#* molloyed .

[ofstage]

twist: twist  my  muse’s  arm  behind  their  back . / for santiago!

the hold on daniel's wrist is mercilessly tight. leather squeaks under the turning of pale fingers, twisting around the other vampire's arm like a python, slowly suffocating their prey with its embrace. and though he presses onto the limb to his guest's back and knows that it must hurt this creature who has yet to wrong him, santiago appears to be pleased by his act of cruelty. it is made evident by the deep sigh which leaves his thin lips as he sinks his claws into the fabric of daniel molloy's jacket. "such a precious thing ... the bond between maker and fledgeling," he ponders dangerously close to the young vampire's ear.

"i myself never had the opportunity to learn the particulars of such connections. our common acquittance wouldn't allow it." disgust drips from his words as he mentions the vampire armand. his second opportunity at life had been ruined by the likes of him --- those precious laws which so strictly forbade them from sharing the dark gift now appeared to no longer apply in this new century. dear daniel was evidence of that. yellow catlike eyes stared down at the scar which adorned the side of the journalist's neck. it caused his lips to twitch into a snarl. it was a strange thing, to be moved by such hatred: when faced with evidence of one of his tormentor's presence, santiago did not know whether to tear or kiss it.

he bent molloy's arm more towards the middle of his back. the disgraced actor was clearly testing the limits of his friend's skeleton. if he kept pressuring him, daniel could very much snap. and what horror it was --- to hold no grudge over this man but to be so viciously tied to his maker. daniel was the closest santiago would ever get to armand ... might as well enjoy it. "i wonder...can he feel you, you think? your hunger, your sadness, your lust --- your pain?" his voice became a purr as he yanked at daniel's arm. "i surely hope so."

[ofstlouis]

‘ Please, don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed. ‘ / from @molloyed

jade eyes widen with outrage. louis had made a pathetic attempt at getting daniel to open up about his relationship with armand. had even tried to stick his nose in the reporter's subconscious in an attempt to decipher whether he found such entanglements to be beneficial to a personality prone to addiction. louis had tried to be gentle about it --- but he had never been good at bringing up difficult topics. the timing was always off, the approach always a tad condescending ... at least that was what claudia used to tell him. louis furrowed his brow and tried not to conjure any past memories of her. not now.

"do you think there is a single thought you can shield from me?"

he asked while index and thumb pinched the air, as if tugging at a loose silver strand of molloy's memories. the thought of watching daniel drift away wounded him. he was afraid that armand might take him down paths he could not follow --- feared what that snarky, ambitious, nasty, brilliant boy could turn into. above all else, louis was scared that daniel might get hurt worse than in san francisco. he was older, frailer --- and still as insolent as ever.

louis gave a few menacing steps forward. "no moment, no secret, no wish you've ever had is precious enough, daniel. i could wear them all across my teeth like golds and grind them down into dust if i were so inclined." he announced, each word spoken through (still) blunt teeth. "i do not do so, not out of fear, but out of respect." louis is left at an arm's length from daniel when he finally stops advancing towards him. it's not rage which moves him --- it's a need to shield. to grab and tug and shove under something that can keep him hidden forevermore.

louis exhales sharply though his nostrils before finally dropping the hand that had been pointing at the journalist. suddenly all the bravado fades into something small and honest. " --- you really don't wanna talk about it then?" louis is hurt that daniel does not trust him enough to gossip.

[ofstage]

‘ What do you smell on me? ‘ (santiago) / from @molloyed

thin lips slowly curl into an amused grin. sitting next the boy with the camera caused something ugly to squirm in the depths of santiago's being. jealousy as much as desire tug at his insides; to hurt that bright young man, to have him, to be him, to erase any evidence that he had ever even touched this earth ... all of them equally pleasing options. neither of them fully satisfactory.

he had never been good at taming his emotions. they were wild shapeshifting things which threatened to rip apart whomever was unlucky enough to get caught up in their tendrils. and dear daniel molloy was such a treat, wasn't he? such a charming new addition to their merry crew. so captivating despite his flaws and so easy to be endeared by!

the restaurant is busy. champagne glasses are raised as the coven laughs and toasts to another successful evening at the theatre. of course the maître would invite dear daniel ( of course , of course , it's only polite ! ) and of course santiago would insist on taking the chair closest to that darling boy. he had casually made a comment on the smell of grease paint and sawdust still being stuck to his clothes despite having left the stage many hours ago. that's when daniel made his inquiry.

"i'm afraid what i smell on you should not be brought up in polite society." santiago offered a wide dazzling smile. "more champagne?"

[ofstage]

what, you're gonna kill me? i don't believe you.

santiago drops his cigarette onto the cobblestone pavement and crushes it with the heel of his boot. his eyes watch with moderate enjoyment as he kills the flame. the smirk of the cat who ate the canary is permanently stuck to his features whenever this remarkable boy is around. this young promising photographer, with his american wit and nonchalant demeanour. what fun he was! what novelty! another pretty accessory to their merry crew, meant to distract the maître and pull his all-knowing gaze away from the coven and towards ... what? a slender frame? soft hands? a pair of sad eyes?

the englishman shuts his eyes momentarily. he looks as if he's holding back a chuckle. he had been too direct with his distaste for molloy's ways. so direct, in fact, that murder had somehow become implicit in this small cigarette break of theirs. when santiago turns his head to look at him again, his green eyes appear sharper than before. though there is a grin there, his stare is digging deep into daniel's flesh. "oh, my dear boy," the vampire exclaims, endeared by the young man's question. "i fear death would not be enough to release you from this unfortunate affair you find yourself in."

he tilts his head in a mocking performance of affection. even goes so far as to raise a hand to softly touch the boy's face and stroke his thumb over the curve of daniel's cheek. but the more his eyes bore into molloy's the more that grin begins to look like a snarl. "i will ruin the very idea of you."

[ofstage]

[ 07. ] sender holds a knife to receiver's throat, blade nicking their skin. / @molloyed

green eyes shoot open to find a figure lingering there. daniel molloy wakes santiago from his deep sleep as if he were a righteous knight ready to slay the dragon --- but is it the hero who bestows cruel fates upon those who take him in when others will not? and is it the villain he who, despite the century long grudges of the past, feeds and guides said hero through this new living death? santiago's stare bores into molloy's own.

something cold presses against his jugular.

the threat of having his blood spilled while laying in his own coffin felt sacrilegious, but for it to be armand's fledgeling to do it was downright unbearable. "better stick to writing, danny boy, your barber skills leave much to be desired." santiago speaks through gritted teeth, staring daniel down with bright unblinking eyes. he could have crushed the journalist the moment he learned of his maker. daniel had been spared --- what were occasional acts of violence and cruelty amongst immortals, amongst murderers, amongst monsters!

the blade nicks the pale skin of his throat and santiago's mocking snarl falters. he becomes perfectly still as he gazes up at the young vampire. and then, suddenly, something in the actor's expression softens. he looks as if he is ready to repent. when his lips part, his voice mimics that of another, so perfectly, that one might think he was standing right there in the room with them. "such a terrible betrayal." santiago batted his lashes, feigning innocence. "is this how you intend to rid the world of me? through a cold blade?" his voice is as soft as velvet; a french accent shadows every word spoken. "pity...heard you were quite good with your hands." armand's voice.