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Post by Armand on Mar 22, 2009 12:20:44 GMT -5
Armand did not at any point stop him, nor did he move away or get bored with Nicolas' aimless wandering. He was only happy that Nicolas did not feel it necessary to have a panic attack that night in the middle of the walkway.
He had his hands in his pockets when Nicolas turned to look at him, making a very graceful figure against the thronging backdrop just as Nicolas made an absent, subdued sort of wild one. "You have to wait for the right time of year, Nicolas, if it's a big carnival you want."
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Mar 22, 2009 12:23:13 GMT -5
Nicolas effortlessly moved through the crowd to go stand by Armand's side, not at all seeming to notice or care when his shoulder or his hip brushed against a warm body. Doubtless his strange amnesia of the previous night was helping.
"But surely there are small carnivals. Somewhere. Aren't there carnivals around this time of year?"
(I've been imagining end-of-springtime or maybe beginning-to-be-autumn. What were you picturing?))
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Post by Armand on Mar 22, 2009 12:40:44 GMT -5
(( I was picturing late spring, yeah. They've already missed the really big carnival in Rio and Mardi Gras and will have to find a smaller one. ))
"We could probably find one. When do you want to go?"
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Mar 22, 2009 12:49:29 GMT -5
Nicolas shrugged, still smiling. "Whenever you do. I'd like to get a violin first."
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Post by Armand on Mar 22, 2009 14:59:35 GMT -5
Armand rubbed at a spot just above his left eyebrow absently. "There's one waiting for you at the villa that I think you'll like."
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Mar 22, 2009 17:02:11 GMT -5
Nicolas tilted his head, taken aback and almost touched. Without asking Armand's consent, as he did not do that sort of thing, he leaned forward and kissed Armand in a manner that was both shy and extremely bold. "Thank you, Armand," he said, before turning and zipping through the crowd to get to the villa again.
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Post by Armand on Mar 22, 2009 19:00:29 GMT -5
An almost smile, as Armand followed. Far more serenely, of course.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Mar 23, 2009 14:04:15 GMT -5
Naturally - or unnaturally, whichever you would prefer - Nicolas had returned to the villa within a very short time, aware of Armand's following, and, while pleased by it, not particularly aware of it. Even this had not brought up memories of the previous night, which seemed to be quite solidly locked and sealed, at least at this point. Doubtless he would eventually find himself in such a mood that he could recall being told to leave by Armand, although he would not know what had happened to lead to his staying anyway. Nicolas' memories were more often than not compartmentalized by mood, and to preserve the happiness of one he forced the gloom of another elsewhere automatically.
Although he could not for the life of him know where Armand had placed the violin, it was not difficult to find it, for whatever reason - doubtless because the probability of its being in some rooms over others was greater.
By the time he looked up to see Armand was also there, he was already sitting cross-legged on the floor with the open violin case in front of him, his fingertips tracing over it longingly. He barely smiled, but he seemed too overawed to do something really so superficial as a smile. He was beyond touched that Armand would do this, and, with the slightest inclination of his head, he took the violin from the case and put it to his shoulder in an extremely tender manner. He futilely pushed hair from his neck before lifting the bow and putting it onto the violin, his breathing seeming uneven. After all, he did not realize he had played the violin for the first time in decades the previous night, and this itself seemed like the first time.
Holding in perfect position, he went silently to his feet and stepped away, turning away from Armand without thinking. His eyes shut, and he leaned his cheek against the violin; and, tentatively, but with trembling, vulnerable sweetness in those notes, he began to play.
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Post by Armand on Mar 23, 2009 16:43:29 GMT -5
It did seemed a little uncouth to take credit for a violin which Armand had not actually picked out. He wandered out from the room as Nicolas hesitantly picked up the violin, to get away from the mild and open sweetness in the other's eyes. When he entered again, Nicolas had his back to him and his head bent to the violin. There was the faintest cool touch of Armand's fingers on his neck as Armand gathered Nicolas' hair back with a tie, not enough to interrupt Nicolas' playing, before he turned to find his book from earlier.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Mar 23, 2009 16:50:49 GMT -5
Nicolas felt Armand's fingers and his shoulders tensed slightly in a feeling a strange vulnerability at them - for, after all, Armand was behind him, and the neck was a tender place for a vampire, at least in memory - but it did not occur to him what Armand had really done other than to momentarily pull his hair back, as, eyes shutting, he blocked out what was going on around him.
He had gone through four folk songs and a Mozart sonata before he stopped, suddenly overcome, during the process of this last song, with a terrible sense of deja vu - and he had already seen it, hadn't he. He had already lived this. He turned back to Armand as though he had seen a ghost, eyes large and shocked, but absolutely silent, and moved to sit in a chair very suddenly, needing to becalm himself.
He didn't even want to touch his hair, but the sudden knowledge of the hairstyle and that song played with it had spooked him terribly, predictably. He hadn't worn his hair back in... what must have been decades. It felt almost wrong, his neck bare and vulnerable in a way that would not even have been the case in the 18th century, due to the men's neckties and shirt collars that had been the fashion, but he still did not want to touch it. And he felt the memory of Armand's fingers against his skin now all too clearly, and it tingled, and that tingle spread up his scalp and down his spine, and he was not certain whether or not it was fear or pleasure or simple aching nostalgia that produced such a reaction.
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Post by Armand on Mar 23, 2009 17:11:54 GMT -5
Folded up in a chair of his own, Armand paused, slim fingers marking the page, and watched Nicolas with some strange combination of mild interest and detachment. Had he any idea the effect his simple motion was having on Nicolas he would have been surprised and possibly disdainful, but he really had no idea what had caused these sudden shivers, that lost, drowning look, and simply watched to see what Nicolas was going to do. Attentive as always, he may have appeared concerned by the simple fact that he'd stilled to look upon Nicolas, by the tilt of his head or his crooked knee.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Mar 24, 2009 13:13:11 GMT -5
Nicolas didn't look at Armand, just set the violin down on one of the couch cushions, scooted it away from himself, and leaned forward, elbows resting on his legs, his posture making him look much younger than he was, not merely because he was a vampire. After a moment, his eyes lowered, almost shyly or as though in shame, to the floor, before he glanced over at Armand.
His voice sounded very simple, not at all haunted, when he said, softly, "Will you cut my hair?"
He might have been merely wrestling with the petty spirit of the century in asking, or something of that sort. Something easily forgotten and silly, rather than the glass prison of memory that Armand certainly knew well.
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Post by Armand on Mar 24, 2009 14:16:50 GMT -5
"Certainly," Armand said, after a small pause in which he nearly told Nicolas that he would teach him to cut it himself, for it had occurred to him that there was more behind this question than the simple asking. He didn't think much on the significance of it further than that, only rose to fetch the scissors.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on Mar 24, 2009 14:28:59 GMT -5
Nicolas reached his hand back tentatively to touch his hair only after Armand had left the room, as though trying to memorize the feel of the hair gathered back and tied, rather than remembering the feeling of tying it himself. He remembered it all too well - pulling his hair back, slipping the ribbon beneath it with expert fingers, and impatiently tying the ribbon.
He could at the same time just as easily imagine glancing into the window as he did this for whatever reflective surface it was, and seeing Lestat in the background, just barely, before turning and seeing him truly.
He realized he was gritting his teeth and let his hand up, moving to sit somewhere else, a different chair, one in which Armand would be able to reach his back more easily to snip the curls away for the first time.
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Post by Armand on Mar 24, 2009 15:39:33 GMT -5
Armand returned soon enough, two pairs of scissors in his hands- a large pair, and a smaller silver set. Nicolas had so thoughtfully moved to another chair, and Armand pulled another one with him to sit in himself. A light scuffing of the chair legs against the floor, and Armand pressed flat palms against Nicolas' back to make him face front.
"It will come back," he said, very close to Nicolas' ear, as though he knew exactly what the violinist was feeling.
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