Today's Document
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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ojovivo
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$LAYYYTER
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Origami Around
Sade Olutola
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祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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@violinisten
@VIOLINISTEN : a writing blog for nicolas de lenfent as interpreted by NOORA (she/her, 26). mixed canon taking inspiration from amc's interview with the vampire and anne rice's vampire chronicles. mature themes will be present. all follows will come from my main hub blog @stlispenard .
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moving to @stvampyr
i miss him, my love
lestat wants to make people scream with his music and nicki wants to make people depressed
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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 ? “
he enjoys watching rumination reflect in armand’s vivid eyes, likes to imagine the thousand sentiments jammed up behind them. things he keeps to himself, the memories he holds for others. there is so much in them that nicolas wants to dissect like a mad scientist. there is a little bit of alcohol in him, true,but not enough that he can fool himself into thinking that it is an option. right now, all he knows is that the other must be passing judgement on him, damning his cursed nature or his inefficiency in killing. armand never ceases to be a master of him, in every sense of the word. he reminds him, too, by shrugging off his defiance and telling him to do the work. nicolas doesn’t move an inch before he is guided by his hand to do so. inviting more so than rejecting, he thinks.
“why shouldn’t i? when i am myself dead?”
nicolas answers like it is the simplest thing. armand's words make it out like there is something deeper, something philosophical to it, but he should know that nicolas does most things for the art of it or simply because he is bored. he smiles, weakly, when his thumb wipes against his chin and then gives a small shrug of his shoulders. je ne sais pas (i don’t know). je m'en moquehe (i don’t care). nicolas doesn’t verbalize that part, but he assumes the other will hear him anyway. he always listens, right? nicolas rolls his eyes, casts aside his cigarette to instead put his hand over armand’s, keeping it pressed to the side of his face. “it isn’t deep. i did it because i wanted to and nothing more. i know i must strike you as someone who does not take many pleasures in life, but i am capable of wanting and wanting to kiss people every now and then.” much like his maker in that aspect he fears, certainly molded by him.
@violinisten / starter.
there's a noticeable tremble in his fingers as he drags the rotary phone through every digit and watches it click steadily back into place. with his dirty sleeve, daniel wipes the tears collected in his eyes, reminding himself he's too old to be crying like this. his face is wet anyway, splotchy in the cheeks, and his voice devoid of the humor usually present. a feeble sort of gravel has taken over, laced with exhaustion. the clock says ten thirty but he swears he's been up for more than a day, running here and there, collecting sources for his new project. ❝ this is the only number i remember, ❞ he mutters to nicolas de lenfent, or at least, he hopes that's who the number belongs to. no 'hello,' or 'how are you'--just that simple statement. and what can he say? hey, a friend died. yeah, from that sickness surging through san francisco. the thought of it leaves a sour taste at the back of his throat that, even with booze and cigarettes, doesn't go away. what's human mortality to a vampire, anyway?
daniel pushes the phone to his cheek as he reaches for the emptying bottle of liquor, pouring the rest and missing the glass with his hand. he swipes for it again before a flare of dizziness runs down to his toes, and thinks better of it. fresh air is what he needs. fresh air and life. anything but his shitty apartment and the last conversation with his dying friend repeating in his head. he's committed it to tape already. stuck it on the shelf and proceeded to strip down, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror until he was sure he recognized himself. the book he's started sits on the latest unfinished chapter, but the reporter can't sit still enough for a few lines. ❝ this is the only number i remember and i - i really need to get out of the apartment, man. ❞
it is almost as if he feels it before the telephone rings. there had been a tremor in the air more keenly felt than usual. san francisco is dying, or so he has heard. what the eighties has brought to this city is a different plague than those recorded in history books. it should make him want to retract underground - where he has already spent centuries - and run from it like louis and armand. get the hell out of there. nicolas finds himself unwilling to run, incessantly drawn in by the greyest aspects of human existence, like he can feed on the sadness. he has loved, has killed, the same men that now suffer. he has no doubt he would get it, if he had not been cursed with immortality before he ever could. their diseases will not kill him, anyway, and the sadness in their blood is all the same to him. why run?
he never meant to stick around the journalist, but he likes him. nicolas watches over him when armand can’t or won’t, but he will never admit to it. he hears himself swallow hard when he hears his voice over the phone and naturally he suspects the worst. he is sure that his maker or armand would be able to tell through wire, but nicolas has no such particular gift. “i am not even gonna ask why you have my number memorised, daniel” nicolas comments, leaving out a formal introduction, much like daniel, whose voice luckily is instantly recognisable. “so you are at home now? safe?” he closes his eyes and tries to read the man’s mind, but everything is silent around him, “i will meet you outside your place in ten minutes and you can take me wherever.” he doesn’t linger long, hanging up and heading straight to the door.
can't believe they kept this in the teaser ,,,, man (ft. @lamourstre sneakily)
i am so scared of how season 3 is going to deal with nicki because i fear they are going to make him so boring
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merry crisis
continued from here / @lamourstre
the wind bites at his cheeks and nose in a way that makes his skin feel raw. it feels almost human. it connects him to their victim. he holds him like a lover, cradles his face, smoothes his finger over his flushed cheeks and takes comfort in the fact that he will be offering him a reprieve from the cold. it is a sick form of mercy, but he tells himself it is that as he sinks his teeth into his neck and indulges in the stream of hot blood. although he is still, armand’s presence is enough to remind him not to take too much, to stop once the heart has caved in, to stop before he is poisoned with it and madness instils. he releases the man as his body gives a final jolt and he falls as gracelessly to the ground as a rack doll. nicolas kneels, crouches over him to place a chaste kiss on his pale mouth.
armand is little more than a silhouette in the dark when nicolas peers at him through thick lashes. when the devil lights his cigarette all he sees are his thin lips and the elegant fingers he holds close to it. “there is a dumpster over there. you should burn his body. the jacket, too.” he speaks like it is some simple business transaction and like he is in a position to tell armand what to do. he stands, walks closer and studies the unintelligible expression on the man’s face as he comes closer. armand has a look that nicki has seen often before. he can tell he is deep in thought, but he knows well enough there is no way of guessing at what is really going on behind it. he doesn’t have the skill to force it out either or he probably would. it is much easier than admitting to being curious enough himself to care. “if you are cold you can have mine.”
nicolas comes close enough to take the cigarette from him when it is graciously offered. he doesn’t step back to smoke it, but merely turns his face to avoid blowing smoke in his eyes. he sighs as if to say that the evening’s events weigh on him heavily, but then he merely sinks back into silence. armand feels smaller when he leans the way that he does and nicolas thinks he must feel like a wall closing in on him, but he decides to stay within his personal space regardless. passively, indifferently, waiting for whatever accusation or verdict is being thought through to be put into words.
daniel is too amused by nicki's lean forward to dwell too long on his wallowing. he reaches over and yanks the lamp string, amber light flooding the small interior and shining across nicki's undead features. the space is cleaner than the last time he was visited, but there's too many tapes spread out with various names of past interviews to be considered tidy. he isn't sure why this dead man gets to him when there's probably plenty of them in his archive by now. it's the eighties--people like daniel die all the time. "offering. i have some manners, but not many," his smile is cheeky as he slips a cigarette between his lips, waving then at nicki. "can you do the fire thing too, or--?"
he doesn't really know what nicki is capable of. even armand remains a mystery, an ancient vampire's power too difficult for his mortal mind to comprehend. most of his knowledge of lestat as a maker is colored by louis' perception, anyway. "i didn't really know him, just," daniel's words are clearer when he plucks the cigarette, leaning forward with a new intensity. it's easy to see himself in the people he talks to, fiending for drugs leading daniel to individuals that mirror him back to himself. that could have been him--it will be him.
nicki is all limb as he leans over himself, an elegance to his movement daniel's come to associate with death. "just existential about life. can't imagine you do much of that when you know you'll stay the same."
the light is hard on his eyes and he squints, eyes turning into narrow slits. he fights the urge to blink excessively. “dude.” he exclaims and the slang doesn’t exactly roll naturally off his eighteenth century tongue. daniel is sharp enough to notice his air of awkwardness on a good day, but today? well, nicolas figures he might just be in luck with him being knocked slightly off center. once his eyes regain focus he stares ahead at the boy with his cigarette dangling from his lips. alluring and ridiculous in equal measure. he grins and reaches into the pocket of his trousers to retrieve a lighter. “even now you ask questions?” he comments as he reaches toward to light up the cigarette, “and no, but you are in luck. smoking is a particular vice of mine.”
whatever daniel is looking for in vampires, he won’t find it in nicolas. he is as weak as they come. still nicolas supposes he’ll spare him another disappointment tonight and divert the conversation back towards him. “you are this miserable for someone you don’t know?” he isn’t sure if it makes him emphatic or selfish. in the end, he merely shrugs and sits back to study the other under the ugly lamp light. nicki would love for the boy’s assumptions about vampiric existence to be right; his own immortal life would be a lot easier if he had left mulling over existence behind with his human self. but, no, the same dull and pessimistic outlook persists. “i don’t think it is the great comfort you think it is being stuck in the wheel of eternity.” he stretches his fingers and signals for daniel to pass him the cigarette, “maybe your guy craved death more than he did life. drugs are usually some indicator of that, isn’t it? perhaps being made aware of your own mortality is a good thing, in the end.”
i think we need to acknowledge that if nicki bullies armand about daniel it isn't because he doesn't like daniel. i bet he adores that sassy freak :)
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prompts ... @violinisten : it's hard to know what's real with you.
armand had only dropped in for a moment, yet he felt somehow, he could have prepared better for this moment. nicki, of course, would act this way, wouldn't he ? they were settled in the omni hotel, san francisco. armand had thought he would be content, busy, until he could figure things out on his end. if he were honest, he had expected this engagement to be less .. hands on. managing the other vampire had come relatively easy and, he would like to make a point, lay down on record somewhere ― to whomever was listening and watching, that he had done it alone.
perhaps, armand was simply biding his time until he was able to cross paths with lestat once more, and having nicki on his side, could bode well. but , if armand was honest with himself ― and he hardly ever was in any way that mattered, perhaps he had grown fond of the strings that bound them. armand had sat forward, the dark cloth that hung from his frame did everything to swallow him up. he did not wish to be seen, or found. but, staying away and having both ears ( and a third he did not have ) on the ground, was too much.
he wanted to turn the world, off. all of the vampires ( what standing they had ) , off. but he could not without the risk of harm befalling louis, his fledgling daniel.. lestat, though he doubted anyone with a mind would make the attempt given his sudden celebrity. gold eyes roll to nicki ― and by extension ? or association ? he was part of this, too. if only h could disappear into the wall, sleep for a century. " have you spoken to him yet ? " slowly, he presses his fingers against his eye sockets. " it's mindless.. never ceasing. empty threats.. "
san francisco suits him well enough. there is a crowd for him there and a nightlife where he has no trouble finding men to his liking. of course, he leaves all that out in his report to armand and instead he weighs in on all the nitpicky things he dislikes. at least that way he can give armand some normalcy. he stands near the window, making sure that the curtains are fully closed, fingers absentmindedly pulling a bit on the fabric. he prefers them closed even when the sun sleeps: closed for privacy’s sake. blame that need on spending a century in darkness.
nicolas blatantly stares at armand, trying and failing to make sense of what he sees. the devil so strangely sat there on the edge of a hotel bed. so small and uneasy. all of it signals that he should approach with caution, but nicki never has. he shakes his head at his question, his face twitching like armand had said something disturbing and he ponders the use of the word yet. “hah! after all this time you think he would come to me? i assumed i was dead and gone to him.”
his heart gives an unexpected jolt, but he says nothing more on the matter. instead, he steps a few steps towards the other, looming over him, close enough to pick up the he holds to his face. “the noise bothers you?” he asks him as clinically as any nurse, “how do you not have the power to shut it out? i thought it was only the weak and feeble like me bound to suffer.” he smiles ironically at that, smoothing down the hairs of armand’s brow with his thumb, “poor thing.”
continued from here / @molloyed
truth be told, nicolas tends to forget that he has the ability to pry out whatever information he needs from unwitting human minds. although he observes daniel for some time, before eventually making his presence known, it doesn’t occur to him to listen in. he senses the heaviness hanging around the room and that is enough. when he finally approaches, as daniel starts to explain, he can tell there’s a significant change in the boy’s demeanor from the last time he’s seen him. he wonders if he’s high or drunk, or both, or if he simply sad.
“who was he?” nicki asks in return, “was he anybody to you?” he can’t think of a more sensitive way to phrase it. he shrugs his shoulders and pulls out a chair for himself to sit on, “you figured wrong. my initial curiosity was quenched and renewed again. i liked your company.” he has no excuse for being back and so he’d rather not linger on the particulars of his visit. he simply felt like coming. “i can leave if i am unwanted.”
he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, exploring the look on daniel’s face more carefully. finding nothing there to suggest that he should leave him be, he offers him a small smile. “are you asking for a cigarette or offering me one, molloy?”
