VC Figgage! Finalement...
Jan. 2nd, 2004 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rebnessFinally wrote something. In like half an hour. Ah, well.
White Flag
By Becky Durden
January, 2004
***
W00t! It’s strange putting 2004 on the fic. Anyway, this is a brief bit of pure fromage that came about today because I was bored at work and took a quick peek at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
contrelamontre. Curses!
This fic is a response to a challenge whereby the author takes a song, and scatters the lyrics into the story. Hence, all of Dido’s White Flag is present in this story, albeit sans repetition of the chorus. I warn you—it’s pretty cheesy and stuff, and a little (lot) rushed, because I’m at work and it’s pretty damned cheeky to write a fic at work. Ha!
Apologies for the unimaginative title.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silverthoughts whom I promised an Armand/Louis fic *agggges* ago, and also ‘cos she is ace and Not Scary.
***
In order to fully survive each passing century, each moment of happiness or sadness that threatened to let the world in past your carefully-controlled façade, it was necessary to subscribe to various rules.
First—you never told anyone of what you were, if they were human, unless you meant to bring them over. Sometimes it was impossible to sever relations with a mortal, and when you did that, all kinds of complications came into play.
Secondly—you never show any sign of weakness to any other vampire, ever.
Thirdly—view everything with detachment, with irony. Don’t ever give all of your heart over, don’t ever let anybody control how you feel.
This is how to avoid falling.
This is how Armand lived his life.
He was strong, he knew that. And in the crazed, hazy months after Akasha’s demise, when a coven of vampires were gathered at Night Island, he took great satisfaction in knowing that, perhaps of all of them, he was the one they could know least. Forget knowledge, detachment was power.
Being amongst a coven was not good. It meant it was harder to avoid it. The Situation.
It came to a head, of sorts, one night when the place was mostly deserted. Maharet, Mekare, Jesse and Gabrielle had already long-departed. Santino and Eric roamed farther and farther, the others were growing restless. Daniel and Khayman were out hunting together that night, and Armand was content to stay where he was. Even Lestat wouldn’t be any trouble. And Loui—
Lestat had locked himself in his room.
Writing that contemptible memoir, Armand supposed, but he did not disturb him. He could not face his grief, or his self-righteousness. Let him rot.
He sat in the library and read a little. He listened to some music, but he was growing restless, and he knew why. The silence meant being alone. It meant going over everything, after all that had… it didn’t do any good.
A light rapping came on the door.
“Yes?” he asked, sitting up, but he had misheard. It was a knock to Lestat’s door, and it was only Louis.
Only Louis.
A brief conversation took place.
“Lestat,” Louis began, his voice soft and accented, as ever, “I was wondering if you would like to come out tonight. We could take a look at—“
“Not tonight, I don’t think.” Lestat sounded small, tired.
“Oh. Well… maybe we could talk later, yes?”
“Maybe.”
A pause. “Are you all right?”
“For god’s sake! Yes!”
Silence.
The door opened. “Louis… sorry. I… you know I don’t mean it.”
“No.”
“You can drop by later.”
“I’ll show you that article we were talking about.”
“I’d like that.”
A brief sound, a kiss. Then the door was shut again, and a soft footfall passed the library.
In his chair, Armand tensed. Damn that Lestat and his selfish pathetic weakened fucking soul. Damn him. And damn Louis. Why on earth—why did he…? He scowled, getting up from the chair and following Louis downstairs.
***
The huge drawing room was empty. A crumpled copy of The New York Times lay discarded on the coffee table, a chessboard (now ubiquitous) appeared to have been abandoned mid-game.
The patio doors were open, and a gentle Autumn breeze blew in from the veranda. The curtains wafted on the breeze. The effect was wholly clichéd, ghostly. It suited Louis to a tee.
Armand felt his heart weigh heavily upon him. He would miss this, when Louis and Lestat left, as he felt they both would soon. He could sense their growing discontent. He supposed they would go off somewhere together, and was surprised and annoyed at himself for caring that they would, for feeling that familiar pang of regret and jealousy.
He had Daniel now.
Sometimes it was enough. Sometimes it wasn’t. You learned to deal with these things. Besides, a declaration of love wasn’t something that he imagined Louis would appreciate. Bitterly, he acknowledged how well he knew Louis’ coldness when it came to anyone but Lestat.
I know you think that I shouldn’t still love you. Or tell you that. He sighed, and walked out onto the veranda, where, sure enough, Louis stood watching the great waves of the Atlantic crashing against the shore. But if I didn’t say it—well, I’d still have felt it.
“Where’s the sense in that?” he asked aloud, without meaning to.
Louis jumped slightly, startled out of his reverie. He turned to face the other vampire.
“Armand. I thought you had gone out.”
He chuckled, low. “No, still here, unchanging.”
“Good old Armand. I can always rely on you at least to creep up on me.”
“Glad to be of service.”
Louis smirked.
A long silence followed. Too long, Armand felt, and he rushed to fill the void. “Don’t you—“
“It’s a lovely night—“ Louis began at the same time.
You’re still uncomfortable with me, Armand thought bitterly. I’d do anything for you, I have done anything for you, and you can’t even bear to stand near me. At Sonoma, it had been Armand who had rushed to Louis’ aid when he had fallen unconscious at Akasha’s beheading. It had been him who had kept an eye on him these nights, whilst Lestat paraded his misery and wallowed in the pity.
Louis, apparently ignorant of the fine rage Armand was working himself up to, cast a friendly smile upon him. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked courteously, the way a shop assistant might ask an irksome customer.
“Do you want to be alone?” Armand asked shortly.
“No, of course not—“ he replied, polite to the last, “I just…”
“You’re thinking about Lestat.”
Louis’ eyes darkened. He frowned. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”
“No. Of course not. Will you talk of other things, then?”
“Like what?”
“Will you talk with me?”
“We are talking.” Louis said evasively.
“I don’t see you for decades on end. We don’t talk. We go through all of this, and we’ve maybe spoken ten sentences together in all the time since.”
“There’s nothing really to talk about.”
“Yes, there is—“
“Armand.” He began, and his voice was low and soft, full of warning. “I really don’t need this.”
“I promise I’m not trying to make your life harder,” Armand said in a rush, “or even return to where we were.”
Louis stiffened. “I didn’t think that for a moment.”
“But we do need to talk, Louis. You know I think a lot of you. And I know that things can never really be the way we ever wanted it—“
“What do you mean?” Louis choked, from embarrassment or anger or grief, Armand could not tell.
“Can’t we just ‘clear the air’, as they say? Before you and Lestat take off, before the others come back tonight and we drift away again, can’t we talk some things through?”
”There is nothing to talk through.” Said Louis.
“Yes, there is!” snapped Armand, and the vehemence in his voice startled them both.
“What do you want, Armand?” he hissed, “I have other things to think about tonight.”
“Just let me say my piece.”
“All right. And then you’ll leave me, yes?”
“Yes.”
Louis scowled and turned back to the balcony, leaning out and watching the sea with sad green eyes. Armand came and stood next to him, speaking in a low voice pitched for Louis’ ears alone. “I know… I know that I left too much mess and destruction to come back again. For us ever to truly be friends again, let alone lovers. I destroyed your lives, yours and Lestat’s, and I caused nothing but trouble. I understand if you can’t talk to me again.”
“I can talk to you again. I just don’t want to think about all that happened. I’ve moved on, do you understand?” said Louis gently.
Armand nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do. It’s over, I know that.
“And if you live by the rules of ‘it’s over’,” said Louis, “then I’m sure that that makes sense.”
“Going down with the ship, hmm?” asked Armand, smiling, but there was no humour in his voice.
“Something like that.” Said Louis.
They were silent for a while. They watched a speedboat hurtling across the bay, disturbing the night with the roar of its engine. Silence blanketed the island once more.
“And in future,” said Armand, “when we meet—which I’m sure we will. All that was there… you know.”
“What? You think it will be there still?”
“You deny it?”
“It won’t be there.”
“Why not?”
Louis closed his eyes. “In all that time we were together, Armand… in all that time, not once did you say you were sorry for what you did.”
“Would it have made it better if I had?” he asked harshly, “would you have forgiven me, forgot all that went before because I uttered some meaningless apology?”
“No.”
“Well, then.”
“You didn’t even try. But no matter. I’ll let it pass, and hold my tongue. There isn’t any point in… in pursuing it.”
“So, we leave it between us.”
“Yes.”
“And we’ll be friendly, and maybe sometimes we’ll meet up, and talk about the weather, or some dull trivia, and never mention it.”
“That’s the way it is.”
“And you’ll ignore the glances that I send you. And you’ll think that I have moved on, or at least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Why, Louis?”
“Because that’s the way it has to be.” He said. He turned slightly, and Armand caught the pained look that cast a shadow over his handsome features.
“Louis?”
“I will go down with this ship,” he muttered at last. “And you can all think me weak for not pursuing this, for going back to Lestat, even. I know that you all despise my weakness, or what you perceive as weakness, and I don’t care. You can cast me out of your exclusive club—“
“That’s not—“
“And it wouldn’t matter to me, not one whit. I’ll carry the pain with me, always, because I don’t know anything else. But I won’t put my hands up and surrender. I won’t forget as time passes. Because, Armand, because each time I look into your eyes, I see the same darkness, the same detachment that allowed you to destroy her. I can never forget that. Ever. I’ll let you into my house, and I’ll talk to you and perhaps as time goes by, we’ll be companions again, some day, but never, never will I forget. Never will I concede defeat. There will be no white flag above my door.”
“And what of Lestat?”
“What of him?”
“Do you forgive him?”
“I’m in love.”
“’And always will be’” Armand sneered.
“That is unkind of you.”
“I know.”
Louis cast him a long look, and in the depths of that green gaze, a thousand things went unsaid, a thousand recriminations passed between them.
Armand lowered his head. He sighed, and then gazed back out at the darkened waves. They listened in silence, resting close together, unspeaking, as they had so many years ago whilst on various ships, travelling the world together. “I’m sorry.” He said finally.
Louis turned to him, his face unreadable, though his gaze had softened. They watched each other for a moment, and then Louis turned away and walked back inside.
Armand stayed out there for a while later, thinking things over. Her blue eyes stared up at him, frightened, angry. The others chanted for her blood, and the next evening, the ashes had been chased by the wind down the long and twisting Parisian corridors. They had caught in Louis’ fine black hair and dulled the effect. In that instant, in his terrible grief, he had seemed so old, so broken.
It occurred to Armand that this was a sad and horrible thing, this was something that had destroyed the future so completely. It occurred to him that he should weep, but inside, some of the others had returned, and there was music playing and the night was beautiful regardless, and besides, he never cried anymore.
The End
know you think that I shouldn't still love you
Or tell you that
But if I didn't say it
Well, I'd still have felt it
Where's the sense in that?
I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were
Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
I know I left too much mess
And destruction to come back again
And I caused nothing but trouble
I understand if you can't talk to me again
And if you live by the rules of "It's over"
Then I'm sure that that makes sense
Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
And when we meet
Which I'm sure we will
Oh what was there
Will be there still
I'll let it pass
And hold my tongue
And you will think
That I've moved on
Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
White Flag
By Becky Durden
January, 2004
***
W00t! It’s strange putting 2004 on the fic. Anyway, this is a brief bit of pure fromage that came about today because I was bored at work and took a quick peek at
contrelamontre. Curses!This fic is a response to a challenge whereby the author takes a song, and scatters the lyrics into the story. Hence, all of Dido’s White Flag is present in this story, albeit sans repetition of the chorus. I warn you—it’s pretty cheesy and stuff, and a little (lot) rushed, because I’m at work and it’s pretty damned cheeky to write a fic at work. Ha!
Apologies for the unimaginative title.
For
silverthoughts whom I promised an Armand/Louis fic *agggges* ago, and also ‘cos she is ace and Not Scary.***
In order to fully survive each passing century, each moment of happiness or sadness that threatened to let the world in past your carefully-controlled façade, it was necessary to subscribe to various rules.
First—you never told anyone of what you were, if they were human, unless you meant to bring them over. Sometimes it was impossible to sever relations with a mortal, and when you did that, all kinds of complications came into play.
Secondly—you never show any sign of weakness to any other vampire, ever.
Thirdly—view everything with detachment, with irony. Don’t ever give all of your heart over, don’t ever let anybody control how you feel.
This is how to avoid falling.
This is how Armand lived his life.
He was strong, he knew that. And in the crazed, hazy months after Akasha’s demise, when a coven of vampires were gathered at Night Island, he took great satisfaction in knowing that, perhaps of all of them, he was the one they could know least. Forget knowledge, detachment was power.
Being amongst a coven was not good. It meant it was harder to avoid it. The Situation.
It came to a head, of sorts, one night when the place was mostly deserted. Maharet, Mekare, Jesse and Gabrielle had already long-departed. Santino and Eric roamed farther and farther, the others were growing restless. Daniel and Khayman were out hunting together that night, and Armand was content to stay where he was. Even Lestat wouldn’t be any trouble. And Loui—
Lestat had locked himself in his room.
Writing that contemptible memoir, Armand supposed, but he did not disturb him. He could not face his grief, or his self-righteousness. Let him rot.
He sat in the library and read a little. He listened to some music, but he was growing restless, and he knew why. The silence meant being alone. It meant going over everything, after all that had… it didn’t do any good.
A light rapping came on the door.
“Yes?” he asked, sitting up, but he had misheard. It was a knock to Lestat’s door, and it was only Louis.
Only Louis.
A brief conversation took place.
“Lestat,” Louis began, his voice soft and accented, as ever, “I was wondering if you would like to come out tonight. We could take a look at—“
“Not tonight, I don’t think.” Lestat sounded small, tired.
“Oh. Well… maybe we could talk later, yes?”
“Maybe.”
A pause. “Are you all right?”
“For god’s sake! Yes!”
Silence.
The door opened. “Louis… sorry. I… you know I don’t mean it.”
“No.”
“You can drop by later.”
“I’ll show you that article we were talking about.”
“I’d like that.”
A brief sound, a kiss. Then the door was shut again, and a soft footfall passed the library.
In his chair, Armand tensed. Damn that Lestat and his selfish pathetic weakened fucking soul. Damn him. And damn Louis. Why on earth—why did he…? He scowled, getting up from the chair and following Louis downstairs.
***
The huge drawing room was empty. A crumpled copy of The New York Times lay discarded on the coffee table, a chessboard (now ubiquitous) appeared to have been abandoned mid-game.
The patio doors were open, and a gentle Autumn breeze blew in from the veranda. The curtains wafted on the breeze. The effect was wholly clichéd, ghostly. It suited Louis to a tee.
Armand felt his heart weigh heavily upon him. He would miss this, when Louis and Lestat left, as he felt they both would soon. He could sense their growing discontent. He supposed they would go off somewhere together, and was surprised and annoyed at himself for caring that they would, for feeling that familiar pang of regret and jealousy.
He had Daniel now.
Sometimes it was enough. Sometimes it wasn’t. You learned to deal with these things. Besides, a declaration of love wasn’t something that he imagined Louis would appreciate. Bitterly, he acknowledged how well he knew Louis’ coldness when it came to anyone but Lestat.
I know you think that I shouldn’t still love you. Or tell you that. He sighed, and walked out onto the veranda, where, sure enough, Louis stood watching the great waves of the Atlantic crashing against the shore. But if I didn’t say it—well, I’d still have felt it.
“Where’s the sense in that?” he asked aloud, without meaning to.
Louis jumped slightly, startled out of his reverie. He turned to face the other vampire.
“Armand. I thought you had gone out.”
He chuckled, low. “No, still here, unchanging.”
“Good old Armand. I can always rely on you at least to creep up on me.”
“Glad to be of service.”
Louis smirked.
A long silence followed. Too long, Armand felt, and he rushed to fill the void. “Don’t you—“
“It’s a lovely night—“ Louis began at the same time.
You’re still uncomfortable with me, Armand thought bitterly. I’d do anything for you, I have done anything for you, and you can’t even bear to stand near me. At Sonoma, it had been Armand who had rushed to Louis’ aid when he had fallen unconscious at Akasha’s beheading. It had been him who had kept an eye on him these nights, whilst Lestat paraded his misery and wallowed in the pity.
Louis, apparently ignorant of the fine rage Armand was working himself up to, cast a friendly smile upon him. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked courteously, the way a shop assistant might ask an irksome customer.
“Do you want to be alone?” Armand asked shortly.
“No, of course not—“ he replied, polite to the last, “I just…”
“You’re thinking about Lestat.”
Louis’ eyes darkened. He frowned. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”
“No. Of course not. Will you talk of other things, then?”
“Like what?”
“Will you talk with me?”
“We are talking.” Louis said evasively.
“I don’t see you for decades on end. We don’t talk. We go through all of this, and we’ve maybe spoken ten sentences together in all the time since.”
“There’s nothing really to talk about.”
“Yes, there is—“
“Armand.” He began, and his voice was low and soft, full of warning. “I really don’t need this.”
“I promise I’m not trying to make your life harder,” Armand said in a rush, “or even return to where we were.”
Louis stiffened. “I didn’t think that for a moment.”
“But we do need to talk, Louis. You know I think a lot of you. And I know that things can never really be the way we ever wanted it—“
“What do you mean?” Louis choked, from embarrassment or anger or grief, Armand could not tell.
“Can’t we just ‘clear the air’, as they say? Before you and Lestat take off, before the others come back tonight and we drift away again, can’t we talk some things through?”
”There is nothing to talk through.” Said Louis.
“Yes, there is!” snapped Armand, and the vehemence in his voice startled them both.
“What do you want, Armand?” he hissed, “I have other things to think about tonight.”
“Just let me say my piece.”
“All right. And then you’ll leave me, yes?”
“Yes.”
Louis scowled and turned back to the balcony, leaning out and watching the sea with sad green eyes. Armand came and stood next to him, speaking in a low voice pitched for Louis’ ears alone. “I know… I know that I left too much mess and destruction to come back again. For us ever to truly be friends again, let alone lovers. I destroyed your lives, yours and Lestat’s, and I caused nothing but trouble. I understand if you can’t talk to me again.”
“I can talk to you again. I just don’t want to think about all that happened. I’ve moved on, do you understand?” said Louis gently.
Armand nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do. It’s over, I know that.
“And if you live by the rules of ‘it’s over’,” said Louis, “then I’m sure that that makes sense.”
“Going down with the ship, hmm?” asked Armand, smiling, but there was no humour in his voice.
“Something like that.” Said Louis.
They were silent for a while. They watched a speedboat hurtling across the bay, disturbing the night with the roar of its engine. Silence blanketed the island once more.
“And in future,” said Armand, “when we meet—which I’m sure we will. All that was there… you know.”
“What? You think it will be there still?”
“You deny it?”
“It won’t be there.”
“Why not?”
Louis closed his eyes. “In all that time we were together, Armand… in all that time, not once did you say you were sorry for what you did.”
“Would it have made it better if I had?” he asked harshly, “would you have forgiven me, forgot all that went before because I uttered some meaningless apology?”
“No.”
“Well, then.”
“You didn’t even try. But no matter. I’ll let it pass, and hold my tongue. There isn’t any point in… in pursuing it.”
“So, we leave it between us.”
“Yes.”
“And we’ll be friendly, and maybe sometimes we’ll meet up, and talk about the weather, or some dull trivia, and never mention it.”
“That’s the way it is.”
“And you’ll ignore the glances that I send you. And you’ll think that I have moved on, or at least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Why, Louis?”
“Because that’s the way it has to be.” He said. He turned slightly, and Armand caught the pained look that cast a shadow over his handsome features.
“Louis?”
“I will go down with this ship,” he muttered at last. “And you can all think me weak for not pursuing this, for going back to Lestat, even. I know that you all despise my weakness, or what you perceive as weakness, and I don’t care. You can cast me out of your exclusive club—“
“That’s not—“
“And it wouldn’t matter to me, not one whit. I’ll carry the pain with me, always, because I don’t know anything else. But I won’t put my hands up and surrender. I won’t forget as time passes. Because, Armand, because each time I look into your eyes, I see the same darkness, the same detachment that allowed you to destroy her. I can never forget that. Ever. I’ll let you into my house, and I’ll talk to you and perhaps as time goes by, we’ll be companions again, some day, but never, never will I forget. Never will I concede defeat. There will be no white flag above my door.”
“And what of Lestat?”
“What of him?”
“Do you forgive him?”
“I’m in love.”
“’And always will be’” Armand sneered.
“That is unkind of you.”
“I know.”
Louis cast him a long look, and in the depths of that green gaze, a thousand things went unsaid, a thousand recriminations passed between them.
Armand lowered his head. He sighed, and then gazed back out at the darkened waves. They listened in silence, resting close together, unspeaking, as they had so many years ago whilst on various ships, travelling the world together. “I’m sorry.” He said finally.
Louis turned to him, his face unreadable, though his gaze had softened. They watched each other for a moment, and then Louis turned away and walked back inside.
Armand stayed out there for a while later, thinking things over. Her blue eyes stared up at him, frightened, angry. The others chanted for her blood, and the next evening, the ashes had been chased by the wind down the long and twisting Parisian corridors. They had caught in Louis’ fine black hair and dulled the effect. In that instant, in his terrible grief, he had seemed so old, so broken.
It occurred to Armand that this was a sad and horrible thing, this was something that had destroyed the future so completely. It occurred to him that he should weep, but inside, some of the others had returned, and there was music playing and the night was beautiful regardless, and besides, he never cried anymore.
The End
know you think that I shouldn't still love you
Or tell you that
But if I didn't say it
Well, I'd still have felt it
Where's the sense in that?
I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were
Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
I know I left too much mess
And destruction to come back again
And I caused nothing but trouble
I understand if you can't talk to me again
And if you live by the rules of "It's over"
Then I'm sure that that makes sense
Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
And when we meet
Which I'm sure we will
Oh what was there
Will be there still
I'll let it pass
And hold my tongue
And you will think
That I've moved on
Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-01-02 08:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-06 07:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-02 10:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-06 07:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-02 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-06 07:36 am (UTC)BTW, I think I'm becoming an Armand/Louis fan... eek!
no subject
Date: 2004-01-02 08:39 pm (UTC)Inarticulately, I want to say what I think I've worked out about your VC fic that works, Becky. You bridge some gap in the manner of the vampires that even Anne Rice can't bridge. She makes her characters either stiff and formal or unconvincingly modern, but somehow you're able to put modern dialogue in their mouths so that it makes sense. Your vampire characters talk about their feelings in a way that doesn't make me cringe. Your dialogue isn't soap-opera like, it's just real. I really envy you that, actually, as dialogue is possibly my weakest point. But, gah, the way you write vampires is sublime.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-06 07:36 am (UTC)Thank'ees for reading!
no subject
Date: 2004-01-03 03:59 pm (UTC)The song worked perfectly, and... just... in inarticulate awe!
no subject
Date: 2004-01-06 07:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-04 08:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-06 07:38 am (UTC)Glad you liked it, though, Jane! Thanks for reading. :-D
no subject
Date: 2009-09-22 11:35 pm (UTC)I believe I already asked you this, both via message and via comment, but you never replied to either... are you by any chance interested in IM roleplaying, or fiction co-writing? Louis/Armand would be the best ever, but Louis/Lestat is good too...please let me know? Unless for some reason you find the question annoying, of course.