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New Orleans’ air had a clammy feel to it tonight. Not unlike late spring in Delhi or a rainy day in Venice. Paris rarely felt like this and Dubai never even once. Therefore, it was familiar to him only in an estranged, distant way.
He hated entering this dilapidated home, it felt beneath him. He might’ve lived within the catacombs of Paris for many years, but nowadays he was used to luxury. Pristine flats, decorative, minimal designs, wide empty rooms, designed to his liking.
Certainly not used to places like this anymore. Cramped and dirty and too grimy for him to relate to.
And then there was Lestat. Once the most refined, idle vampire he ever knew. The one who led him out of the shadows, only showing compassion, when all he actually felt was pity. Now he had nothing else to offer to Armand but this very same pity, the compassion long gone due to Armand’s own doing. The decade didn’t matter and neither did the location it seemed.
Although, Lestat was a pathetic little thing now. Oh, how relished the reversal after all these years. If Armand hadn’t intended on scoffing at him once he spotted him he would’ve probably just done so, regardless. Now he was simply standing before him, Lestat’s eyes downcast, sitting in a dirty old chair, unmoving.
Lestat was dressed in a ratty gown, his normally beautiful blonde hair unkempt and stringy. The walls surrounding them were dark and damp. The entire room was in a state of decay. So was the man he was looking at.
Armand for his part looked immaculate. His hair and clothes clean and perfectly styled. Completely free from any dust they ever held. He had the upper hand, now he only had to wield the power he held with delicate finesse. Which meant keeping his cool, holding back any emotion he might feel, if he truly wanted to talk with Lestat now.
Armand wasn’t sure how long he stood there in front of him, while Lestat didn’t even acknowledge his presence. This was not the first time either. Just one of many. Most times he stood there and then vanished without preamble, he did not want anything those times but to watch. Observe. He left in a haste once, simply because he thought he saw Lestat’s hand twitched.
But he was back now, back for an actual conversation. And Lestat knew. Lestat always knew. He knew Armand. He knew the one thing he did not care for.
“So, he returns. Not to bask, I’m sure,” Lestat said, finally raising his gaze from his lap up to Armand standing before him. Like the sun rising during the days, in which it could still hurt him. His resolve crumbled at once.
“I hate you.”
“Oh, I hate you, too, mon cher. But you did not come here to tell me that.”
And of course, Lestat was right. Lestat was always right. Lestat always knew and Lestat was always right. That was the worst part, was it not?
“Let's see how long it holds.”
Armand wanted to smash his head in. Wanted to see blood and tissue spill down over his somehow still divine face, no matter how haggard it was, worn by time and misery. Wanted to spray the walls of this ugly domain with his blood and guts. He could, if he really wanted to, he could do it this instance. So, what was actually stopping him but himself? Well… that was the answer, wasn’t it?
And truly, why was he here now? He could scarcely remember. All he saw was Lestat and his state didn’t matter. The circumstances didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, but the now.
Their past was amorphous, an ever shifting, evolving mechanism, coloured completely inconsequential by the passage of time.
But the hate it produced... that was eternal, ever present, and never fading. Unending like the concept of hell and everything else its existence implied. It was in the now.
“You are a despicable creature,” Armand hissed. The words felt like honey on his tongue despite their poisonous character.
“Yes, I know. That is most true,” Lestat answered calmly. “But that does not justify why you’re here.”
“To taunt you. To diminish you,” Armand spat. That seemed fair. “To tell you of all that you destroyed once again.”
Lestat’s expression for the first time shifted from its unmoving, stone-like stillness, to form a smirk, if a tiny one.
“I destroyed? What a destroyer I must be to destroy the non-existent!”
He was delighted by Armand’s sudden unease. Not because he enjoyed Armand being miserable, never that, but because catching him off-guard was a rare thing.
Armand was always so composed, so still. Like he truly was one of the statues that was crafted during the beginning of his immaculate era. Only letting his emotions slip at his most distressed. His face distorting into an ugly grimace.
“A destroyer you certainly are!” he raged. “You never cared for me! And you never cared for Nicki or your mother before that! You care for nothing but yourself!”
Oh, how he felt delighted by Armand’s rage, it almost salvaged how true the words felt.
“And Louis should be happy to be rid of you. Happy he left you here. You would tire of him sooner or later, anyway. Just like you did with me.”
Louis, his beloved Louis. He would never tire of him, that much Lestat knew, even if Armand didn’t. Though, Armand did not know a lot. Made especially clear by his last assertion. He’d never tire of Armand either, no matter how much he could ever crave it.
Though he might never tell him that, why should he? They were enigmatic technicolour, not to be dulled by bluntness.
Lestat laughed suddenly. Loud and high. And, he found a sudden resolve in it.
“Oh, my dear Armand, what do you truly want?” he instantaneously got up from his chair, to stand in full height against Armand. “You want me to rot away? You want me gone? With nothing to show but a relic of my former self. But how could I? I have grand music plans, see?” he lifted his board.
Armand seemed to not have heard anything he said after his first question. But it seemingly was enough to melt away all his posturing about hate and contempt.
“I want you to want me," desperate, pathetic Armand. Sweet, divine Armand. "That is what I always wanted. I wanted you to see me the way I see you. Love me and I would be yours.”
“What about Louis?” Lestat simply asked. “Him leaving is why you’re here now, no?”
“Louis? Our union was a matter of convenience, for the both of us, you knew that. We always wanted you. You were the passion between us. Our passion for you created the beauty we had with each other, if we ever had any. And only passion could do that, without you there would be none.”
“Passion creating beauty?” now Lestat was intrigued.
“Certainly. Only true passion could ever let someone create something absolutely beautiful. Caring is the first step for authenticity, which creates true and relatable art,” so matter of fact, his Armand, like he was reading from a thesaurus. It might actually be something he read, the way he phrased it. Inauthentically describing authenticity.
Most vampires after all did not actually understand how to create innately, Armand was no exception, neither was he. They might know, but they did not understand, wasn’t that his whole dilemma?
Lestat still pondered these words Armand said for a second. To create true art, you needed understanding and passion. Beauty arose out of true care for the things you are describing! Yes, it all fell into place.
His music was immaculate on a technical level, but it's perfect character made it imperfect. He needed to let all the human emotions flood back in. Let him feel loss, pity, passion, and all the emotions the world had to offer. All of it would only inform and improve his endeavour. And he could find none of that in here! He had to leave!
Ah yes, he certainly knew what he had to do now, and he had to thank the devil that was Armand for it. His expression for the first time morphed into a real, genuine smile.
Armand was unsure of what just occurred. What Lestat just realised. But he could sense a sudden confidence in him now, one he never perceived before, the open smile making it quite obvious.
Lestat suddenly leaned in and kissed him hard. Lestat held Armand’s head steady, their teeth clinked against each other, their tongues met in an unabashed haze.
Despite the unexpected suddenness of the gesture, Armand immediately responded to it. His hands flew to either side of Lestat’s torso, holding him. He opened his mouth, let Lestat in, and gave back just as much as was given to him, if not more. For a moment they existed outside of time, outside of everything that ever happened between them and everything that might happen in the future. Floating together in the ether of them in their purest forms, their souls forever connected, that much was clear, and they had absolutely no say over it.
Then Lestat detached himself. He gave Armand’s face a once over, then peppered, oh so gratefully, small kisses on his mouth and nose, before he completely separated himself from Armand.
“Thank you, cher petite démon, I think I’m ready now,” was all he said, stroking Armand’s cheek, before he turned and simply left the room, leaving Armand standing there in an utterly confused daze.