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[ 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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