does he stop, simply because Armand was in his palpable audience ? or, was it because to stop, had been what was ingrained from the moment nicolas joined the great, long night ? perhaps .. both, can be true. It amuses Armand either way, watching and listening to his kills. was it poisoned blood that causes the madness? or had such an affliction predated the kill ? this thought only entertains his mind for so long — until he watches nicki kiss, this discarded pound of flesh. at some point , he wonders when they’ll cease their games with one another. well, to each their own .. so romantic with his kills, theatrical in another way that reminds him of his maker — not his own, not marius, but lestat. had he not seen his face, the perfume of his concocted blood could have told him differently. maker does not make fledgling in all ways that count, something he would not outright say in account of his beliefs, but nicki was as much as his own vampire, that much is certain.
such audacity reveals itself even in the coldest of nights and, the way the ancient vampire pulls the jacket closer , should have been all the answer for nicki. “ you, rid of the body. burn it however you like. “ a gentle smile graces him then, one that does not promise kindness in its wake or invite discussion. It was an oddity how his companion for the moment still afforded him the reigns of maitre— but in the same vein, accosted him like any other hapless thing to crawl , hands and knees in its pathetic existence. is this , nicolas or lestat ? nicki. sated, honeyed eyes that have grown to large saucers roam over his jacket. would he prefer it to the fleece stolen from the meat ? perhaps. Armand was not cold, and in the back of his mind, he knew Nicki must have known this. unless, this was a remnant of humanity belonging to the violinist ? for Armand ? what a hard sell.
a hand along his jaw, Armand guides his face toward him now. amusement, not entirely veiled blooms upon his dead face. he will not coddle him and reassure that the guilt will cease — dear god , dear lestat , your fledglings aside from claudia — with each kill, he must know ! becoming a damned thing was troubling , had you found yourself in such a predicament but to allow such a thing to kill you .. a shark that refuses to swim ? it startled Armand. a flash of blood and viscera crosses his mind , a dark cell. Armand is crying, as his stomach devours him. blankly, he swipes the red from the curve of his lip. “ do you like to kiss dead things, nicolas ? “