Good news for Daniel: this choice of words leads Louis to the conclusion they'd already discussed, that some ripples of conversation had spread in the short stretch of time since their rooftop brawl turned street chase.
No need to wonder if perhaps Daniel was speaking so specifically about their exploits to Armand. At least, so far.
Louis says nothing, lets a minute pass, then another. Maintains the link between them; it is open to Armand, as it has always been. Trace impressions, easy to glean: Louis' head tipping back against the plush cushion of the high-backed lounge he'd been slouched upon, the weight of the tablet in his lap. Aches in his body dwindled down to practically nothing, diminishing further as seconds pass. (A sip only stretches so far, but the improvement is marked.) And indecision, the sense of words chosen carefully.
You heard, is not a question.
A testing quality to the way Louis leans into him now. Not unlike their last attempt at conversation, the suggestion of the familiar. (A defect in Louis, perhaps, the ability to make slivers of space for those who have harmed him.) Testing. Assessing.
What is this, Armand?
Armand, who was his companion for nearly eighty years. Armand, who lied to him in all the ways that mattered most. Armand, who turned Daniel. Who thrust Louis back into the agonizing memory of sunlight.
Armand, who Louis hates and misses and cannot forgive. Touching his mind and asking him this and why? After everything?
no subject
Good news for Daniel: this choice of words leads Louis to the conclusion they'd already discussed, that some ripples of conversation had spread in the short stretch of time since their rooftop brawl turned street chase.
No need to wonder if perhaps Daniel was speaking so specifically about their exploits to Armand. At least, so far.
Louis says nothing, lets a minute pass, then another. Maintains the link between them; it is open to Armand, as it has always been. Trace impressions, easy to glean: Louis' head tipping back against the plush cushion of the high-backed lounge he'd been slouched upon, the weight of the tablet in his lap. Aches in his body dwindled down to practically nothing, diminishing further as seconds pass. (A sip only stretches so far, but the improvement is marked.) And indecision, the sense of words chosen carefully.
You heard, is not a question.
A testing quality to the way Louis leans into him now. Not unlike their last attempt at conversation, the suggestion of the familiar. (A defect in Louis, perhaps, the ability to make slivers of space for those who have harmed him.) Testing. Assessing.
What is this, Armand?
Armand, who was his companion for nearly eighty years. Armand, who lied to him in all the ways that mattered most. Armand, who turned Daniel. Who thrust Louis back into the agonizing memory of sunlight.
Armand, who Louis hates and misses and cannot forgive. Touching his mind and asking him this and why? After everything?