[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.
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prestigiously) wrote2025-07-30 08:31 pm
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.