moved.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ ❤︎ # 𝓥𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 — an independent multimuse — written by rosemary ;

❝ you have snatched the lungs out of my chest & pierced me right through the bones, says archilochos. you have worn me down, grated me away, devoured my flesh, sucked my blood, stolen my reasoning mind. 𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐒 is expropriation. he robs the body of limbs, substance, integrity, & leaves the lover, essentially, less. ( ... ) ❞

ˋ°•*⁀➷ ❤︎ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 — 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 — 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

❝ ( ... ) the poets represent 𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐒 as an invasion, an illness, an insanity, a wild animal, a natural disaster. his action is to melt, break down, bite into, burn, devour, wear away, whirl around, sting, pierce, wound, poison, suffocate, drag off or grind the lover into a powder. no one can fight 𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐒 off. ❞

Armand let his eyes rest upon the other, briefly falling to her smiling lips. Another beauty - they were quite the pair, it was undeniable. Disruptive, diligent, and desirable. Crashing into his life, crumbling the collective he had so long led. How powerful they were with intermingled, familial blood.

❝ I have survived this long. You should worry about yourself. ❞ Not all are made for this un-life. Armand had seen more throw themselves to the flickering, enticing tongue of flames than endure. An urgency such as Gabrielle's could be as dangerous as it is delightful. ❝ — But, if a few centuries pass and you still stand, I will reignite this conversation with you. ❞

A truce, to some extent. As close as they may get to one anytime soon. As pleasant as it will be for the current moment. ❝ And, if you don't. Well... ❞

Armand now smiles, small yet telling of his biasedly guided foreknowledge.

❝ what concerns me more is this night. surely the troupe does not still require these constant rehearsals. ❞ the théâtre des vampires had been a clever use for armand & his children of darkness, something to provide purpose now they had abandoned their ill-guided faith & emerged from the cemetery. but gabrielle held little passion for the performing arts, & no desire to sit & watch the inexperienced immortal actors fumble over their dialogue. indeed, she would just as soon abandon the paris coven entirely. but lestat was not yet ready to depart the city — or his poor doomed beloved violinist — & gabrielle was not yet ready to leave her son behind.

❝ are you pleased to see your children elevated from grave to stage ? ❞ whether armand truly cares for any of his fellows gabrielle still cannot discern, skilled as he is at veiling his true thoughts even from others of the blood. & she inclines her head, genuine curiosity blended with a teasing faux-deference. ❝ do you even enjoy the theater, maitre ? ❞

i'm going to be tagging tvl spoilers / until a week or so after the finale episode.

please don't assume that the events & characterizations we see in the new season will be automatically adopted into my portrayals. i will likely wait until the end, then begin to assess what i want to keep & what i don't, especially regarding gabrielle.

a dull throb still sings its sharp notes behind azure eyes lined in black, the epicenter of the pain deep in lestat's left temple, like a lazy doctor taking his sweet time with the ice pick that will sever his prefrontal cortex -- a procedure he wonders, on the odd occasion, if it were capable of dismissing their many muses from their mind. alas, lestat is not quite so naive, nor is he anywhere near as pliant to lay down in his pit of sorrows & welcome defeat to nestle upon his chest, benevolent beast that it is. should the tooth team -- or any other groups of pesky regionals with a bone to pick -- continue on his trail, he will see to it these young ones are left in the proverbial dust. ashes to ashes, so on & so forth. with his dearest gabrielle beside him once more, there is no force that dare fuck around & find out.

with a focused hand, lestat presses glitter at the tail of his brow bone, down his temple, curving into a crescent across high cheeks. there's never such thing as an excess in glitz, glam, & gore.            ❝     you, my darling, have a seat reserved just for you – front and center so that you may keep your eyes properly fixed on my unfolding glory,     ❞      meaningful smile lifts their lips while they find gabriell's hand with theirs, wrapping fingers around hers like white ribbons so that he may press a kiss to her knuckles.             ❝      and, just as well, so that i may easily find you among the pulsing crowd.      ❞     

no. lestat had called because he'd needed her. & he still did. whoever had really tried to kill him ( for gabrielle suffered no delusion that the local covens had acted of their own accord — the thrumming pulse of an ancient force with malevolent intent toward lestat was palpable in the constant cacophony of immortal voices, though gabrielle still could not discern its source ) she knew they would not be dissuaded from the failure in detroit. they would try again. but next time they would have to go through her if they wished to lay their hands on her son.

& there was precious little that gabrielle would not endure if it meant protecting lestat, even the altogether undignified experience of being enveloped in a dense crowd of sweating mortals while being assailed by the shrill whining of electric guitars. ❝ lucky me, to have such a privileged position. ❞ & gabrielle turns away from the window to regard her maker's face instead, quite perfect again now that the injuries have retreated beneath the hypodermis. all the glitter is an unnecessary addition, she thinks ; lestat's beauty is extraordinary enough without such gaudy adornment. but this she does not speak aloud ; instead, she asks, ❝ have you written any songs for me ? ❞ 

Such pulchritudinous garments had once been a regular occrence in Armand's life. Of course, he had not been Armand then, but Amadeo. Adorned in rich fabrics and jewels - when his fingers looked as though they had been dipped in gold and not the dirt and rot of the Parisian underground. Days once bright and bountiful, artful and vibrant, ripped from beneath him. Lost so long ago that recollections were rare. No longer possessing the time nor the pleasure to muse on past days. Yet he finds himself back in the streets of Italy, wearing a dark blue, patterned doublet and basking in the day's sun once more.

Armand's eyes move from their transfixed position on the green gown between his fingers towards the figure beside him. Gabi in her handsome garbs, much different from the garments before them. How foreign it feels to imagine her in such pieces. Just as foreign as it is to accept her offer. A rarity to see a common ground in the haziness of their loose companionship. Still, he had not been bedecked in some time. And the pleasing feeling of silk gliding against his skin held a stronger position than any general bias he felt towards the other. He lifted the hem of the dress, returning his attention to the fabric. — ❝ I would not be opposed. ❞

With a short glance in Gabi's direction, he removes the chosen gown from the lot. Lays it folded over his arm as his fingers run once more against the fabric.

a compulsion she cannot name stirs in her chest then, emboldens her hands, & there is no hesitancy left when gabrielle closes the space between their bodies. ❝ let me, ❞ she says, & she is not truly asking. the gown is taken from armand, but only to be laid over the chaise lounge to obtain better access to the tie at his throat, which she releases before pulling & lifting the hem of his tunic. it's a tattered thing, the linen stained & fraying, & gabrielle is gentle but insistent as she raises his arms over his head & frees him from it before discarding it to the floor.

❝ the rest as well, ❞ she says, gesturing toward his similarly ragged breeches before returning to the dress & beginning to pull open the laces. it's a process her muscles still know by heart, the work of preparing a gown to be worn. gabrielle has only just escaped from the trappings of humanity, accepting the terms of her immortal existence unequivocally. but perhaps armand has been a child of the darkness for too long. perhaps it would do well to remind him of the simple pleasures of fine things. & besides, he is an undeniable beauty — the rags & filth she'd found him in do little to hide it — so gabrielle finds herself only too eager to see him in something more befitting of his lovely reflection.

i'm going to be tagging tvl spoilers / until a week or so after the finale episode.

please don't assume that the events & characterizations we see in the new season will be automatically adopted into my portrayals. i will likely wait until the end, then begin to assess what i want to keep & what i don't, especially regarding gabrielle.