horrible from supper

"that's the nature of all children. grandchildren, too. even my adopted daughter still ages me at times—it's what you sign up for." there's grief there, but the wound has scabbed over. he isn't looking to rip it back open anytime soon. "you should be less concerned with what you take and more with what you give back."

Santi’s final sentiment prickles under his flesh, because it’s pretty inarguably true. Miju is selfish, and tends to give back only when it is convenient to him. “Something about your paternal energy makes me desperately not want to say you’re right. But… yeah. I guess it is time I start thinking about giving back.” He frowns, fidgets, looking down at his hands. Santi’s intense scrutiny and penetrating words are uncomfortable; Miju wonders if he’d look like a pussy if he made his excuses and left.

"I think you need to renegotiate your contract," he replies, not with the least bit of bite. This is oddly beneath him, but Sector 4 caters to any and all people, even if said people would only benefit from a banana bag, or what passes for it. Adonis won't spoil his day off with Mijanur's blessed moping, and he heads them both in the direction of the first aid tent, just to see if there's any blood around or if he has to ruin an intern's day first. "I didn't think you drunk to excess," Adonis says, trying to broach the topic, "I don't suppose this was simply something of a mistaken feeding."

Being a councillor, that is. Miju remembers how stressed his dad used to be all the time about work. He’d been a bit of a drinker, though he was always careful never to partake before Miju needed a feeding. Miju probably hadn’t been thankful enough for that.

it's the exact kind of thing he would have said, in miju's position, but it doesn't stir any camaraderie in him. just annoyance. the last puff of energy he has. "i don't want to talk about it." it's all he can think about. he doesn't want everyone else thinking about it, too... not for their sake, but for his own. this is the most humiliating, eye-opening defeat he's ever suffered... and he lived through his parents' whims. "why are you even here? don't you have... work... or something else to do?"

Miju flinches, at himself – obviously his crassness wasn’t appreciated. “I took the day off.” he says, inspecting Max. He looks rough. The cross on his forehead is particularly painful; Miju hopes, for Max’s sake, that it won’t scar. He’s not going to make Max talk about it if he doesn’t want to, in spite of his own burning curiosity. He gets it. If he was the one that had been so viciously attacked, he’d not want to talk about it either. “Want me to drag the TV in here? We could put a movie on.”

"you never know until you do it. but even if you don't like yourself... you can always change." if there's anything santiago can appreciate, it's the reality of that change. he had never been so certain of his path until after he had lived his life. it's the nature of youth that it be wasted on the young. shaking his head, he continues, "i don't have any use for money. i just hope you can avoid some of the heartbreak i went through. i was a father," his smile softens; "it's in my nature to offer what i can."

I was a father. It’s no surprise that that speaks to Miju as acutely as it does. “Imagine that. I was a son, once, you know. So it’s in my nature to take and take and take.” Maybe that’s just how it is, with fathers. They give you everything; you take it all, until there’s nothing left to give. What damage, Miju wonders, did Santi’s child(ren) bring upon him?

“Nope. Never. I’d charge a hell of a commission for a self portrait. You couldn’t afford it. Your entertainers are more fun, anyway.” Miju can’t deal with the self reflection inherent to self portraiture. He has tried before. Never finished a piece. Watching himself in the mirror makes him sick. "But, I hope you'll hold the image of me fondly in your mind's eye, if nothing else."

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (2024) 2.04 – I Want You More Than Anything in the World

They sit silently, and the moment he's told to show off more Samson continues to move quietly. He drops his suspenders, strips off his shirt, before putting one back up. Popping his jean button, he then sits so his abs tense, his thighs look thicker as he sits a little uncomfortably to show off the way he fills out his trousers. One arm rests on the back of the chair and he stares Miju directly in the eyes. His other hand sits loosely in his lap. "Too much if I get myself hard?"

"Um." He is mentally begging Sam not to notice his shaky hand as he picks it up. "I-- I think that would be fine, yeah." His voice definitely sounds strained. Sam is making firm eye contact, and Miju is absolutely not returning it, looking quite pointedly at a fixed point in the ceiling's corner.

"kick you out of bed?" max snorts, pulling him down to snuggle up against him. "i'm a brat, not a monster. you're still cooler than me, so i'll fucking take it." all he has to do is avoid the covers. a sacrifice, but... he's already made a few of those today, so what's one more? "but if you could stop squirming, that would be great. it would keep incentivizing me not to kick you out of bed."

"Ugh, fine! Whiner." Miju gives one last wriggle for good measure to get himself well situated, snuggling against Max's warmth. Even though Miju isn't particularly chilly any more, there's something comforting about it and he can allow his eyes to drift shut.

"the dead don't hold grudges, either. that's the job of the living. the ghost you're chasing lives inside of you. the sooner you let it go, the sooner you'll find that peace you're after." not that it's going to be easy. it could take a lifetime or more for that weight to finally lift, but who ever said anything in life was easy?

"The ghost I'm chasing lives inside of me..." Miju repeats, turning the words over in his mouth. It sounds good, but it's not exactly actionable. "I don't know how much I'd be able to like myself post-exorcism unfortunately. I don't know... hm. At what point do you start charging for your services as a therapist, by the way? I assume you don't do this out of the goodness of your heart."

He is meant to be grateful, but Adonis can sense that gratitude is hardly his focus right about now. Mijanur was always less than amiable some days, but Adonis assumed it was always because of the nature of his feedings, most of which were through blood bags and whoever the man fancies on his off days. A different level of hangriness—but Adonis doesn't care right now. He has to play the part of the polite statesman after all. "You're meant to be enjoying the festival, but I suppose if this is how you unwind, I can't exactly judge you." He hauls up him up, and starts to move to the location of the first-aid tent. "I half-expected you to be a happier drunk, at least."

"A happier drunk?" he repeats, dubious. "Nah. Since they let me move to-- hic-- being an artist. I'm like. Contractually obliged to be moody and mopey." His pronunciation of 'contractually obliged' leaves much to be desired.

"Model?" Miju repeats, arching a brow. "Not sure where you got that one from, besides your own fantasies. You gonna turn the tables, draw me like one of your French girls?" he doesn't look up as he says this, still focused on his sketching, but it's clear from his grin that he's enjoying the attention, whatever his distracted demeanour might suggest.

"well, you'd be wrong." right, actually... but can't it be two things at once? he can be helpful and desperate to escape sobriety. "i did it because someone, and i'm not naming names, needed it. and that same someone has the audacity to make fun of me." he even pouts, albeit not convincingly. not like he's trying. "are you better yet? because i'm warm."

"So am I, I'm afraid," Actually Miju kind of loves it; drinking Max's blood allows him to absorb just a little of his power. Just enough of that hot blood to warm him up. "Though probably still cooler than you." To demonstrate, he lays the back of his fingers against Max's neck. The non-bloodied side, of course. "Does this mean you're gonna kick me out of bed?" Naturally Miju's pout can't rival Max's, but he can always try. Things are always light and teasing between them, but he hates the thought that Max might actually only keep him around for utility.

no pivot. that's fine. "that's not something i can answer for you. what i will say is, the right people will forgive you." it's not that someone can just hurt and hurt and hurt—not healthily, at any rate—but that love, above all else, perseveres. miju will lose some people in pursuit of control, but keep others—gain others. "and if they don't forgive you, they're not the right people. we're different, yes, but there are those that will understand that." santiago never speaks on humanity in moments like this, but to their own brethren. "you're young, yet. you have plenty of forgiveness left in your lifetime."

"The dead can't forgive, though. Doesn't matter how long I live." He's not trying to be petulant, he's really not. And he knows that he is young; there is plenty of forgiveness to be had yet. It's just never going to come from the one person Miju most craves it from.