#ofstlouis

[ohsunshine-aaa]

lifting their chin to check for signs of life blood stains / from @ofstlouis to daniel !

when daniel opens his eyes, the room spins around him. his fingers grip the arms of the chair, claws sinking through leather and padding to grind against the metal frame within. slowly, he licks his lips and lets his head loll back, metal protesting when he grips it even harder.

"gonna spit in a hankie to clean me off, mom?" he snarks, with none of his usual gusto. with a heavy inhale, he braces himself and sits up a bit straighter. his foot knocks against the lifeless body of... the venue tech? they're facedown on the floor, daniel doesn't recognise them.

he licks the taste of them off his lips, golden eyes roving the room slowly before settling on louis. immediately, he feels a bit better; the room's a bit steadier.

"hey," he says, soft and fond, with a little half-smile that he can't quite hide. "you missed out. used to be your thing, right?" he blinks, and clarifies lazily: "drugged blood. remember that? man, i was so into you back then." his expression sharpens for a second, as if he's aware he's said too much, and then he relaxes again. "eh. nothing really changes. hungry?" he holds out a wrist in offering, lined face soft with hope for this momentary connection with another vampire.

[devilmass]

@ofstlouis didn't ask for the preacher, but got him anyway !

❛  got some'in yer' gonna liike, d'lac. ❛

[1mperium]

i have no intention of concealing my views or pretending to be anything other than i am. / from @ofstlouis

heat rises in the night air. it's tight around the throat.

‘how earnest.’  giulio comments, his voice tilting into thinly voiced sarcasm. darkest eyes wander along the four edges of the painting, down to the wooden easel that holds it. the dim blueish brush strokes of a vermeer landscape stretch at the edges of the canvas, beneath the unflinching scrutiny of his disinterest—the oil pigments turn the clouds plastic, the absence of humans busying the docks of that foreign-sounding northern city stirs a feeling of incompleteness. his reaction is imperceptible: the line of his shoulders stiffening, the curl of his upper lip around the tip of his canines. vague hints of his disapproval. louis' sea-glass stare prickles insistently, like a needle at his back, but giulio acknowledges him fully only after he's decided the painting is too unremarkable for him to scorn. he turns, and their gazes collide. ‘and how has that served you?’ 

giulio's eyebrows knit. the slow exhale of smoke from a half-ground cigarette dimming between his teeth punctuates the souring of his mood. there is nothing for him here. nothing older than a couple of centuries. even louis, close as he is to feeling the way he feels, seeing the way he sees—even he is too young, polished and new, like a child's toy ready for breaking. the gods be his witness, giulio wears a disdain as bright as blood-paint smeared across his features. with two fingers he plucks the spent cigarette from his lips, grinding the ashen tip into the ashtray on the counter. ‘do not lie to me, louis.’  the warning pools in his voice as it drops. ‘pretending is the very essence of what you are. your people did not invent confession for nothing.’ 

fingers ghost over the table, a flourishing mess of papers and handwritten documents, as giulio circles it to step closer to the other.

‘the next time you write to me, make sure you have something that is worth my attention.’ 

conclave.

[ohsunshine]

book, receiver helps sender get a book from a higher part of the shelf. / from @ofstlouis to daniel (does he fly?? can he fly??? can he reach the books hanging from the ceiling louis could never get to?)

daniel can fly now, a wobbly, unsteady thing that threatens to leave him dangling upside down mid-air. but he manages it, steadying himself with one hand on the spotless, ceiling-mounted bookshelves. hard to imagine armand up here himself with a duster, but who else could reach? not louis, certainly not real rashid, unless there was a ladder hidden somewhere in the staff quarters. daniel tries to put the thought from his mind. he doesn't like the implications.

"yeah, let's see. dozens of diaries." some he recognises from the interview and some that he doesn't. claudia's, undoubtedly, too frilly and blood-splattered to be anyone else's. he drifts along the shelf to some leather-bound books, tomes on 18th century theatrical practices, and scripts. he's not sure why they're so secret that they warrant a place up here, but maybe 21st century armand had an aversion to people knowing about his interests. or maybe he just liked to keep all their books together. the place isn't exactly blessed with numerous bookshelves.

"what is it you're looking for? want me to just bring the whole lot down? might as well, right, since your evil librarian's not around to fetch them for you."

gathering them up, daniel floats back down, hitting the ground just a little too hard. he stumbles but doesn't fall. he stacks the books on the table and steps back, looking enormously pleased with himself. realising the possible gravity of the moment, he arranges his expression into something less pleased and closer to concerned. "you, uh... you need a minute? you good?"

[devilmass]

Father, forgive me for i have sinned. It's been a hundred and so years since my last confession...And I come to you because...I have denied a hungry man a shrimp.

❛  straight to hell. yeah. the lower layer, probably. where the murderer's are kept. gonna seatcha righ' next to ronald reagan. ❛

[ohsunshine]

continued from here / @ofstlouis

armand's fingers are delicate, nimble things as they fold the neckerchief into precise inch-tall slices. they are careful, even deferent, as they wrap it around louis' throat and tie the knot, apologetic about each (not-so) accidental brush of bare skin against bare skin.

the act gives him ample opportunity to skim the surface of louis' thoughts. he's wondering who armand is. armand is, too. louis settles on imagining him a shy boy, so unlike the armand that rules the theatre with a weary iron fist. alright, then. in the privacy of louis' paris apartment, that is who he'll become.

he lets his shoulders round, settles into the slouch of his spine. he makes himself small, though in truth he can comfortably look louis in the eye. in truth, he's even a little taller. but that's the game he's playing now, and the pretense settles over him subtly, easily.

his gaze meets louis' and then skitters away, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "yes," he says, barely more than a whisper, as if he's admitting to a great secret. he slides two fingers between neckerchief and flesh, no apology in his deep, bottomless brown eyes this time. "you will be the first vampire to die by asphyxiation." starvation, maybe. a coffin packed with little white stones, shoulder to shoulder with the others... armand blinks and puts it from his mind. that isn't who he is tonight. thoughts like that should worry him because he, sweet boy that he is, doesn't do things like that.

he smooths the neckerchief with a brush of his knuckles, once again careful to keep skin from skin. "the colour suits you. i like this look on you. you become less american each day you spend here."

[ohsunshine]

you're not a burden. you're my friend. / from @ofstlouis to daniel

that stops daniel's self-deprecation in its tracks. he can count on one hand the number of friends he has. scratch that, he can count them on one finger. louis, that's it. sure, he has people he knows and works with. his editor, his researcher, the woman that comes to clean his apartment once a week. he should probably text her to cancel, come to think of it. yeah, the blood stains need cleaning from the bathtub, but that needs to be a more sort of... internal job. someone who won't go to the cops about it.

but, for now, all that's far from his mind. he's too busy thinking about how fucking lucky he is to have louis.

"uh-huh," he says, like his statement hasn't made daniel's chest knot tightly. he clears his throat. "i mean, sure. i know you didn't want this." even his own maker didn't want this. didn't want him, in the end. in his coffin during the day, daniel stays awake wondering if armand would've stuck round if he'd given it to him back then, back when daniel's hair was still pure brown and his skin was still smooth, when he'd begged for it nightly.

"hell, i didn't want this. it's fine if it is a burden. it's not like you enjoyed having your own fledgling, right, let alone dealing with his." a rare moment of genuine, heartfelt earnestness. it sits sour on his tongue. he makes a face and shrugs, bumps their shoulders together. "you're stuck with me now." he nudges their knees together. "hey, i'm grateful. i'm... uh, thanks, is what i'm trying to say. i would've gone nutso without you. can't promise i still won't, you know, or maybe i'll just call you up every night until you're sick of hearing from me. either way. thanks."

[ohsunshine]

🎲 from @ofstlouis to armand ! / 11: A kiss to the neck

armand likes to imagine that he's sweet like this, stretched out over louis in their bed, his hair and skin still damp from the bath. he's relaxed, pleased, his eyes their deep human brown. he feels a little playful, even, pressing gentle, lingering kisses to each patch of skin exposed by louis' pajamas.

he pauses at his throat, glances up, and then lays the next kiss down as gently as all the others, although this time time he does not chase it with a little nip. instead, he kisses the same spot again, and then moves up, laying kisses upon his jaw, his cheek, the curve of his nose. he finishes with a kiss to louis' forehead and then slips to the side, molding himself to the shape of louis' body in the limited space next to him in the coffin.

"i love you," he says in soft, awestruck french, as if he cannot quite believe that he's allowed this. he cannot help himself; he tucks his face into the crook of louis' neck and kisses him again, and then stays close, allowing himself to pretend that he has no responsibilities outside of this coffin he shares with louis.