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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 21, 2009 12:30:04 GMT -5
Nicolas had simply abandoned the apartment, washing machine and television and computer and all, when he'd gone to the field to meet Armand's jet. It had seemed so small and so powerful and had given him difficulty to comprehend when he'd seen it, but the pilot seemed enormously well-trained by Armand, or whomever, for he had waited at least twenty minutes before Nicolas came entirely to his senses and boarded.
It was a matter of hours before they made it there, for New England was some distance away, but still quite dark. Nicolas did not realize so much time had passed when he disembarked, as he had been caught up in remembering for the time being, although he would not have considered himself nostalgic or sentimental in the least. He didn't think of it - for he didn't often think of himself in any relation to whatever the time was - but he looked enormously more mortal than he had when he'd died and lived on in the 18th century - he moved more like a mortal, for one thing, which happened naturally after one mellowed (or spent enough time with someone like Eleni, who found certain things to be vulgar and unsophisticated). For the other, well, it was mostly how he was dressed, in the untied combat boots, the wide, baggy-legged cotton pants, and the rather small v-neck sweater that fit more snugly after having shrunk enough times in the washer, but was, nonetheless, very soft from the fabric softeners he liked to use. Nicolas slung the gym bag holding the few things he did have with him - although most of it was junk by most standards - over his shoulder, and leapt noiselessly onto the landing, heart pounding, unsure of what to expect.
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Post by Armand on Jan 21, 2009 16:27:55 GMT -5
There was a gray Rolls Royce idling nearby and a driver waiting for Nicolas, who took his bag and opened the door for him. Even from here the shops and casinos of Night Island were lit up, descending from a natural or man-made hill in a series of steps like jewels. But the driver turned away from the wide road onto a smaller one which curved gently around the activity and eventually- very, very eventually- into a large circular drive.
There Nicolas was ushered through doors and into an elevator, enormously politely but without much talk. The button was pushed for him but the man who had accompanied him thus far withdrew before the doors closed, so when they opened on the third story Nicolas was alone but for the waiting Armand.
Armand was sitting when the elevator stopped, but he rose to greet Nicolas, smiling. Behind him the room was large and open to the outdoor balcony, and could have been the very room he'd been talking to Nicolas on the phone in. He might have seemed warmer to Nicolas than the younger vampire had seen him in years past, for the situation or the surroundings, and he was dressed very simply in a blue linen button-down shirt and pants.
And he'd left his hair long.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 21, 2009 16:59:06 GMT -5
Nicolas would also not have considered himself meek, but he was incredibly easy to usher, particularly because he found Armand's mortal servants fascinating. Not in themselves - he didn't suspect Armand ever had interesting mortal servants, just because Armand had better taste than that - but simply in the fact that he had once been mortal and known Armand, under different circumstances, of course, but the same principles applied. He wondered if they wondered, if they suspected, if they knew. Or if the paycheck made it all worth it, and they were really that dull.
And, besides that, the trip was fascinating enough by itself. Again, if the man had paid any mind to the staring - the occasional neglectful stop, where he was gently urged on after a polite pause, he had not said a single word.
And Nicolas dimly thought he might ask Armand about them when he saw him finally, but then, of course, when he saw him, he forgot all about it completely, staring - fortunately in an unconsciously becoming fashion - and entirely rapt. He looked - what did Goat call it? Preparatory? - in such a strange manner, but of course, that curling Renaissance hair was still there. It had been so long since he'd seen him, since Armand had been the object of his unwanted affection and obsession, so long.
Nicolas dropped the bag onto the floor and came towards him quickly, although not in the way he had used to, crossing distances in a matter of moments. He embraced him tightly and tenderly, eyes shutting. It was a very mortal thing to do, and therefore might have been rather striking to someone who had known him from the century of his birth.
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Post by Armand on Jan 21, 2009 17:15:59 GMT -5
Armand was taken aback for a moment by the strength of Nicolas's gesture, but it wasn't displeasing to see that he'd been missed. His arms went around Nicolas, although his embrace was lighter and he was more composed about it, and when he drew away Armand gave Nicolas a kiss on the cheek in a very casual way.
"It's good to see you, Nicolas," he said, his eyes flickering briefly down at the bag at the younger vampire's feet. It was jarring to see Nicolas in the clothes he was wearing, but then, it would have been even more jarring if he'd looked like his old self in the middle of the modern house. It would have been like seeing a ghost.
As it were, the clothes anchored Nicolas to this century. He seemed well.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 21, 2009 17:26:54 GMT -5
Nicolas was leaning forward slightly, completely oblivious to this, as he stared down at Armand's face, as though completely unable to believe what he was seeing, but too pleased to try and wake up, as it were. His smile was almost radiant and seemed completely natural, though it could have gone to the grotesque in moments had he been less lucid, less interested in communicating with Armand at that moment.
He reached up a hand as though to touch him, but the curved side of it only cupped the full fan of his hair, which balanced out the round cheeks so well, taking him in.
Something from the night before - it had seemed like much more time had passed than that - came into his mind and made him smile again (again meaning he smiled anew, a fresh smile, rather than widening the other one, which would not have had a pleasant effect). "So it's true, and you do bring out the tenderness in me," he said, sounding almost amused. "It did not take long to learn."
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Post by Armand on Jan 21, 2009 17:48:22 GMT -5
Armand's smile bloomed again at that, and he laughed. "I enjoy being right. I hope you did not discomfort my driver by shifting all about in the backseat.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 22, 2009 9:02:01 GMT -5
Nicolas wrapped a strand of Armand's hair around his finger, watching the colors change with the light as he did so, before glancing back up at Armand's face - realizing he had forgotten, for a moment, that they were in the middle of speaking. "He didn't seem to notice, though," said Nicolas, sounding quite innocent.
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Post by Armand on Jan 22, 2009 10:34:05 GMT -5
Armand gave a one-shoulder shrug, his eyes lowering to the bag at Nicolas's feet again. He seemed slightly put-out that Nicolas thought he would need anything.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 22, 2009 10:41:08 GMT -5
Nicolas' eyes dropped to the bag in vague confusion, already put off guard by Armand's little shrug - the little vampire shoulder; Nicolas had known Armand at the time of his just going out into the world, and he had moved like an immortal then. Suspecting Armand wanted to know what was in it, he cleared his throat. "I wanted to show you." It was mostly slack, a few bulky things at the bottom. He sat down, cross-legged, and unzipped it, looking very absorbed in this. A glimpse into its contents revealed them to be mostly books, mass-market paperbacks in varying conditions - the hardly-touched, to the well-read, to the torn in half down the spine to the torn into three parts. He wasn't paying attention to those, though, and pulled out from the bottom half a vinyl record, recognizable from some of the writing as being Lestat's.
He handed it to Armand as though exuberantly, shyly hoping for approval like...a puppy.
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Post by Armand on Jan 22, 2009 10:55:00 GMT -5
"A new copy?" Armand asked, amused, glancing up at Nicolas as he traced the edges of the record. "Or didn't you break it after all." Now that he knew what was in it, though, Armand wanted to see what it was that Nicolas was reading. He bent to reach for one of the better-loved, less-intact books.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 22, 2009 11:00:10 GMT -5
((It was actually meant, "half a vinyl record" - you know, part of a broken one. But I am going to change it to suit what you said because I can make it work.))
"Mm," said Nicolas wryly, but smiling, enormously encouraged by Armand's amusement, his fingertips along the grooves. "I didn't, it turns out. I thought I had. What I broke was the record player."
Which, of course, had meant that instead of not being able to listen to Lestat's record, he had just been unable to listen to any record whatsoever... that did figure, didn't it. Lestat would have been pleased to hear it.
He watched the easy, fluid way he moved as his hand closed over the latter half of Interview with the Vampire, which he had torn in half when he'd reached Louis' line about Armand telling Louis that he wanted him. Nicolas had been getting frustrated then, easily enough, and being as this was that half, and that page was the page he'd torn it on, those words would likely be the ones that stood out if Armand glanced at the page.
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Post by Armand on Jan 22, 2009 22:37:48 GMT -5
(( Ohhh, I'm sorry. I even read it twice to make sure! Guess that just went completely over my head. ))
That was not at all surprising, although it was far more amusing to think of Nicolas breaking his record player in a fit of rage aimed at Lestat than a single record. It was almost as amusing as the tattered books when Armand realized exactly which books these were. Armand did of course glance at the page the book had been torn on, and then reached for the other half as though there was something further to gain by looking at it. He splayed the books out where they lay, so that he could see their titles. His gaze and the absent way he moved them around didn't seem anything more than a casual interest, but on the contrary. Armand was paying very close attention. One thing he was interested to see was if Nicolas had a copy of The Vampire Armand, and if there were any non-vampire books there, any favorites of Nicolas'. Books had always been deeply enchanting to Armand, when he bothered to think on it, even if now they were as plentiful as they'd never been before in all parts of the world. He himself did not treat them with the respect they deserved, rarely saving them, rarely rereading, but any books that Nicolas had brought to show him must be for a reason.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 23, 2009 13:10:43 GMT -5
Nicolas had still not entirely adjusted to this century - and certainly not this century in a capitalist country - which made Night Island seem even stranger and more exotic to him, and therefore the things he bought were done specifically and ritualistically. He might buy eight different kinds of fabric softener, but most everything he owned, he'd gotten at a garage sale - a junkshop - stolen - or something like that. The books were all used paperbacks, and he hadn't managed to get his hands on all the books he would have liked to own, not in the least, as so many came from library sales and small used bookstores. But he was very proud of them, anyway. As soon as it seemed Armand was looking at them, Nicolas carefully took them out with him and arranged them on the floor.
The Prince, Paradise Lost, several paperback college editions of plays by Shakespeare and Moliere... He had a copy of all but the second volume of Juliette, which had been hard to get and which he was very fond of. There was an odd assortment of cheap books, some of which were average murder mysteries and romances and some of which were a little beyond that. And, of course, the books about themselves were all there - the other half of Interview, the twice-ripped Vampire Lestat, battered-but-intact Queen of the Damned (Armand's biography was in the same condition; he had read and liked those the best) - the others were there, but not in nearly as good a condition. They had each been read about once. He had disliked them. The one exception had been Memnoch, which had somewhat wounded him to read of, but which had held his attention in spite of himself. He had never seen its pages open again after.
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Post by Armand on Jan 25, 2009 22:02:29 GMT -5
Armand did not particularly care to know what Nicolas thought of his own biography, which he hardly touched but had several different editions of regardless. He was more interested in Interview with the Vampire, or Queen of the Damned, for it had just occured to him to wonder where Nicolas had been at that time, whether he'd felt Akasha pass him over, or what he'd thought about the inevitable meeting of the vampires drawn to Lestat and his concert. Armand's fingers skimmed over the cover of Queen of the Damned. He glanced up at Nicolas, eyes dark and expectant, trying to coax the violinist with his silence to reveal more of himself and so fill the air.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Jan 26, 2009 11:40:26 GMT -5
Nicolas was unwittingly so predictable. When Armand did not speak - and eloquent though his eyes were, the auburn color of the eyelashes unbelievably precise and distracting, Nicolas could not understand what they said - Nicolas felt compelled to speak so as to coax Armand into speaking, and as Armand just so happened to be touching one of the books, Nicolas spoke of that.
His voice sounded rusty and throaty and physical in the otherwise still room. "It's from a garage sale. I picked it up by accident; I hadn't been going to read it, not after..." He trailed off, shook his head unconsciously. "It was in a box of other paperbacks." He reached out, careful not to touch Armand's hand, and brushed his thumb over the curled-up corner. "I could almost like him again. Does Daniel still make you cry?"
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