[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
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.