Well, of course he doesn't. How could he? And yet it's fascinating to watch him stroll in here so confidently, as if nothing had ever happened. As if everything has been so very normal these past few weeks. As if he hadn't been in drastic danger of dying— ah. But then again: perhaps such an incident doesn't register as a shocking thing to his drug-addled brain. Maybe he's so used to brushing close to death with his vices that bleeding out via vicious supernatural attack barely registers, and vampiric magics were barely necessary to wipe that from his mind.
He thinks it reflexively, spite more idle than earned. It's petty and mean, although on the Armand scale of petty and mean, it's on the decidedly shallow end. But to his mild surprise, Armand feels none of the arrogant pleasure he'd expected from such a thought.
Why? Well, Louis is off on one of his depressive fits, lamenting the past and loathing his endless future, and that, Armand has learned, is necessary to indulge. His Louis needs those self-loathing stints, and for his own self, well. Armand has always been good about finding something to amuse himself sooner or later.
But why doesn't his usual spite give him amusement? He doesn't know— and that unto itself is intriguing. Daniel is intriguing. Armand won't say some of his motivations tonight aren't pure jealousy (oh, he is a petulant thing when someone he loves offers attention to another, Marius or Lestat or Louis, it's all the same), but it's more than that. It's the fascination with a reporter dedicated to stories about the fantastical and the real, and yet so very determined to check himself out of the waking world. It's the intrigue of finding out what could have possibly captured Louis' attention (and what does this human have that Armand does not?). It's a lot of things, and like most vampires, Armand isn't particularly inclined towards self-reflection.
And maybe he wants to know if Daniel remembers anything. If there is something unusual about him.
So he followed him. Easy enough. Watched him as he held out for a week and then broke down; watched as he headed into that self-same bar he'd nearly died near not a fortnight ago. And here, now, he watches him while he looks for a way to score— and finds himself disappointed.
Drugs. Is that all he can think of? And yet Armand doesn't leave.
His own itch is not satisfied.
Graceful as anything he drifts forward, taking a seat and regarding the other man. No smiles. He isn't the smiling kind, not without reason. But it isn't a hostile stare, and that's something.]
You're back.
[Not a question. A strange statement, but ah, what does Armand care for baffling mortals?]
You're going to kill yourself before you hit forty if you keep using like this. It has not been a week.
[He cocks his head.]
But you don't seem to fear death. Or is it that you just don't allow yourself to think of it?
[Curious, curious. He isn't being subtle and he doesn't care. What's the worst that can happen? Daniel brushes him off as a nosy stranger in a bar, and Armand will simply stalk him back home and try again.]
no subject
Well, of course he doesn't. How could he? And yet it's fascinating to watch him stroll in here so confidently, as if nothing had ever happened. As if everything has been so very normal these past few weeks. As if he hadn't been in drastic danger of dying— ah. But then again: perhaps such an incident doesn't register as a shocking thing to his drug-addled brain. Maybe he's so used to brushing close to death with his vices that bleeding out via vicious supernatural attack barely registers, and vampiric magics were barely necessary to wipe that from his mind.
He thinks it reflexively, spite more idle than earned. It's petty and mean, although on the Armand scale of petty and mean, it's on the decidedly shallow end. But to his mild surprise, Armand feels none of the arrogant pleasure he'd expected from such a thought.
Why? Well, Louis is off on one of his depressive fits, lamenting the past and loathing his endless future, and that, Armand has learned, is necessary to indulge. His Louis needs those self-loathing stints, and for his own self, well. Armand has always been good about finding something to amuse himself sooner or later.
But why doesn't his usual spite give him amusement? He doesn't know— and that unto itself is intriguing. Daniel is intriguing. Armand won't say some of his motivations tonight aren't pure jealousy (oh, he is a petulant thing when someone he loves offers attention to another, Marius or Lestat or Louis, it's all the same), but it's more than that. It's the fascination with a reporter dedicated to stories about the fantastical and the real, and yet so very determined to check himself out of the waking world. It's the intrigue of finding out what could have possibly captured Louis' attention (and what does this human have that Armand does not?). It's a lot of things, and like most vampires, Armand isn't particularly inclined towards self-reflection.
And maybe he wants to know if Daniel remembers anything. If there is something unusual about him.
So he followed him. Easy enough. Watched him as he held out for a week and then broke down; watched as he headed into that self-same bar he'd nearly died near not a fortnight ago. And here, now, he watches him while he looks for a way to score— and finds himself disappointed.
Drugs. Is that all he can think of? And yet Armand doesn't leave.
His own itch is not satisfied.
Graceful as anything he drifts forward, taking a seat and regarding the other man. No smiles. He isn't the smiling kind, not without reason. But it isn't a hostile stare, and that's something.]
You're back.
[Not a question. A strange statement, but ah, what does Armand care for baffling mortals?]
You're going to kill yourself before you hit forty if you keep using like this. It has not been a week.
[He cocks his head.]
But you don't seem to fear death. Or is it that you just don't allow yourself to think of it?
[Curious, curious. He isn't being subtle and he doesn't care. What's the worst that can happen? Daniel brushes him off as a nosy stranger in a bar, and Armand will simply stalk him back home and try again.]