[Since waking up from his slumber after these so called festivals, Alexander has done a few things here and there. His body still feels tired from his long period of what he pretends to call sleep, but that's neither here or there. He was awake now, and doing things that he needed to catch up on. There was plenty to do, and it seems as if he missed a few things in Faerie that must have happened. All he knows is that the sun is out and it's far too bright for his liking.
It's not unfamiliar to his home, but he isn't too fond of the weather either. It's a bit too warm for him, so he retreats back into his treehouse a bit too hurriedly.
The door shuts, and he exhales out to rid of any of the allergies that were caught in his nose. Distracted enough that it doesn't quite register in his mind that the drapes were already pulled. It's dark when his eyes meet the comfortable space of his treehouse but nothing is out of place. He does, however, feel another presence in the room but it's not nefarious. If he felt that way, he would have attacked but there is nothing that triggers any alarms.
He takes a few steps forward and onto his bed, taking a seat.
Usually, his body would melt into the bed. The mattress they managed to fit in here was soft enough that he could tell if there was something underneath or not. This time is difference from the others. He feels a solid mass underneath, but again, it doesn't trigger any alarm bells.
Instead, he gets on his knees and peers down to see a familiar vampire hiding underneath.]
... I could have crushed you. What are you doing underneath there?
[ Taking shelter within the treehouse had been a last resort, at first, borne of Armand's initial desperation to find some immediate cover against the unnatural summertime sun shining down in the heart of winter— he intended to be nestled snugly back within the castle walls by the time Alexander inevitably returned, all the while leaving no one else the wiser as to his temporary refuge, but then the recent rise and subsequent fall from grace of the Earl (and by extension, Dark Court)'s power had left him drained as from adrenaline crash, with barely enough energy to drag himself beneath Alexander's bed before succumbing hard into the depths of a troubled slumber.
And by the time he wakes, it's too late to sneak out again unseen. He tilts his head in Alexander's direction, looking very much like the kind of under-the-bed monster plucked straight from out of childhood nightmares with how the shadows render him but a long, dark silhouette crouched along the floor, mantis-like, with laser-point red eyes. ]
You couldn't have crushed me, [ the voice assures, a gentle, reassuring Geordie accent that utterly belies any menace. Armand crawls out like a spider. ] Though I do apologize for the intrusion. Recent events having rather... exhausted me, you see, I was having a nap on my way back to the castle.
[ Not at all ideal, of course, being caught here like a creeper by someone who has already otherwise dismissed him, but such as it is; none of them could have anticipated this sunlight.
He gets to his feet, dusting his clothes off in a perfunctory sweep. ]
[Alexander makes room for Armand to escape from underneath the bed, getting back on his legs to watch his friend scuttle back up for air. Arms crossed as he watches in silence, picking up small things about his appearance through the darkness that surrounds the small room.]
You're not intruding.
[Just like him, his voice is just as reassuring and gentle. There's no annoyance behind it. No questioning. He just watches in short silence with his arms still crossed in thought. Aware enough that things might be a bit awkward after everything, but he can only raise a brow when he speaks again. One eye shifting toward the crack of light coming from the curtain, before shifting back to Armand.]
It is still light outside. I'm not rushing you to leave, Armand. You can stay for as long as you want.
[Alexander knows that he can come off as cruel. Perhaps his earlier actions upon coming back were cruel to Armand, but he isn't without empathy.]
Sit down for a second.
[It comes to mind that he's been out for a month. Maybe more. He imagines that Armand probably has several sources of blood that he can feed off of, but he's here now. He doesn't know how long Armand has been hiding underneath the bed, but he isn't unkind. He isn't a horrible host, as one might think.
Through the darkness he reaches for his dagger and a nearby cup.
With his blade drawn, he tilts it and makes a precise cut across his wrist to draw out some blood. It lands in the cup, letting the blood drain before tilting his wrist to the side again once it's filled up a few ounces]
Here.
[He doesn't hesitate to offer the cup to him. Although... He knows that it might be a bit different for Armand. Drinking it out of a cup, instead of his neck.]
I'm not sure that's quite true, [ Armand says, to Alexander's claim against intrusion. ] You enjoy your solitude and your privacy, Hyakaris. I haven't forgotten.
[ But then he does sit, one leg crossing over the other to expose his ever-sockless ankles. After a moment his arms cross, as well, as if to mirror Alexander's posture. ]
The light is not a problem, [ he adds, because for the most part that's true; though summer-bright and summer-hot, Armand won't sizzle on the walk from here to the castle. Even back home he had no trouble with minor doses of daylight. ] It took me by surprise, that's all. I was in the forest.
[ And then the dagger; the cup. The blood. Armand watches this stoically, teeth itching at the sight of the open wound. ]
You don't need to—
[ But he won't turn it away now that it's been cut and poured, even if he'd rather at least sup from Alexander's wrist than from a glass. But nor will he argue; skin-to-skin contact isn't a requirement of taking of the blood, and especially not the Little Drink, however much it may sting against the tenderness of rejection. Armand doesn't begrudge Alexander for it anymore than he ever begrudges anyone for not wanting him — and how could he, really, given how his own heart still feels so freshly shattered beneath Louis's harsh, grinding boot? — but it nonetheless always seems like a glancing blow against his raw underbelly, a slate being wiped clean.
Armand accepts the glass and sips from it, not a drop of blood spilling from his lips. Demigod blood, potent as ever. ]
[It might sound uncaring at first, even as he places his vape up to his lips and takes a deep drag and exhales.]
But for friends and family, I have an open door policy. They are always welcome in my space whether I am there or not. It is not uncommon for my family and friends to stay in my room and fiddle with my things when I am not there or asleep. That is why my dearest Maelle has a key to come in here too.
[Alexander won't deny that he is highly introverted, but truly enjoys connections if they manage to reach him. Lifelong friends and partners are a testament to his loyalty and openness to be there for people. He wouldn't just cut him off, even if he is an inherently cruel person at times. Perhaps that was one of those times, but still.
As Armand takes small slips of his blood, Alexander fetches some wrapped bandages that he tightens around the cut. He isn't a medic or anything, but he knows the basics. The cut was deep, but not too deep to hurt him or bother him.]
You are welcome. You can ask me for blood at any time, as long as I am awake. My body's anatomy is not like a normal person's, so blood loss and its effects do not mean much to me. You can simply just send a message to me on the leaf, and I can give it to you. Or make a drop box underneath the staircase for easy access if you are in a hurry.
[It never bothered him that he liked his blood or wanted it. He would gladly keep giving it to him, because above all, they were still friends. Although, again, Alexander can't help but wonder if his supposed cruelty may have stung him a bit. Especially with all the other unfortunate things that have been happening to the person across from him.]
[ Friends and family; but which does that make Armand? He doesn't know, and doesn't ask. Doesn't know which one he'd rather be, either. Connections are so... difficult, sometimes.
He lets out a breath, nodding his head absently in acknowledgement. He doesn't know Maelle, or any of these supposed others, which only makes him wonder again if he really still belongs here. No more or no less than anywhere else, he supposes. If Alexander lets him come, then he'll come, but wariness is already settling over him like a feral cat scenting competition over territory. If he'd actually encountered somebody else here in the treehouse today, he might have even bristled and outright fled. ]
Hold on a moment— please, [ As Alexander moves to dress his wound. ] Allow me.
[ He draws blood from his lower lip with a quick prick of his fangs, then gently reaches to take Alexander's wrist in hand before the seraph has finished with wrapping it. It would be easier if he could simply kiss the wound, of course, but he imagines that might appear untoward, so this will have to do: carefully he unwinds the bandage, then uses his thumb to wipe the blood from his mouth and then let it drip upon Alexander's gashed wrist. This way, now the wound will heal itself completely within moments.
(Not that Armand can't just as easily reopen the cut should Alexander protest his interference.) ]
I hope you can forgive my... presumptuous intervention, [ he says softly after a moment, still holding onto Alexander's wrist. ] It didn't seem right for me not to clean up the mess afterward, as always.
[ Alexander has never been cruel to him, never been anything but fair; true that rejection may always sting at first, but Alexander has beloveds of his own he would remain faithful to instead, and that's to be respected. This, whatever it had been, had not been love, after all, and love should be held sacred above all else... or almost, anyway. Armand would like to believe that much can still be true. ]
As you may already know, at my age, I don't often need to feed, [ he admits, smiling with fangs. ] Yet if given the option, I would gladly sup gluttonously upon your angel's blood even at the exclusion of any others— it nourishes me well, and so sweet the taste.
Perhaps I will text you next time, like a drug dealer.
[Alexander can only look up when his wrist is held and the bandages fall away from his skin. Though, he doesn't seem bothered nor upset that Armand tends to the wound in his own way. A kind gesture, to be sure, but it wasn't needed on his end. Still, he isn't going to tell him no, and he hasn't broken any boundaries that need to be addressed. Instead, the man is greeted with a light smile as he brings his arm back to his lap to rest.]
There is no mess with me; you do not need to worry about that. I am unfortunately very boring and rarely, if ever, make a mess for someone to clean up. If I do, I clean up myself.
[Which is what he did, without trying to be insensitive. In the end, it wasn't love -- at least, that's what he realized. In it's own way, it is cruel -- going home, coming back, only to realize that he would never be capable of loving anyone here as a partner. Time was fickle, and relationships were fleeting. That's what he said, and he still stands by it.]
Truly, I'm not certain what the appeal is. I truly think it tastes like cosmic dust, but Naeris has said something similar. That it tastes sweet and it gives them energy but again... It simply tastes like debris... But yes, do let me know and I will provide.
[Alexander reaches for the bandages that fell on the floor below, wrapping them back up neatly and placing it into one of the nearby drawers to be used for later. Though he rarely got into fights here, if at all. Better to be safe than sorry, especially with the lack of Caelus being here to save him from dying.]
[ Is he well? That might just be the question of the century when it comes to Armand de (Last Name Not Provided), although the answer to it never really changes. Wellness means nothing to him; wellness is just a word.
In any case, Armand gracefully accepts the subtext of Alexander's remark without acknowledging the clear double meaning behind the words, though he would hardly even call this — or rather, them — a "mess," as such, given how civilly he's received it all without obsessing, stalking, or lashing out in a hysterical, slow-boiling rage like in a soap opera... no, none of that at all. Alexander was right to end it when he did, lest Armand gradually begin allowing himself to grow complacent or distracted by their arrangement.
After all, things often do quickly turn to messes whenever Armand gets distracted. It's a luxury he could never afford. ]
You're not a vampire. [ He shrugs, almost coyly. ] What you're describing now is how all other food tastes to us.
[ Except, of course, for blood and blood alone, but the experience of drinking blood is quite impossible to ever explain to non-vampires in a way that does the act any justice. No one else can understand how truly orgasmic that first drink, that most unholiest of communions, can be until they've been there for themself; memories flooding in through the blood, filling one's mind with the many unforgettable stories of countless different lives... the rush of hot, liquid power fortifying and refining the body closer to some unknown platonic ideal, a fountain of youth that never runs dry. ]
You may as well ask what the appeal is of eating chocolate instead of dirt, [ Armand smiles, shaking his head. ] Or I suppose a more savory equivalent.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
prestigiously) wrote2025-07-30 08:31 pm
for armand (haram)
It's not unfamiliar to his home, but he isn't too fond of the weather either. It's a bit too warm for him, so he retreats back into his treehouse a bit too hurriedly.
The door shuts, and he exhales out to rid of any of the allergies that were caught in his nose. Distracted enough that it doesn't quite register in his mind that the drapes were already pulled. It's dark when his eyes meet the comfortable space of his treehouse but nothing is out of place. He does, however, feel another presence in the room but it's not nefarious. If he felt that way, he would have attacked but there is nothing that triggers any alarms.
He takes a few steps forward and onto his bed, taking a seat.
Usually, his body would melt into the bed. The mattress they managed to fit in here was soft enough that he could tell if there was something underneath or not. This time is difference from the others. He feels a solid mass underneath, but again, it doesn't trigger any alarm bells.
Instead, he gets on his knees and peers down to see a familiar vampire hiding underneath.]
... I could have crushed you. What are you doing underneath there?
cw insect imagery?? idk
And by the time he wakes, it's too late to sneak out again unseen. He tilts his head in Alexander's direction, looking very much like the kind of under-the-bed monster plucked straight from out of childhood nightmares with how the shadows render him but a long, dark silhouette crouched along the floor, mantis-like, with laser-point red eyes. ]
You couldn't have crushed me, [ the voice assures, a gentle, reassuring Geordie accent that utterly belies any menace. Armand crawls out like a spider. ] Though I do apologize for the intrusion. Recent events having rather... exhausted me, you see, I was having a nap on my way back to the castle.
[ Not at all ideal, of course, being caught here like a creeper by someone who has already otherwise dismissed him, but such as it is; none of them could have anticipated this sunlight.
He gets to his feet, dusting his clothes off in a perfunctory sweep. ]
I'll get out of your way now.
cw: slight mutilation??
You're not intruding.
[Just like him, his voice is just as reassuring and gentle. There's no annoyance behind it. No questioning. He just watches in short silence with his arms still crossed in thought. Aware enough that things might be a bit awkward after everything, but he can only raise a brow when he speaks again. One eye shifting toward the crack of light coming from the curtain, before shifting back to Armand.]
It is still light outside. I'm not rushing you to leave, Armand. You can stay for as long as you want.
[Alexander knows that he can come off as cruel. Perhaps his earlier actions upon coming back were cruel to Armand, but he isn't without empathy.]
Sit down for a second.
[It comes to mind that he's been out for a month. Maybe more. He imagines that Armand probably has several sources of blood that he can feed off of, but he's here now. He doesn't know how long Armand has been hiding underneath the bed, but he isn't unkind. He isn't a horrible host, as one might think.
Through the darkness he reaches for his dagger and a nearby cup.
With his blade drawn, he tilts it and makes a precise cut across his wrist to draw out some blood. It lands in the cup, letting the blood drain before tilting his wrist to the side again once it's filled up a few ounces]
Here.
[He doesn't hesitate to offer the cup to him. Although... He knows that it might be a bit different for Armand. Drinking it out of a cup, instead of his neck.]
no subject
[ But then he does sit, one leg crossing over the other to expose his ever-sockless ankles. After a moment his arms cross, as well, as if to mirror Alexander's posture. ]
The light is not a problem, [ he adds, because for the most part that's true; though summer-bright and summer-hot, Armand won't sizzle on the walk from here to the castle. Even back home he had no trouble with minor doses of daylight. ] It took me by surprise, that's all. I was in the forest.
[ And then the dagger; the cup. The blood. Armand watches this stoically, teeth itching at the sight of the open wound. ]
You don't need to—
[ But he won't turn it away now that it's been cut and poured, even if he'd rather at least sup from Alexander's wrist than from a glass. But nor will he argue; skin-to-skin contact isn't a requirement of taking of the blood, and especially not the Little Drink, however much it may sting against the tenderness of rejection. Armand doesn't begrudge Alexander for it anymore than he ever begrudges anyone for not wanting him — and how could he, really, given how his own heart still feels so freshly shattered beneath Louis's harsh, grinding boot? — but it nonetheless always seems like a glancing blow against his raw underbelly, a slate being wiped clean.
Armand accepts the glass and sips from it, not a drop of blood spilling from his lips. Demigod blood, potent as ever. ]
You didn't. But thank you.
no subject
[It might sound uncaring at first, even as he places his vape up to his lips and takes a deep drag and exhales.]
But for friends and family, I have an open door policy. They are always welcome in my space whether I am there or not. It is not uncommon for my family and friends to stay in my room and fiddle with my things when I am not there or asleep. That is why my dearest Maelle has a key to come in here too.
[Alexander won't deny that he is highly introverted, but truly enjoys connections if they manage to reach him. Lifelong friends and partners are a testament to his loyalty and openness to be there for people. He wouldn't just cut him off, even if he is an inherently cruel person at times. Perhaps that was one of those times, but still.
As Armand takes small slips of his blood, Alexander fetches some wrapped bandages that he tightens around the cut. He isn't a medic or anything, but he knows the basics. The cut was deep, but not too deep to hurt him or bother him.]
You are welcome. You can ask me for blood at any time, as long as I am awake. My body's anatomy is not like a normal person's, so blood loss and its effects do not mean much to me. You can simply just send a message to me on the leaf, and I can give it to you. Or make a drop box underneath the staircase for easy access if you are in a hurry.
[It never bothered him that he liked his blood or wanted it. He would gladly keep giving it to him, because above all, they were still friends. Although, again, Alexander can't help but wonder if his supposed cruelty may have stung him a bit. Especially with all the other unfortunate things that have been happening to the person across from him.]
cw self-injury, blood...play...?? (nonsexual)
He lets out a breath, nodding his head absently in acknowledgement. He doesn't know Maelle, or any of these supposed others, which only makes him wonder again if he really still belongs here. No more or no less than anywhere else, he supposes. If Alexander lets him come, then he'll come, but wariness is already settling over him like a feral cat scenting competition over territory. If he'd actually encountered somebody else here in the treehouse today, he might have even bristled and outright fled. ]
Hold on a moment— please, [ As Alexander moves to dress his wound. ] Allow me.
[ He draws blood from his lower lip with a quick prick of his fangs, then gently reaches to take Alexander's wrist in hand before the seraph has finished with wrapping it. It would be easier if he could simply kiss the wound, of course, but he imagines that might appear untoward, so this will have to do: carefully he unwinds the bandage, then uses his thumb to wipe the blood from his mouth and then let it drip upon Alexander's gashed wrist. This way, now the wound will heal itself completely within moments.
(Not that Armand can't just as easily reopen the cut should Alexander protest his interference.) ]
I hope you can forgive my... presumptuous intervention, [ he says softly after a moment, still holding onto Alexander's wrist. ] It didn't seem right for me not to clean up the mess afterward, as always.
[ Alexander has never been cruel to him, never been anything but fair; true that rejection may always sting at first, but Alexander has beloveds of his own he would remain faithful to instead, and that's to be respected. This, whatever it had been, had not been love, after all, and love should be held sacred above all else... or almost, anyway. Armand would like to believe that much can still be true. ]
As you may already know, at my age, I don't often need to feed, [ he admits, smiling with fangs. ] Yet if given the option, I would gladly sup gluttonously upon your angel's blood even at the exclusion of any others— it nourishes me well, and so sweet the taste.
Perhaps I will text you next time, like a drug dealer.
no subject
There is no mess with me; you do not need to worry about that. I am unfortunately very boring and rarely, if ever, make a mess for someone to clean up. If I do, I clean up myself.
[Which is what he did, without trying to be insensitive. In the end, it wasn't love -- at least, that's what he realized. In it's own way, it is cruel -- going home, coming back, only to realize that he would never be capable of loving anyone here as a partner. Time was fickle, and relationships were fleeting. That's what he said, and he still stands by it.]
Truly, I'm not certain what the appeal is. I truly think it tastes like cosmic dust, but Naeris has said something similar. That it tastes sweet and it gives them energy but again... It simply tastes like debris... But yes, do let me know and I will provide.
[Alexander reaches for the bandages that fell on the floor below, wrapping them back up neatly and placing it into one of the nearby drawers to be used for later. Though he rarely got into fights here, if at all. Better to be safe than sorry, especially with the lack of Caelus being here to save him from dying.]
Are you well?
no subject
In any case, Armand gracefully accepts the subtext of Alexander's remark without acknowledging the clear double meaning behind the words, though he would hardly even call this — or rather, them — a "mess," as such, given how civilly he's received it all without obsessing, stalking, or lashing out in a hysterical, slow-boiling rage like in a soap opera... no, none of that at all. Alexander was right to end it when he did, lest Armand gradually begin allowing himself to grow complacent or distracted by their arrangement.
After all, things often do quickly turn to messes whenever Armand gets distracted. It's a luxury he could never afford. ]
You're not a vampire. [ He shrugs, almost coyly. ] What you're describing now is how all other food tastes to us.
[ Except, of course, for blood and blood alone, but the experience of drinking blood is quite impossible to ever explain to non-vampires in a way that does the act any justice. No one else can understand how truly orgasmic that first drink, that most unholiest of communions, can be until they've been there for themself; memories flooding in through the blood, filling one's mind with the many unforgettable stories of countless different lives... the rush of hot, liquid power fortifying and refining the body closer to some unknown platonic ideal, a fountain of youth that never runs dry. ]
You may as well ask what the appeal is of eating chocolate instead of dirt, [ Armand smiles, shaking his head. ] Or I suppose a more savory equivalent.