own coffin, and he could come any time he liked as long as he would come. And this new cold glint in Nicolas's eye, what was he thinking of now? Reconsidering, or wondering what Armand was playing at? Really, he didn't lie all the time.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 6, 2009 11:03:37 GMT -5
Nicolas pulled his fingers out of his hair with a cold efficiency - not pulling it, but not so carefully that it was not tugged a little - and stood, stretching his arms above his head in what had elsewhere been considered an odd mortal remnant. Nicolas did not really need to do it, having been neither cramped nor possessing a body that could need to stretch - he he was generally always more than limber.
Back to Armand during the stretch, he wouldn't have known if the other vampire had given him a look or not. It occurred to him that there was nothing more to be said for tonight, and without a farewell was at the window in a moment.
His feelings towards Armand had rather suddenly cooled, not because of any fault or failing he saw in Armand, but because of those in himself that he thought Armand saw in him. The knowledge of the bloodlessness of this encounter had not made him lose desire to stay with Armand, but it had made him refrain from wallowing in it.
His hand reached out and stroked the cool stone of the tower's window, about to climb out of it - but he paused and glanced back at Armand with a mild and open - although completely unreadable - look on his face, sitting back against the windowsill, one foot still on the ground, but the other leg drawn up against his chest.
"Do you own many rings, Armand?" He'd said the words in a breath before he knew he was going to. He had thought of them earlier, though not consciously. He could still remember how they felt against his fingers, the silver cold from Armand's lack of body heat. Armand's hair glinted even more auburn against the flames from the fire and from the angle he was at, his eyes caught a topaz bead or two from the fire. His skin was white as paper and almost luminescent, and Nicolas' breath caught in a moment, either moved by his beauty or intensely disturbed by how unnatural he looked - absolutely like a doll, lacking life, but not because it was dead.
He wondered if Armand saw the same unalive thing when he looked at him, if they were each like a mirror, like a brother, or a child, reflecting the same face - although in this case, a face he didn't want to see. Nicolas tried suddenly to recall what he had looked like in a mirror, what his skin had been like when it was still the soft pink and cream of mortality, his eyes the usual dark brown, sunlight in his hair. Even moonlight in his hair - it wouldn't matter, so long as it was not the strangely lustrous thing it was now. Never dry and never oily - dust that collected could be washed out in a moment, and it would dry rather quickly. He found he could not, although he could recollect what Lestat had been like in the sunlight, yellow hair, grey eyes looking green as he lay in the grass, a smug but entirely natural and amiable expression on his full, pink lips, parting over his teeth...
Nicolas gave a little spasm of a motion - shoulders hunching, head jerking to the side - and then controlled himself again, though, as a preventative measure, there was great tension in his shoulders. He focused on Armand keenly, attempting to see him as he would have been as a young boy. It was incredibly difficult, though - not because of his face, but because of his posture, his stillness. Armand had not been a boy for a hundred years, and it was evident in everything about him.
((So I just saw Lehetsz király on Youtube. Yes, it is forbidden to my brother. He acts enough like that already. *headdesk*))
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Post by Armand on Jan 7, 2009 17:59:27 GMT -5
Armand studied him as Nicolas sat on the windowsill. He'd been surprised by Nicolas's question- he blinked once, twice, then glanced down at his hands. "No, not many. Only these and a few others." His brow creased as Nicolas jerked, then slackened, brown eyes softening as thugh he knew what the other was thinking of, but surely he didn't.
(( Kekekekekeeeh. ))
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 8, 2009 15:21:17 GMT -5
Nicolas nodded softly at the response as though he did not recall having momentarily suffered that slight lapse of control over his muscles, taking it in. Then he was gone in the next moment, only his behavior here tonight left behind to prove whether or not he would be returning, and when, and what he would do until then.
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Vincent
- Ingenious Pilot -
Me here at last on the ground, you in mid air%\0\%
Posts: 245
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Post by Vincent on Jan 11, 2009 15:05:32 GMT -5
Vincent, being utterly proud of himself for once, had just returned from his little hunting trip to Armand's caslte, when he saw someone leave. He didn't recognise the man who quickly left, but could tell that it wasn't Armand. When he got inside, he found Armand, still and quiet. Had something happened?
"Armand..." he began softly, as e graciously walked over to him. "Is there something wrong?" Vincent studied Armand's face, trying to find... something.
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