[ 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
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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.