[ Murmured agreement, his focus on slotting the cigarette into Stack's mouth, a careful gesture he follows up with a swipe of his thumb over a stray spot of blood out from the corner of his lips. His hand lingers, fingertips touching cheek and jaw. ]
You should be feeding from your maker, gaining strength.
[ But she left you behind, he doesn't say, though he's seen it in Stack's thoughts. Hints of that deep night, the air full of music and the rising promise of the unfulfilled. A loneliness like a paper cut that doesn't hurt until you start to notice it.
( the thought of biting mary, drinking from her, is enough to make a shiver run down his spine, something he plays off as a twitch, rolling his neck into a crack. he smokes the cigarette hands free, puffing smoke out one side of his mouth, eyeing armand before nodding, turning back around to the wardrobe.
opened, one pale arm falls to the ground as he finds something appropriate to wear, not much minding the red fingerprints he leaves on the jacket's sleeve. hard to care about anything, when he's hungry β when he's always hungry, stomach clenching, cramping on nothing. hunting as a concept makes sense the way your first step probably makes sense βΒ mechanical, inevitably. he was hunted, because she was hunted, because that's how it's done. )
You gon' explain how it's done? ( stack, decidedly cut from a pampery cloth, moves to preen himself in the mirror before remembering, ) Fuck. ( no reflections. he turns back to armand with his arms out, in a make sure i look alright kind of way. ) You usually prowl in a pair? ( a chin nod to babou, ) Trio, sir.
[ That flopping arm, tucked away like a child's attempt to tidy his room, earns a silent sigh and a roll of Armand's eyes while Stack has his back turned. As he helps himself to another cigarette, he makes a mental note to inform Giles that their suite needs to be cleaned again, with the necessary apologies for the unexpected depletion of the house's population. He's not looking forward to spending his time cleaning up after yet another messy fledgling, but certain standards have to be kept if they don't want to end up living in the woods. And he prefers to remain on the good side of the household staff.
Cigarette lit, he moves over to Stack to fuss over him one-handed, tugging the lapels and cuffs of his jacket until it sits straight on him, smoothing down the front of his shirt. They're the same height, the two of them; he can look into those blue-spark eyes and wonder at the depth of his hunger, his strength. A formidable creature.
He keeps his palm flat on Stack's broad chest for a few moments. ]
Sometimes. It's safer that way, with more than one. But it can be done alone. I'll show you.
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[ Murmured agreement, his focus on slotting the cigarette into Stack's mouth, a careful gesture he follows up with a swipe of his thumb over a stray spot of blood out from the corner of his lips. His hand lingers, fingertips touching cheek and jaw. ]
You should be feeding from your maker, gaining strength.
[ But she left you behind, he doesn't say, though he's seen it in Stack's thoughts. Hints of that deep night, the air full of music and the rising promise of the unfulfilled. A loneliness like a paper cut that doesn't hurt until you start to notice it.
So Armand is gentle, gentle. ]
I thought I would take you hunting.
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opened, one pale arm falls to the ground as he finds something appropriate to wear, not much minding the red fingerprints he leaves on the jacket's sleeve. hard to care about anything, when he's hungry β when he's always hungry, stomach clenching, cramping on nothing. hunting as a concept makes sense the way your first step probably makes sense βΒ mechanical, inevitably. he was hunted, because she was hunted, because that's how it's done. )
You gon' explain how it's done? ( stack, decidedly cut from a pampery cloth, moves to preen himself in the mirror before remembering, ) Fuck. ( no reflections. he turns back to armand with his arms out, in a make sure i look alright kind of way. ) You usually prowl in a pair? ( a chin nod to babou, ) Trio, sir.
no subject
Cigarette lit, he moves over to Stack to fuss over him one-handed, tugging the lapels and cuffs of his jacket until it sits straight on him, smoothing down the front of his shirt. They're the same height, the two of them; he can look into those blue-spark eyes and wonder at the depth of his hunger, his strength. A formidable creature.
He keeps his palm flat on Stack's broad chest for a few moments. ]
Sometimes. It's safer that way, with more than one. But it can be done alone. I'll show you.