Chapter Text
))) Marius (((
The house was Armand's idea. A little place down in the village, away from the castle. A modest thing, at least by our usual lavish standards, it was a simple three bedroom affair, 2 bathrooms, a kitchen that would have little use. A terribly modern thing, I had declared, but definitely to Armand's tastes with high windows through the living room, marble counters and track lighting. The floors were mostly hard wood, a deep color, a smokey charcoal grey, save for the bathroom tiles and a plush pile carpet in the master bedroom. Despite the gleaming stainless steel and light decor, it was a warm, cozy thing, softened with warm paint colors and soft, comfortable furniture.
Well, what there was so far.
It was Armand's idea. Or rather, it was his demand, one that I had no right nor will to deny him. My fledgling wanted our own place, away from the drama of Lestat's parties and princely fits, away from the problems of the coven and the visitors and all the stress that entailed. My Armand wanted time alone, just for us, and for his Daniel when he wanted to visit, to try and be a family once more. A couple.
We haven't not been together, not truly, in 521 years, not since fire wrenched us apart and flung us hundreds of miles away. Not since Venice, and Paris, and all the centuries and space between them. Our respit on the Night Island had been fleeting and stressful and seemed to have only reopened a wound long scabbed over, one that had become infected since I had let my own life story be put to paper.
Icouldn't say I didn't know what I was doing, because I did, and I couldn't say I didn't expect the icy, bitter reaction from Armand because I did. But it had been time to let those words escape the prison I'd built around them. And there they were, in black and white. My admission that I left Armand in Paris, that I left him to free himself, and that his making was my greatest failure.
Maybe I just wanted to drop the blade of the guillotine mtself, tired of living in limbo. So many years of stringing one another along and staring at one another awkward and shy. We couldn't go back to what we had before, and what we had now was not working on any level, so perhaps shattering everything and starting over was their last chance. And I was not going to fuck up this chance. Which was how I found himself on the floor of the living room at midnight, tearing open boxes.
This, too, was Armand's idea. He wanted a simple house, just the two of us, and he wanted the experience of moving in and making it home. No mortal servants, maybe a cleaning lady once a week if needed, but truly two vampires made little mess. But he wanted this, he wanted to play music while we unpacked our books and keepsakes, bundles of stationary and blankets for the sofa. Armand wanted a /home/ for himself and his...maker? Friend? Lover? Father?
"Master?"
"What is it, Armand?" I promoted gently, still unuse to this name on my lips. I looked up from my box of hardbacks to where Armand stood, holding a smaller box stained with paint prints and even there, in faded jeans and a pullover, his long hair pulled into a high ponytail, he looked lovely.
"Have you decided which room you wanted for your studio?"
I nodded, rising easily to my feet to show Armand to the second bedroom to the left, nearly empty still, but with an easel propped in a corner, waiting to be unfolded.
"I wanted to leave the larger one for Daniel," I explained lightly. "I know he says he likes the castle, and I know he does, but I have a feeling he will tire of the drama from time to time, so a nice bedroom will suit him well."
Armand hummed quietly, setting the box down in another corner.
"None of the rooms are especially small but...this will be enough space, Master?"
I nodded, slipping my hands into the pocket of my trousers.
"It will. I'm not painting canvases for the churches anymore, after all, nothing nearly so large and brilliant. Just small things, that bring me happiness."
"Is that why you have thirty paintings of my Daniel?" He asked, dry and brittle, but without a real malice. That was something to hold on to, at least.
I smiled gently and pulled my hair back over my shoulders.
"In a way, yes. I love Daniel. Every moment I cared for him, I loved him more. And I can't deny he made a good sitter for me, as still as he often was." Sensing the way Armand went rigid at my side, I amended, "I always asked first, if I could paint him. He was rarely so out of his mind as to not hear me."
Another nod. Armand looked about the room, as though taken by the same slate walls and same cool lighting he'd seen a dozen times already. Loose, short coils of auburn hair spilled around his cheeks, and he brushed them back impatiently. Each finger glittered with his favorite rings.
"It'll be nice to see you paint again," he said. "It's been a while."
"I'm not sure the ceiling of the ballroom has even dried yet," I chuckled, the sound awkward and heavy against Armand's ever unchanging mask.
"No. Not like that," he said, quiet. "Painting alone, I mean. Just us."
And Icould think of only one picture, a boy asleep in the fields, a shepherd watching over the prone image from heaven, and how glad I was that my mind was closed to my child. Amadeo hated that painting, he'd thrown it to the floor upon seeing it, and right now my goal in life was to keep things calm between us. Later could come happiness, I hoped, later may come joy again, but for now I wanted only time together that didn't end in screaming or tantrums or striking Armand across the face.
Yes, peace was attainable. Maybe. If we both tried.
)))Armand(((
It was my idea, and I was already afraid I would regret it. I didn't want to regret it, and wasn't setting myself up for sabotage by any means, but it seemed with each box I opened I unpacked worry along with hair products.
It was my idea, and I had to make it work. We had to. I really didn't know if there would be any more second chances, or if I could weather another loss.
It had been only a month since Marius was taken from me a second time, and the fist around my heart was only starting to loosen. Even tonight, the very memory of his taking, the realization he was gone, the assurance that my Master was dead was enough to turn my belly cold. It was like he needed to breathe for the first time in five centuries only to find out suddenly I didn't know how. If a vampire could drown, that is what it would feel like, that trauma.
But Master was here now, beside me, sorting through his paints and palettes and brushes. Soon, I knew, the room would take on that heavy, cloying smell of oil paints and turpentine, so like Venice-
No, I told myselfelf quietly as I shook my head to rid myself of the thought. Like our rooms at the castle, or the balcony on the Island. But not like Venice; Venice had burned.
I left Marius to his new studio, and instead picked up a plastic tub from the living room and sat it on my hip, carrying it to the bathroom to sort. I had rather a love for pleasantly scented lotions and creams and other little baubles, and if the box on the floor was an indication Marius didn't eschew good grooming either. Of course we had no need for many mortal products, but blood sweat clung to the body just as much as anything else, and I still accumulated dirt under my nails and grime in my hair. Wind and sleep and rain still tangled my curls, and they still grew terribly bushy and frizzy if I didn't keep them nicely. So I lined our tub with shampoo formed into neat little herbal bars and bottles of hair oil, body wash and creamy soaps.
It was quite a nice tub, a large corner garden tub, deep and wide enough that I could nearly lie down in it- maybe not the biggest brag considering I was only 5'6 with my shoes on and mt hair counting towards my height, but still. It was one of the selling points for the house, this master suite with such a nice tub, the perfect size for two.
'539 years old and you still blush like a virgin bride!' I scolded himself as I felt my face flush. I blamed it on my reccent feed, as though it did any good to lie to myself, as though I wasn't fully aware of how I burned with passion and lust and love for my Master. To David I had said, I was afraid to fall back into Marius' thrall, too afraid I would love him again, but that too had been a lie, really. My heart still rested in Master's hands, and it had since I was bought from the brothel those five centuries ago. Through the fire and the boneyards and the church pews, the theatre and the Night Island and the Chataeu de Lioncourt, I had never truly stopped loving Marius.
I wished I could have. Blood and Gold would have gone down a lot easier if I'd been able to numb himself out to my Master's chilling words. Bah, what a pompous and inflated title, had Marius picked it himself? Blood and gold, what a disgrace to such beautiful things, tainting their glitter with those awful tales! Even now the feeling burned my eyes, and I blinked quickly, dragging down the sleeve of my black knit shirt to soak up my red tears. Not the time, I told himself. Don't feel that now, don't think about it now, because thinking brings anger and rage and axes to doors.
That was for later. That was for talk. Tonight was for action, and I quickly set myself back to work, pretending I had any real domestic skills at all to set us up a home. Well….alright, maybe I'll did. By my months as a newborn fledgling in the Palazzo I was well versed in helping keep the bills and books for the house, tending to small spills of paints or food, or keeping our bedroom warm and smelling like sweet oils and herbs for when Master would be back for me.
So I dug through another box, this one labeled with my own tidy, looping handwriting and dug through it to find my growing collection of candles and incense. It took only a thought to light the wicks of a pair of spiced sandlewood candles, placing them on ceramic plates on a low living room table. The made a nice glow, an almost romantic glow, and I stared at the flickering for a long moment. How splendid fire had looked those first nights in the blood, Master watching as the flames bewitched me, as I stared so intently at their dancing light.
"Beautiful isn't it, my fledgling?" Master asked in a voice meant to not jar him from his spell. "The world is an endless font of beauty for you now, my son, it's waiting only for your wonder and delight."
How long since I had truly delighted in anything?
A sigh left my lips, as I turned away from the candles. Plenty delighted me; my Daniel, my beloved firstborn, and soft, gentle Louis. The dogs Lestat kept at the castle, drool and all, the books I lost myself in for years on end.
But how long had it been since I could say I could look at Master and truly feel that adoration and love I once felt?
From the bedroom came the sound of Marius' voice, humming and half singing along to the song on the song coming through the speakers, something almost folksy from the 70s. It twisted my heart, reminding me again of Venice, singing with Riccardo and the other boys for our Master's entertainment, his face alight with his love for us.
How badly I wanted to see that face again.