#we’ll shoot back holy water // theatre des vampires

[devourcr]

@beautifulsavagegarden asked: "I'm not scared of you." (From Lestat at beautifulsavagegarden, book canon?)

i don't want your fear, armand wants to say, but instead watches lestat with wide, dark eyes, the amber glowing with the candles' flames around them. silence passes, intentional, directing an expression of warmth towards him — but it's a mockery of empathy. while he can feel for him, does care in a twisted sense of the word, armand wants to use the empathy to his advantage.

he wants him to need him.

❝ you're weak, lestat, ❞ he says out loud, shouldn't he fear a lack of mercy from him? ❝ i'm trying to help you, but instead, you act as if i'm threatening you. ❞ oh, but it's both, isn't it? it's an act of control, to help lestat seek vengeance ( knowing full well it isn't what he wants ). ❝ i only keep you here for your own good. ❞

[devourcr]

it unsettles him to think that he could be blind. that anyone could blind him. but admittedly, the coven came with certain comforts and to be in close proximity with the company for so long, he'd known them. but in knowing them, he thought he'd acknowledged the danger. after all, vampires could be worse than humans in vying for power, for amplifying feelings of betrayal or the belief that they deserved more.

he hadn't even wanted to say that he loved them. but on some level, he supposes that's what the camaraderie was. after all, love never excluded the risk of danger. and even now, he thinks about it, knowing what he plans to do. if they don't accept him delegating his position to santiago, he'd turn into a threat against them. but at least, when he left paris, it wouldn't be alone ( that was the crux of it ). all vampires feared loneliness. and amalia had shone a light on a loneliness he didn't know he'd contained — she filled something in him that he'd ignored. she opened his mind to what he wanted outside of the coven.

❝ i'm not used to being the blind one, ❞ he admits. he perceives himself as hypervigilant, as too old by now to be so blind. ❝ you are not casual to me, ❞ he explains, despite how he'd tried to ignore the signs that she might be in danger to selfishly live in both worlds simultaneously. ❝ i might have been stuck in my ways for a long time, but i can still learn. i won't do it again. ❞

as she sits up, armands's eyes meet hers and he smiles faintly, knowing how much it means that she wanted him to be part of her plan from the start. ❝ i'm sorry i didn't initially trust that i was, ❞ if he'd thought that he was part of the plan, he wouldn't have fought so hard to keep her there. he wouldn't have been so dismissive of her concerns or angry that she'd leave. likewise, though, he knows he didn't give her a chance to explain either. his own hand reaches to take her cheek, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

❝ your story is safe with me, ❞ he reassures, ❝ and i'm more an open book to you than i've been with anyone. ❞

❝ you love them, and that made you blind. it's understandable. ❞ it's not a judgement. there's not even any anger left in amalia's voice; they had their argument, and perhaps neither of them won, but she does feel that armand understands where she is coming from, now. she didn't before, as much as it pains her to admit that. he was too willing to dismiss the very present danger she's in, here, too blasé about her safety. that's not something she can ever be; amalia is a survivor before she is anything else, and she would have found a way to do so if the coven had turned on her. it just might not have been pretty.

this is, she thinks, better. there are limits to her power, and limits to how well she can hide. and if she'd had to flee...she would have had to leave armand, too. at least temporarily. leaving with him was what she always wanted, when it came down to it. she sighs softly, eyes closed at the feel of his fingers in her hair, the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear. the quiet of this moment, after the heightened emotions that came before, makes it harder to say the words that rest, for a moment, on her tongue.

her tone stays the same, soft and calm. ❝ but it also made you casual with my life. my life. and my love, i need to know that's not going to happen again. here or elsewhere. ❞ amalia does not need armand to be her bodyguard — save, perhaps, for their last few days in paris — but she wants him to listen to her when she is scared. when she fears for her life. death may yet come for her, never say never, but it won't be tonight, whatever a highly strung troupe of theatre vampires may think.

❝ together. ❞ there are so few people she would ever be this open with. and perhaps she hadn't fully intended to share so much of herself, tonight, but had acted in anger and desperation, but even admitting to her fear is vulnerability amalia can't express with many. she sits up, her hand cupping armand's cheek. ❝ you were always a part of my plan, even if i hadn't fully worked out how to convince you to run away with me. ❞ it wasn't a snap decision based solely on seeing him upset. he was at the foundations. ❝ and now you know more about me than anyone alive. that is...so new for me. ❞

[devourcr]

when he felt her in the city, it was unmistakable. he's forced from the auditorium, the speed almost imperceptible, and down into the catacombs again. his lack of presence in the audience wouldn't stop the show from going on and he'd left with a message given to the rest of the coven. he had something to take care of and to carry on in the meantime.

‘come to the tower. you'll find me here.’

he sends images to her, the visions of roads and street signs, of the manse and tower, once owned by the vampire magnus, but left to him by lestat when he'd fled paris.

it isn't the first time she's been in paris. though, the first time, he'd always questioned what he saw. perhaps nothing more than a memory he pressed onto the face of a visiting vampire. but it isn't his hallucination, nor his dreams. bianca lives. with the fire gift, he sets a fire in the hearth — every movement a partial distraction. he chooses not to think deeply on the past, but her presence confronts him with it. he stands in the upper level of the tower, hands rubbing together idly.

too many years had gone by. centuries. the human who'd known her, the vampire who'd known her after — was so far gone. was it even him at all? he wouldn't feel how he did now, if it wasn't.

he turns to the fire, eyes watching the flames flicker as he waits.

@stormlit / armand & bianca reunion?? 👀

[devourcr]

the coven stands in silence. the execution funeral pyre burns bright, the light bouncing off armand's amber gaze, his expression remains stern, dutiful, and his eyes reminiscent of the centuries he's lived, rather than the youthful face he wore. the echoed screams of the burned vampire had died down, leaving only the memory in the smoky catacombs, ventilated by the open manhole leading to the street.

❝ dampen the fire, take what's left and bring it to the tombs, ❞ he instructs the theatre troupe, finally lifting his eyes to meet their solemn faces. killing one of their own isn't a time for celebration. particularly one who had been with them for so long. but to break their laws was to face punishment. and sometimes — that punishment meant death. armand steps back from the flames, turns on his heel to leave. idly, he rubs his palms together, the very hands that had directed the fire gift to the other vampire.

he never spares a glance at santiago. though, he knows the raw emotion filling the space belongs to him. armand won't pretend that what he'd witnessed had been easy ( he knows it isn't ) and despite not looking towards him, his voice lifts again, ❝ santiago, come with me. ❞

@vyrulent // starter for santiago!

[devourcr]

( @symphonyofmalice continued from here. )

the body. it had been the body, but as nicolas listed what he'd kept himself busy with, armand listened, straight-faced, amber eyes like flames seeking to burn right through him. for all his creative genius, there were far more indiscretions and deaths that could have roused suspicion, terror, and left their theatre in ashes. armand allows the silence to linger for several long seconds. he can call him a warden, if that's what he chooses, but if he were a prison guard, it would be to keep him from self-destructing ( and taking the theatre with it ).

❝ you did, ❞ he confirms, but the ink well incident is more of a frustration because he refuses to write, rather than armand's concern for the vampires struck by them. ❝ for all your creative antics, i would have thought you were overflowing with ideas. ❞ sarcasm drips from the older vampire's tone, the frustration slowly seeping in where he'd originally attempted to shroud himself in a layer of ice.

he steps closer, overtaking his personal space.

❝ tell me, are you trying to make us a target? looking for attention? ❞ he reverts back to calm, but only for the seriousness of his irritation to build slowly into his words, ❝ or perhaps for us to burn because you prefer to hang bodies from our roof?! ❞

[devourcr]

he can show him how. he can take the choice and make it far easier for him to swallow in the end. he can strip him of culpability in leaving her behind, in allowing himself the freedom that he needs. the reality of claudia is that she should never have come to be in the first place. it's the sad truth of her trapped existence but not one that louis should punish himself for eternally. all armand has to do is move the correct pawns in place and everything will come together. the theatre is already bursting with tension and distrust and the truth of what they had done rests with their living maker.

armand equally wants freedom, an unspoken truth that he can't say out loud. but to leave the coven feels impossible.

he doesn't want violence to follow him if he leaves. and while there's no guarantee that it would, there's no guarantee that it wouldn't either. there's a balance that he's trying to walk, one that doesn't require him to look over his shoulder for the next 500 years of his life. wouldn't it be easier to have a clean slate? it's what he wants and he wants it with louis. louis is the allure away from it all. he could give him the things lestat couldn't ( and there's something delightful in that knowledge too ).

❝ give her what she needs. a vampire strong enough to move with her through the decades, the centuries — someone of her own. ❞ and he would do the rest for him. he could unburden him, alleviate his guilt by making the choice of final separation easier. ❝ and then, all that's left is for you to live as you see fit. if you can't find who you are, we'll seek him out together. ❞ it's a promise, a vow almost, that armand will remain at his side.

the brush of his lips against his palm is promising, such a small gesture of affection that results in a rising warmth spreading from the pit of his stomach. chestnut eyes watch him, admiring the beauty, in not only louis's stunning appearance, but in the vulnerability of the moment. he's more than on the cusp of something new now — as far as the elder vampire is concerned, he's said enough to move forward. moving his hand, he traces his thumb delicately over his lips.

❝ we rise again from the shattered pieces, from the ash of who we were. ❞ it will break him, he thinks, at least for a time. he'll mourn what happened in paris, but if all goes according to plan, he'll be able to move on with vengeance behind him. and it would be armand who helped lift him from the pieces, who mended him again. and in doing so, the companionship would also mend his own restless loneliness.

❝ we have an eternity, louis. there's time for rebirth. ❞

does he want to find out? his heart. dead as he claims it to be. shatters in his chest when the smallest voice in the back of his mind begs yes! his eyes avert his gaze towards the corner of armand's mouth. as if looking there would hide that horribly cruel thought. selfish. it was selfish. his hand in condemning claudia to the fate she is forced to endure for eternity has earned him this life. this repentance for the cruelty that was bestowed upon her when she was defenseless. helpless. vulnerable in every sense of the word. and yet? he craves to have the braveness to mutter the word. one single. three lettered word. that would confirm armand's questions. that would give him the affirmation that he is seeking.

that louis wants free..

he wants him. wants to be near him. wants to spend their time together. to learn from him in the ways he could never learn from lestat. in ways that lestat REFUSED to teach him during all their years together. more than that. he wants to experience him. being his. that sense of belonging to someone who simply wants his company. not loathe him for the necessity of having it.

"the real me..," he repeats back wildly searching those chestnut colored eyes as if he could find himself, his true self, inside their reflection. a fantasy. a dream. he barely remembers who he was and yet remembers every bit of it vividly at times. when he lets those years so long ago creep back into a mind that all but buried them away in one of the tombs of the saint louis. leaving who he was back in the city that was in his blood as much as lestat. as much as his past. a lifetime ago.

"i barely know who i would be now. what i would be like without...," and it goes without saying; her. "how am i supposed to show you?" long lashes flutter with the touches. with the nearness. "how can i let her go?" there's a heaviness in his stomach at the thought of it. of severing a tie that is tethered so deeply inside of him. even if it tangles it's way in and out of his veins and forms a noose around his neck. cuts it right in half..

that heaviness in his belly twists. stirs that so skillfully suppressed hunger that's ever-present. a dull buzz that he locks away until he can't. lips part before his head turns to brush their corners against the inside of armand's palm. over the thicker meat under his thumb and, such a human gesture, he inhales deep drawing what bit of control he has back into his grip before he presses them closed and brushes them over the skin there instead before murmuring quietly. "how do we let anyone go? without shattering another piece of who we are..."

[devourcr]

( @stormlit / starter based on the thing we talked about bc i couldn't help myself sorrynotsorry )

she's been here before. each time, he's noticed her, both when he's made on-stage appearances and when he prefers to linger behind the scenes or watch from the opera box ( to see how the audience sees ). some nights passed where he wondered if she understood the danger that could present itself coming into their city, sitting amongst their audience. she hasn't shown herself to be a threat and armand's curiosity has also kept the players at a distance.

he instructs them to do nothing.

most of the audience follows the movement of the other vampires on stage, armand's presence amongst them, his silence and stillness scripted, but not the lingering eye contact he makes with the younger vampire in the audience. their eyes have met before, but this time, armand attempts to reach out with his mind. it's time to break the ice.

‘ stay after the show, no harm will come to you. ’

the show goes on until the big finish, curtains closed, and the audience shuffling out ( some in offended whispers, some in buzzing excitement at the horror ), but what armand cares about is whether she stays. armand reenters the auditorium after the last human clears the theatre for the evening.

❝ do you enjoy it? our performance? ❞

[devourcr]

( @esoterium asked: 40. for a desperate starter . (nicki if you rly wanna hit hard!) // starter prompts // always accepting ! )

armand's hands grasp at nicki's upper arms, long fingers gripping tight enough to dig into the skin beneath the material of his shirt. the older vampire lunges forward with him, forcing him to the wall, forcing him to still. ❝ stop it! ❞ vocalizing his frustration, his voice comes out as a half-growl, baring fangs to make his point hold even more weight.

did he know that for all the aggression, the violence he submitted to in those moments, that he was trying to protect him? as he came so dangerously close to spilling secrets on the streets of paris ( that is if people didn't see his madness, the darkness they didn't need the mind gift to perceive ).

oh, but is he any better, dragging nicki into an adjacent alley where any drifter could see them? it might not be the time to lecture about subtlety when he'd left his several meters behind.

❝ i need you to stop. you're only harming yourself. ❞ hands never loosen their grip on him, fighting the impulse to shake him. how could he care for him if he stood on the edge of self-destruction?

[devourcr]

he’s distracted. while his eyes follow along with the script, he barely hears the performers. they could have derailed entirely and armand heard more sound from the tap tap of his pen against the clipboard. armand finally glances up at the stage, jots down a quick note about blocking ( the only glaring problem he noticed in the last 15 minutes ) and stands up.

❝ enough, ❞ he announces, a wave of his hand to dismiss the troupe. there’d be no meeting over his notes tonight ( his attention span for the evening clear by what he wouldn’t have to say ).  ❝ let me sit with it, we’ll discuss my thoughts tomorrow evening, ❞ he adds and while most follow suit, he looks back down at the script, trying to judge where the evening’s time had gone.

he's not alone in the auditorium, however, and yet again, armand’s eyes find the other vampire. ❝ something on your mind, santiago? ❞

@rejectory liked for a starter !!

[devourcr]

armand knows better than to come empty-handed with the question. the only good it would do is to taunt him with hunger, to force him to endure it. but to what end? until he succumbed to his vampire nature in a way that was stable? while armand can't know how to balance nicki, he knows that starvation isn't necessarily the answer. he does, however, know that morality doesn't matter when hunger wins. it's such a base instinct at that point, stronger than any he could remember having as a human. even human hunger was nothing like it.

he expects the presence of the walking sack of meat would lure in nicki. he already ensured the victim would be calm, present with words of comfort in their mind. they don't know that they're about to be slaughtered by a hungry vampire. he watches as nicolas comes forward, face remaining impassive despite his relief when he bites into them.

he knows he fears him, but he also looks after him. who else would keep him fed? would ensure his survival despite his self-destructive nature?

❝ careful, nicki, don't be overzealous, ❞ he says, unsure if he was even listening for the telltale signs of death. ❝ there's always more, you only have to ask. ❞ ask for a living, breathing human, to step further into embracing what their nature was. and here and now, how he framed it, it may sound so simple, when he equally could deny anything if he thought it better somehow.

Nicolas wants to cover his ears, close his eyes tight, wait until the nightmare goes away.

But he's hungry. And the hunger is its own being. It claws at him from the inside, makes him do things he wouldn't do. He wouldn't kill, just to preserve himself. He and ------ had had conversations about that very thing, back when they talked and talked and it seemed they would never become bored with each other, would never grow to hate each other. Nicolas had said to preserve yourself at the cost of another life was evil, while ------ had claimed it was morally neutral. Nicolas didn't think he actually believed that--it was all for the sake of argument. But perhaps he'd been wrong.

There is no intellectualizing hunger, though. No conversation to be had with it. No Golden Fucking Moment.

Are you hungry? Armand knows he is. Armand knows everything.

The hunger pulls Nicolas up to his feet. The hunger moves him forward, although his mind screams stay away. Nicolas stares at Armand, eyes wide and fearful, but the hunger can only think of the thing next to Armand.

NO. The person. The person with a family maybe. Perhaps a loved one who will miss him. Who will cry and drink and wonder what he did wrong to be abandoned without a word.

The hunger doesn't care. It bites into the thing, and when the blood touches its tongue, it does not stop until its sated.

[devourcr]

isn't it the same as pretending? armand thinks so, leaning back against the sofa, arms folded in an almost petulant way as he hears louis reaffirm he doesn't want to talk about it. it felt like every time the tension began to settle, it only rose again, like waves that threatened to make him seasick.

it's not all louis's fault, he knows. but he'd rather hear what he has to say out loud. was it him? was he responsible for his mood? could it be his coven and their scheming eyes and fake smiles? perhaps the child claudia and her ongoing antics.

he's not going to reach into his head to try to find the answer, though he'd had the temptation. instead, he shakes his head, ❝ fine, as you wish, louis. what would you rather talk about? ❞

( @ownthencght // continued !! )

[devourcr]

( @bledbetrayl asked: if you don't care, why are you so hot and bothered? )

oh, but both know the truth. armand outwardly scoffs because the question can only be designed to highlight that his nonchalance is a failed facade. he leans back in one of the theater seats, shoes propped up against the seat in front of him, attempting to ignore lestat by furiously taking notes on the script.

he's told him his opinion means little, that he doesn't care about anything except the truth of what happened. but all of it is emotionally driven, every little thing he does now, every bit of planning ( and the way his stomach swims with the contradictory fears and feelings that well up inside of him ) is led by raw emotion.

the others have cleared out off stage, leaving him alone with their star.

❝ i'm not hot and bothered, ❞ he retorts, glancing up from the page. ❝ what you think you see is annoyance. with you. ❞

[devourcr]

( @stormlit asked: ❛  don’t  fucking  touch  me .  ❜ claudia / deadly nightshade starters // always accepting !! )

he'd barely returned when he'd heard that claudia was upset about something. that she'd demanded to see him. to reduce the risk of further arguing, he requests those nearest remove themselves, allowing armand and claudia to have the room to themselves. as soon as his footsteps reach the stairs, they begin to clear out. armand hadn't bothered to dig for more information, unsure if it was one of his vampires that chose to be antagonistic or if it were something else entirely.

she is awfully full of fire, isn't she?

he made the mistake of laying a hand on her shoulder as he rounded her. ❝ my apologies, ❞ he says reflexively, in a minimal attempt to pacify her temper as he withdraws his hand and crosses to stand in front of her instead. ❝ do you care to sit? ❞ he asks, gesturing to one of the chairs. ❝ i heard you asked for me. ❞

[devourcr]

( @stormlit asked: ❛  talk  to  me . ❜ amalia / deadly nightshade starters // always accepting !! )

armand thought little of the silence that possessed him, despite the fact that they stood together, admiring the city from the rooftop. his eyes had lifted upward, hypnotized by the clouds stretching over the night sky, only barely interfering with the moon's light. while a calm silence overtakes him, he's in tune with the thoughts around them, lost in the 3-second stories offered by human passerbys on the street below.

when amalia's voice cuts through, his amber gaze slowly drops from the sky and his head turns to look at her fully.

❝ how do you choose? ❞ he asks, as if out of nowhere and perhaps it was. he's barely conscious of where his thoughts had wandered to, simply caught up in sight and sound, letting the stillness of the moment encapsulate him. ❝ your kills, ❞ he adds for clarification. ❝ how do you choose them? ❞

[devourcr]

@roseguided asked: ❛ what , was i just a charity case ?? ❜ / claudia

❝ this sounds like your insecurity, claudia, ❞ armand replies, fidgeting idly with the wooden arm of one of the green room chairs, sharp nails tracing a groove in the wood grain as he remains seated, listening to the younger vampire. the others have gone, some scattered about performing chores, others enjoying the city before curfew. but it's claudia who has his attention now.

❝ you're allowed here because you're one of us. i don't take charity cases and simply satisfy them with the bare minimum. don't treat what we've given you as a slight. ❞

[devourcr]

( @carnagebled asked: ‘ until you came along, i had this under control. ‘ from claudia // forced proximity prompts // always accepting !! )

❝ did you? ❞ the auditorium is empty, hours passing since it was last filled with bright, interested human faces, expressions shifting through excitement, to amusement, cycling to horror and around again. the coven entertains itself, some out stalking the paris streets in hunger, while others linger below. it's only him and claudia, here, now. he walks along the edge of the front row, before slumping effortlessly into one of the audience chairs, long fingers fishing for the cigarette case from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

❝ and what did you have under control? ❞ he does have his share of sympathy for the child vampire, for the immortality she's trapped in. though, he imagines an expression of it would come off more like pity. she's more alike to them, isn't she? vampire, more than human. not like louis.

❝ because from my perspective, you seemed lost. both of you. ❞