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[ Valid questions. ]

I awoke this morning on the shore of the lake, returned to myself. I may have to ask for a little more of your trust that I have no intention of hurting you any more than I already have. It was not my intention to

[ ... ]

mislead you in any way. I regret it.

As I was returning to the manor, I noticed Ebisu is currently in residence on the second floor. It was a favourite restaurant of Daniel's, so they know me there, and are able to supply me with the same blood we get from the staff.

I don’t doubt you, Armand.

[ when he wasn’t himself, no more than Astarion had been after using ReSculpt. It touches him, besides, that Armand has reached out to him so quickly — and that he would be invited somewhere once shared with Daniel. ]

It isn’t all right, exactly, but it is something I’m willing to forgive, for you.

I’ll meet you there, my friend.

You are more generous than I deserve. See you soon.

[ The izakaya is small and already busy with guests crowded along the bar, laughter and conversation competing with jazz music, the rattle and clink of glasses and the noise of the kitchen somewhere behind a door. Thankfully, Armand had arrived early enough in the evening to claim one of the tables along the wall, reclining comfortably on the tatami mat and very much returned to his normal form, albeit with a thin line of dark scarring around his neck, presently covered by a knotted silk scarf patterned with dark purple flowers.

By the time Gale joins him, he's already ordered and some of the food has arrived: salted edamame, pickles, karaage chicken, and a sashimi platter. Armand is also nursing a cocktail glass that appears to be full of blood. Gale will have to order his own drink -- though it may already be waiting for him, given the bartender's gift for knowing exactly what her customers want, no matter what it is.

As Gale arrives, Armand greets him with a rather wan smile, gesturing for him to take a seat (sorry on behalf of your knees, Gale). ]

I thought perhaps I could introduce you to a cuisine you may not have tried before.

[ Ever curious, Gale pauses to admire this new corner of the manor, as yet unknown to him. The bartender fixes his drink as he does so, placing a twist on an old-fashioned beside his plate (made with Hibiki Harmony, according to the dainty card beside it). The aromas differ from that of the Balfour’s kitchen, with its traditional British fare that reminds Gale of taverns across the Sword Coast. He hands his overcoat off to the waiter, left in his shirt and patterned vest, lavende with gold detailing. He appears wholly recovered from both the drowning and the bite, twin pinpricks there but fading.

A final hesitation: Gale allows himself a long look at Armand before he kneels — gaze firelit, no longer abyssal; not quite well, but certainly better than Gale has thought him to be, of late. No longer consumed by the loneliness they both know intimately, though he surely remains affected by it. ]

You thought right. [ mouth tugging higher on one side, almost shy. ] I’ve always made it a point to try the local cuisine wherever I go — and bring the best recipes back with me. I’m something of a cook myself, you know.

[ When he was Chosen, his role called him across the continent. Another life. He snags the chopsticks but doesn’t yet eat, gaze still lingering — assessing, in fact. ]

[ faux casually, unable to keep the concern from his voice: ] I’m surprised you’d see me so soon. You must be feeling — overwhelmed, by all that’s come to pass.

[ Without asking for permission, Armand reaches across to take Gale's hand in his own, arranging the placement of the chopsticks with gentle fussiness. He then demonstrates by picking up his own, holding them for Gale to observe as he picks up a slice of sashimi and deposits it on Gale's plate. He assumes Gale will be a quick study when it comes to matters of hand-eye coordination.

As for the observation, a wry smile appears on his face. Softer than it ought to be. He's tempted to retreat into melodrama, to explain that what happened is far from the worst thing he's ever experienced, that every vampire is born into a life of trauma and pain from their very first moment. Instead, he finds himself wanting to be honest. So he avoids Gale's eyes as he sets the chopsticks back down and picks up his glass of artificially warmed blood -- O neg, from a sweet young donor who had recently been given a quantity of alcohol, so it carries a trace of intoxicants. ]

I was allowed to feel.. emotions, sensations, that I haven't felt for five hundred years. I tasted wine and bread again. It has awakened.. [ He frowns faintly, rubs his thumb idly up and down the side of his glass. How to express the complexities of joy and grief of being given a glimpse of life again, after so long? ]

I had forgotten how to miss it. That is, perhaps, a gift.

[ Another tiny smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes as he glances up at Gale. ]

It's going to take some getting used to. But I will endure. If nothing else, I am built to endure.

[ Gale allows Armand’s fussing, smile evening into a bemused quirk. Pliant, instinctively, under the guidance of another — and irrepressibly fond to be in receipt of it. Evidence that despite what’s passed between them, they remain familiar. A closeness that can’t be shattered by the manor’s tricks or human hurts.

With a pointed look and cocked brow, he mimics Armand slowly, playful yet determined (to excel in all things, even something as insignificant as this). His first bite of the sashimi derails that train of thought, eyes alight with surprise at the taste. ]

Gosh! [ Delighted, evidently, when he leans forward for more. Not quite the right angle on the first try but perfect on the second. A wizard needs master their hands at an early age, after all. He tempers himself and his enthusiasm, if only to match Armand’s seriousness (and counterbalance the hesitance that characterises his candor, yet another way he mirrors Astarion).

A nod, first, acknowledging then sentiment. He holds his hand aloft, awaiting his thought to form before he carries on with the meal. At last: ]

I do wonder if that makes us any more capable. [ A tap of the chopsticks against his plate. ] Becoming accustomed to a particular ache, that is.

[ Physical or mental. Most people would find it a dolorous topic, but he recognises his melancholia in Armand’s eyes. A lifetime of denial, of waiting and wanting, for love and approval — it did not inure him to the absence of it. If anything, it made him desire it with greater desperation. ]

Does a familiar pain hurt any less for being known? [ Pensive, brow wrinkling, words spoken aloud as they occur to him. A riddle to be solved in real time. ] I’ve only had my — condition for a year now, yet it oft feels as if it were that first day, that terrible hour, in which I succumbed to it.

[ Each pang tearing him anew. Armand thinks not in years but decades, however. Centuries. If anyone could argue in favour of distance, of forgetting, it would be him. ]

[ Gale's musings are met with a quiet gaze, Armand watching him with a mixture of fondness and genuine fascination for a man so enthused about life despite its challenges. He strokes the side of his glass with absent restlessness, light glinting off the pair of rings he wears -- one crowned with a bicolor sapphire, one shaped like thorns -- following the path of the chopsticks back and forth as Gale gestures before meeting his eyes once more. ]

The curse of the vampire requires that we remain the same as we were when we were turned and broken from our mortal life. Frozen in time for eternity. Made perfect, but caught in time, like a fly in a ball of amber.

[ He frowns faintly, looking down at his hands curved around his drink. ]

If we felt pain or fear, it becomes part of us. We are riddled with the trauma of our birth into death. I was dying of a poison in my blood when I was turned, so part of me will always be poisoned. Part of me will always be that boy shivering in his bed. Just as part of you will always be a.. [ He looks at Gale, searching for a better word than failure. ] servant of your cruel goddess.

Yet, it sustains you. Your condition. As I am sustained by the Dark Gift.

[ Gale lifts his gaze, keenly attuned to Armand’s expression, his barely there tells. Younger than him in looks, he realises, despite the age of his soul. He can’t help but frown, mouth twinging in sympathy for the boy Armand was — is. Poison in the blood, yet another strange thing they have in common.

There’s something exceptional about Armand, in particular, thinking his goddess cruel — having known her through Gale’s memories and perceptions, which remain largely adoring. What then does he see that Gale fails to, even now, her forgiveness within his grasp? Or your freedom. ]

[ evenly, ] Perhaps.

[ Perhaps he will always be a servant, perhaps not. A third path stretches before him, after all. A crown reforged by his skilled hands that would make him a god in his own right. Worthy, after a lifetime of inadequacy. Undying and all-powerful, overcoming the blight eroding his very person.

He wonders if Armand is privy to those musings, peering his whirring mind. He hasn’t shared that possibility with anyone yet, even Astarion. ]

—Why do you call it the Dark Gift?

[ Servant, to save Gale's pride -- to Armand it seems no less than slavery, the chains no less heavy for being slender purple lines. He knows how it feels to be promised such gifts; the men who used him would do the same, when they wanted him. Those men would pile gold and jewels at his feet, dress him in furs and silks, press delicacies to his lips. They would praise his beauty and promise to free him, to bring him home with them on their ships. But afterward, they would leave. And no amount of cold coin would pay for what they took from him.

He sees the edges of it in Gale's mind, bright and hopeful for his scraps of reward. Aching in sympathy, seeing nothing but pain, Armand looks away. ]

So it was named to me by my maker. [ He fiddles with the chopsticks beside his setting, rolling them back and forth with a fingertip. ] So it was named to him, thousands of years before we met. A gift, too freely given. But a curse. With it comes the other gifts -- fire, flight, the ability to see into mortal minds and control others. Payment for enslavement to the darkness.

[ Gale watches Armand turn from him, his profile as sharp as his teeth. For all that Armand talks, there’s much he doesn’t reveal. So like Astarion in that way, too.

The similarities aren’t lost on him, at least between those granted the Dark Gift and those Chosen. For the latter are exalted above all, even forbidden magics at their fingertips, but they must serve their gods and goddesses for eternity to retain their power, attuned to their morals and missions. Everything has a cost. How much are you willing to pay? is the real question. For greatness, immortality, immeasurable power.

His expression shifts, pensive. ]

You’re not enslaved to the dark, though — or is that the work of this place and its mercurial magics?

Edited 2025-03-18 14:25 (UTC)

Enslaved to the dark?

[ He lifts his gaze to look back at Gale, a little vulnerable with it, as if he's finding it difficult to stare into those direct and gently enquiring eyes for too long. A green that looks almost gold in the right light. Daniel had green eyes, before he was turned.

A bright young reporter with a point of view.

Armand purses his lips and looks away again, tapping his fingernail on the tabletop. ]

No, not truly. A turn of phrase. Darkness of mind, not in reality. I have been able to walk in the sun for almost a century now. A benefit of my age. As we collect the years, we become more powerful. But also more remote from humanity. When one lives for too long, one grows too easily bored of the petty troubles of mortal life. Love, loss. Plague and war and endless strife, over and over, always the same. My maker believed that it was better to live among mortals, to share their lives. He was killed for that belief. For daring to think himself above the Great Laws.

[ He takes a breath, makes a bit of an effort to draw himself back to the point. ]

But I digress into ancient and no doubt tedious drama. To answer your question: I am not required to live only at night, or to hide in the shadows and the crevices like a rat. I only need to feed once or twice a month, as I choose. I no longer need to sleep. [ He waves a hand. ] Such is the gift.

Edited 2025-03-18 17:19 (UTC)

[ Not a reporter, no, but a scholar and therefore beholden to the same instinct toward enquiry. A curiosity so dangerous it once damned it — perhaps it even helped drown him, mere days ago. Even now, he thinks to push. Even as indulges in the meal Armand has so graciously chosen for him, his thoughts snag on darkness of the mind, wanting to unspool it like so much thread. Then on the Great Laws (that Armand wrote and rewrote in the cellar, as much a devotee of that dogma as Gale was of Mystra).

Another thought: The gods do not live among mortals, as vampires must, lingering instead in the outer planes. To consort with a goddess is to be invited there, if only briefly. Perhaps that’s why they’re more remote — when the likes of Astarion and Armand and Louis seem awfully human, in the end. All the moreso, really, for their efforts to deny it. ]

Tedious. [ Armand hinted at that before, surprised by Gale’s sincere interest in his person. Simply, then: ] I think the word ill-fitting, in all matters concerning you.

[ A beat. He flushes faintly. ]

Though you may find that obvious, in light of my ceaseless questioning. [ His mouth quirks, sheepish. ] Apologies — it’s you who invited me here, and I’ve led us down quite the dour conversational path.

[ The warmth of blood beneath Gale's skin would be a goad to a lesser vampire. For Armand, it's enough to draw out a gentle smile, pleased by the compliment, and a thoughtful glance upwards beneath his eyelashes, coquettish and almost playful. He dances a fingertip around the rim of his glass. Gale's open curiosity conflicts with old instincts designed to help him evade mortal attention, prompting him to deflect, but he does enjoy it, being fascinating. Being anything but boring. ]

No need to apologise. My kind are unfortunately prone to lingering in melodrama. When eternity stretches ahead and behind, one needs to find reasons to remain interested in the world. Becoming quite aggravatingly self-obsessed is a side effect. And I'm afraid that it only gets worse with age.

[ A wry smile. ]

Please. Ask your questions. Or we can talk about something else. [ He tilts his head slightly, adding an almost mischievous edge to his smile. ] The unexpected pleasures of a new relationship, perhaps.

[ Eager to please, Gale watches Armand smile with some satisfaction. Glad to have successfully guided them both back to shore, perhaps, even as the tides of melancholia continue to swirl. Armand names yet another side effect of immortality to ponder. The distance of time multiplied ad infinitum.

Only that, too, dissipates under the brightness of his affection for Astarion, shadows scattering at the first rays of the sun. ]

Ah! I suppose it is new. [ His mouth quirks, helplessly fond. ] It both feels that way and doesn’t, at times.

[ New for the way Astarion delights and surprises even himself, taken aback by his own interest and softness. The bubble of laughter that Gale wants to bottle, a cure for even his most sorrowful bouts. But the comfort Gale finds in their closeness seems much older, aged and strengthened by all they’ve been through together.

His hand strays to the diamond earring Astarion gifted him, worn in place of Mystra’s token since the New Year. ]

[ bashful, ] Regardless, it’s rather wonderful.

[ The brightness of that loving joy is like a flame that Armand longs to plunge his hand into just to feel the burn, as if the pain can replace the warmth that has deserted his own soul. Once again, he misses Daniel with a physical ache, misses what he had with Louis so long ago, the simple happiness of every mortal or immortal who has ever found someone to share their days and nights and hoped it would be forever.

Like an addict watching someone else get their fix, he can't look away from it. Has to singe himself a little more, a vague attempt at a smile on his face, remembering waterlogged tenderness and the feeling of Gale's mouth on his. ]

Yet he hasn't tasted you.

[ He can tell that much, the marks on Gale's throat the product of a far less deserving vampire, the placement over his carotid a dog's hurried bite rather than the refined evidence of loving teeth. ]

[ Gale chokes on air, chopsticks fumbling a pick and lift of his next bite. He coughs into his palm to recover. Tasted, of course, has multiple meanings in the context of his relationship with Astarion — most of which return the same answer. It isn’t a point of contention or uncertainty, mind, merely a fact. ]

Ah — no. [ Colour high in his cheeks. ] What an observation.

[ Made fairly, when he wouldn’t think Astarion as careless as Spike, though he’s likely been hungrier for longer. Armand has insight into his every thought, besides, and Gale hasn’t expelled him from his mind since that first day.

He touches the marks, mouth taut, and averts his gaze. ]

This was — [ He hesitates, preferring not to speak ill of one who has apologised. ] A chance encounter. [ Softer, then, as he moves his food around the plate: ] I do worry I’ve soured, however, on account of my affliction. [ mournfully, ] To be expected of a dying creature, I suppose.

[ Because he is dying, even with potential clemency in sight. Only true forgiveness at Mystra’s gossamer fingertips, or godhood clutched in his own, will spare him. ]

[ Strange, to think of a vampire so capable of controlling their hunger, to have withheld himself from even a sip -- but then, Astarion is not a vampire like other vampires, never human even as a mortal. Armand studies Gale as he gathers himself and wonders if Astarion would even be significant within his own kind, a singular force of will.

As Gale touches his throat with his fingertips, Armand toys with the rim of his glass, gaze lingering thoughtfully on those small scars. He doesn't appear to be effected by the admission of mortality, already aware of the hot void hollowing Gale out from within. It has been a foundation of his understanding since he was turned: to be mortal is to die. His pity would be a thin and useless thing, not to mention hypocritical, given the corpses stacked in his wake. ]

Sickness will taint the blood. Pain, trauma, sadness, deprivation. As we take the blood, we take everything that comes with it. [ He frowns, pensive. ] My maker drained me as I lay dying, but it was under desperate circumstances.

[ His gaze is steady, searching Gale's expression. ]

Would you like me to try it, and tell you what I think?

[ He hadn’t thought of blood as such a holistic, revealing element of his person. It stands to reason that there are several factors that make Gale unappetising, then, from the Netherese blight nestled above his heart to the lifelong melancholia in his veins. His magic must surely have an outsized impact, as powerful as it is consumptive.

It fascinates enough that he’s tempted by Armand’s offer for reasons both academic and personal — wouldn’t it be better, to know for certain before Astarion indulges? Gale would rather avoid being the source of hurt or discomfort for one so treasured, even for a brief moment. ]

Always an honour to be invited into your head, for a change.

[ To hear his honest thoughts, on anything at all. He looks down at the blue-green veins in his wrist, pensive, but his hand strays to the purple leylines that trail his throat. ]

Perhaps another day, if Astarion does not mind it. I’ll admit I’m curious, but I’ve promised him the right of first refusal for my most peculiar vintage — [ He lifts his gaze, eyes sparking with amusement. ] And I’m learning you’re something of a territorial bunch, aren’t you.

[ Vampires, that is. He’s not so naive, after witnessing the triad in play at the manor and learning how Astarion accosted Spike, on his behalf. His smile remains easy, at once friendly and flattered. ]

—Did you wish him to change you?

[ A not so surprising answer, and an astute observation from Gale. Armand only lifts his eyebrows a little, acknowledging the point as its scored. He can't deny that his kind have a tendency to lay claim to the things they want, ancient hunting instincts they've never managed to shake off. One of the many reasons the Great Laws had forbidden congress with mortals -- that, and the tendency for the vampire heart to be far more fragile than it appears.

With a twinge of said heart, Armand's expression cools a little, holding on to his silence for a single pointed moment before he allows the change of subject, reaching for his glass for a swallow of tepid blood before he answers, not looking at Gale when he speaks. ]

My memories from that time are.. fractured. Difficult to hold onto. But I believe I.. I begged him for it, endlessly. His mercy. His gifts. Once I discovered what he was, I only wanted to be with him forever. He saved me. [ His tone warms, becomes almost reverent. Still devoted, even after all this time. His accent slips a little, becoming something else. ] Not just then, but before, when I -- he took me from a brothel. At fifteen, I believe, though I don't know for sure how old I was -- how old he was. Arun. That was my name before, I think, I don't remember it for certain. Stolen from his homeland as a child. A good little slave. A good little..

[ His words falter, his jaw working as he closes his mouth on the word he was going to use, a foul word that that had shaped Arun -- shaped Amadeo, shaped Armand. He struggles with it for a few beats, then continues, looking up at Gale with bright and shining eyes. ]

Yes, I wished for him to change me. For I had already been changed, against my will. So many times. Over and over. Raw metal hammered into a shape I did not understand. But he could give me something that nobody else ever could. And he let me choose. He let me want it, do you understand? I never wanted anything as much as I wanted him. To be him. To be with him. And now I am what he made me, and it has been five hundred years since I last saw him, before he was taken from me.

[ Gale watches Armand process and accept his answer, too observant, too learned not to know what Gale might say, in weighing the offer — that it would surely hurt Astarion, as one of his kind. He does not think Armand cruel, but — he’s certainly inclined to push, beyond those boundaries humans would consider acceptable. Another byproduct of eternity, perhaps. Of unrestrained power.

Armand’s explanation, however, proves humbling. A beginning not so different from Astarion’s, though the timelines and mechanics differ in the details. Arun, he sounds out in his mind, knowing Armand will hear it as if spoken aloud. Memorising the shape of it. A good little slave, the word alone making him flinch, though he dares not look away. Gale could identify reverence, absolute devotion, even while blind, while insensate. Immediately, he understands. ]

When you were fifteen. [ Mystra appeared to him long before that, but it was then that she named him Chosen, a token glittering in her transluscent palm. For Arun, he was fifteen and already abused by the world. Fifteen and still naïve, surely, about the nature of eternity. Of belonging, even. Did he let you want it, or did he teach you to do so? ]

That’s terribly young. [ To know what one wants. To know anything, including a saviour from a keeper. ] Still, I’m glad that he changed you, else I might never have met you.

[ A soft smile. Sincere in this, at least, even as he resists questioning the nature of such a dark gift. Selfishly, Armand’s answer calls his own potential futures to mind. He could become a god — and raise Astarion up with him, ensuring neither of them suffers alone ever again. Perfect and protected, no longer vulnerable to potions and foolish mages and resurrections-gone-wrong.

Tempted as he is to ask after the fate of Armand’s master now, he decides against it. Taken is explanation enough. ]

And I do — understand, that is. As much as anyone can.

[ To be him. To be with him. For so long, Gale dreamt of a life as Her peer and greatest love, not one of many Chosen but an equal, ever at her side. The whole of the Weave at his fingertips, the breadth of eternity to explore their love. Is it so different from a vampiric master kneeling at the side of the dying, offering them more when they could possibly understand the cost? To hear it from another. One he cares for, at that, whom he would risk life and limb to keep from loneliness — it shifts his perspective. ]

[ The ghosts of those boys sit beside them, unseen but present. Armand tries not to look too closely at them, at Arun's pain and Gale's yearning. Both of them taken and used and broken by hands that should have loved them instead. Devotion. A small word for what it cost them, for how little reward they have been given.

He hears the question that sits in Gale's mind. Did he let you want it? Not the first or the last to wonder at it, though Armand can't approach the details without flinching, retreating into the gaps between those jagged mirror shards of memory. The safety of oblivion, back behind Armand's mask. He sees the warmth of Gale's smile, the compliment in his thoughts meant for a different vampire entirely, but can't feel it, not in that cold void. He fidgets with his drink instead, pointed fingernails clicking against the glass, only vaguely aware that he's doing it. His voice is likewise distant when he speaks. ]

Nobody can. Not truly.

[ After a long beat of staring into the distance, a flat nothingness in his amber eyes, he stirs again. Blinks, comes back to himself, or at least appears to. He offers Gale a pleasant smile that goes no further than his mouth. Rashid's polite servitude, yet another mask. ]

I'm sorry, that was -- I'm not used to talking about these things. It was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

[ He need not read minds — or indulge the tadpole’s conquering instincts — to know that Armand goes elsewhere. Back to Arun, perhaps, or the false safety one finds in the depths of the self, in the refusal to face the truths that lie beyond it. Human instincts, despite the hundreds of years between them.

And if Gale were a younger man, he’d pull on that thread until the peace between them unravelled. As he is now, he banishes the stacking questions from his mind. Holds Armand’s gaze, when it returns to him, after a beat of fussing over his food. A soft, sad smile upon his face. ]

It’s all right, my friend. Well, none of it’s all right, exactly — but it doesn’t offend me. [ hopelessly sincere. ] It couldn’t, to know more of you.

[ Gently, then: ]

I hope my curiosity hasn’t taxed you in turn.

[ His relentless pursuit of knowledge being his greatest strength and weakness, the very thing the guided him down that dark, winding corridor to his doom. ]

We’ve lighter things to discuss, besides, like Santiago’s latest exploits.

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cw: sexual slavery mention

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cw: child sexual abuse mention

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