#2ndhalflife

Fame was a fickle mistress and in the generation of 15 second attention spans the next new thing was only around the corner waiting to be discovered and the rumor mill was abuzz with the new band on the block around the label. Of course he had to see them, of course he had to know and his ire was replaced by something else when his so called destined chart competitor wore a familiar face.

All of a sudden, he was naive again with nothing but Nicky's hand in his own and a pocketful of his mother's jewels with a hope and a wish that in Paris is where they belonged.

All of a sudden, he feels less pissy and more solemn in this album launch party.

And all he could do was to stare at the man he knew could not be but knew in his hearts of hearts was. How though, how could he heart a beating heart, sense his mind, how. How could Nicky stand here a mortal man. There's a part of him that wants to run to him, to cup that beautiful face between his hands, kiss him, hug him, cry. But that part of him does not win. The part of him that felt the guilt of tainting him won.

It wasn’t something Gabriel expected to see. His eyes widened at the sight of so much money, but at the same time, it made him slightly uncomfortable. What was Nicky doing there? Certainly, the sugar daddy comment has been a joke. He could never accept money from anyone, it would make him feel like a leech. For a moment, Gabriel looked around, but the Diner was almost empty and his work wasn’t needed right now. Therefore, he sat down at Nicky’s table.

“I was just joking about the sugar daddy thing,” he answered with a gentle smile on his lips. Though, he meant the rest. He worked all those low-wage jobs and hardly got by. He wasn’t proud of that, but at least he was still alive. Only the scars on his body reminded him daily of the horror he has been through, which was mainly the reason why he could never take his clothes off in front of a camera.

Gabriel couldn’t say more because his mouth fell open at the revelation that happened moments later. Of course, he knew the band, but could that be true? Not that it really mattered to Gabriel who Nicky was. They got along well from the first day he came to the diner.

Every now and then Daniel had to take assignments much like any other journalist that were not exactly his bread and butter but Daniel never accepted one that he could not see the point of, yes, this was a gig so he could keep the proverbial lights on but Daniel did see a story.

Daniel had been in green rooms before — too many, probably — but this one had the particular smell of a touring rock band: hairspray, leather, stale energy drink, and the faint metallic tang of stage fog that clung to everything like a ghost.He sat alone at the small dressing‑room vanity, elbows braced on the counter, the glow of the mirror bulbs cutting sharp planes across his face. The cassette recorder like a ritual object,black plastic,silver buttons. A tiny red light waiting to be summoned slumbered currently in his satchel bag as he was escorted.

He ran his thumb over the ridged edge of the tape, feeling the familiar click‑click under his nail. He always did this before interviews — a grounding ritual, a reminder that he was here to listen, not to get swallowed by the persona sitting across from him.And Nicky Vail was a persona.Frontman of 2ndhalflife. The kind of rockstar who looked like he’d been carved out of eyeliner and cigarette smoke. The kind who made teenagers cry and critics foam at the mouth. The kind Daniel usually avoided because they were too good at lying...but the magazine wanted him on this one. Get past the aesthetic his editor had said. Find the man under the theatrics.

Daniel snorted softly at that. Sure. Because that always went well.

"Mr. Vail. Thanks for making the time." Daniel politely greeted assuming the coffee table he was sat on was where he wanted to be interviewed and took a seat across from him setting the recorder in the middle.

Daniel didn’t reach for the recorder immediately. He let Nicky settle — or rather, sprawl — into the chair opposite him, all black denim and stage-worn charisma. Only then did he pick up the small wired lapel mic, the cable coiled neatly around his fingers like a lifeline.

"Before we start,I should explain how I do this."

He stepped closer, the mic resting lightly against his palm. Up close, Nicky smelled like sweat, cologne, and the kind of adrenaline that didn’t fade after a show. "I use two systems" Daniel continued. "Redundancy. Habit. Sanity. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Take your pick."He reached for the edge of Nicky’s lapel, pausing just long enough for the rockstar to give the smallest nod of permission. Then Daniel clipped the mic in place with practiced, gentle precision — fingers brushing fabric, never skin, careful in a way that suggested he’d done this a thousand times and still treated it like a ceremony.

"This one" he said, tapping the tiny mic, "feeds into the cassette recorder.It’s old, but it’s reliable. I like the tactility. The click when it starts recording… it’s a signal. For both of us. Means we’re in it. Means what you say matters...and then,I transcribe everything later. Manually. It takes forever, but it forces me to listen twice. Once to you, once to the silence around you." He was not a journalist that played nice with puff pieces, he was a bloodhound finding cracks in armour and this man, this man was all armour.

“Still so rude.” 

Armand didn’t show any emotion other than slight amusement. Fascinating. That was what the Vampire thought when he encountered Nicolas de Lenfent for the first time after so many years. Lestat’s little, insane fledgling, whom the blonde Vampire left in Armand’s care because Lestat was too selfish to care for anyone else but himself. Lestat failed this boy from the beginning.

Finally, Armand closed the book and put it aside. Auburn-colored eyes observed the boy and his new body, then his gaze turned to the blood stains on the rope caused by the raw flesh.

“Careful. You don’t want to lose your hands again, do you?”

With just two fingers, Armand lifted a wooden chair and placed it right in front of the tied-up young man.