Perhaps Eccarius thought the two of them were moving too fast -- because as vampires, they had all the time in the world. Armand had only been in Washington for one month, and they had known each other about as long. However, Armand, on the other hand, felt like when he knew, he knew. He'd had many loves. His relationship with Louis de Pointe du Lac proved to be the longest lasting, and perhaps, ended on the worst terms.
He sat still, watching as Eccarius got up and moved to one of the windows, guarding the vampires from the sun with its drapes. Armand did not require it, he could go out into the sunlight without issue. Eccarius, however... Armand furrowed his thick brows, golden eyes never leaving the other.
Dead and cold. Eccarius was right. "I have never made another vampire for that reason, except one. The idea repulsed me. Repulses me, still." He pauses, "I have lived so many years in this world that I do not recall the name I was given at birth. My maker called me 'Amadeo', and my parents named me... 'Arun', I think. Though I cannot be certain." Armand was the name he preferred -- he did not want to be reminded of his maker, or of his parents. "My parents sold me into slavery in Delhi, and my maker purchased me from a brothel, when I was--" He pauses, again. "I do not know, the age I was. Just that I was far too young." Armand remains in his seat, lost in thought, in trying to make sense of those memories as he speaks them aloud. There was no making sense of them, not really. "There is a painting of my maker and I, in the Louvre, in Paris. It is called, 'Adoration of the Shepherds with a Donor'. No one has painted me, since then."
Armand had been staring into space -- now, he looks at Eccarius, again. "Venez à moi." Come to me. He wishes to be close to him, now. Now that he has shared this part of him that he does not share with anyone else. Not even Daniel. Louis knew, of course -- but had he paid attention, when Armand told this story? No, not like Eccarius would.