I wonder if he would notice if I wore blue. He chose it for me, after all, or had once. Blue, beautiful sparkling blue. His morning sky, he called me, a beautiful thing he hadn't seen in 1500 years, though I had no way to know that then.

I knew it now, though, as I held the soft cashmere shirt in front of me. Blue. Not quite like the sky, darker than that, but not so deep as his cobalt eyes. Not the blue of my jeans either though, not sapphire blue. He told me once that humans can see more shades of green than any other color but there were so so many shades of blue. I thought of this as I slipped it on, and then hesitated. There was a mirror hanging inside the wardrobe door, full length to see myself as I dressed every night, but I wasn't sure I wanted to see.

It wasn't as though I had never worn blue. It was just that I didn't choose blue. Of course I had not worn colors while in the cemetery. Even if some scrap of cloth had once been glue, the soot and grime of the years would have ate it up and turned everything to mud and muck and grey. And when I left for the theatre, I wore the colors of the day, pinks and greens and bright whites and cream. Surely blue? And then the age of color in men's clothing wanted. I wore black again, black coats and vests, until the fashions turned again and I wore canvas pants like Daniel and soft shirts like Daniel. Had I worn blue? I couldn't think. I hadn't avoided blue though, not on purpose. Maybe blue though, like the sunrise, has forsaken me. No morning sky for Satan's child.

I reached for the door, and gave myself the quickest glance. Blue suited me well and always had, the dark red of my hair striking against the shade and bringing out the flecks of gold, amber and orange in my brown eyes. I was pretty but then I was pretty in everything, admired all the damned time. Everyone noticed me, but would Marius?

I wore blue to court that night. I should have had my mind on a thousand other things. Always a crisis, this struggle of us coming together and this changing concept of our existence. My clothing didn't matter and neither did my lonely heart, but since when was I selfless? Never. I wanted this attention even if I hated myself for it. I couldn't ask for it after all. What was I to do? Go up to my Master and *tell* him I missed him? Just say to him, speak to me here, hold me, please give me what I have missed for so long, call me your child again, even in anger, let me tell you how I regret our centuries apart and miss our three short years together? Words ran through my head and I honestly tried to arrange them to show my desperation and the well of melancholy nostalgia I had every time he looked at me, but none of the sentences I made ever made sense.

I couldn't just ask for love again. I didn't know how. I wasn't ready to learn. So instead, I wore blue.

I wrote a drabble/fic of Daniel reading TVA -

Molloy Madness Memo's - TVA

(we-are-art.com)

I was fasinated by cassettes for sometime, first acknowledging them when I heard Louis’ voice echoing through Lestats dilapidated house in New Orleans. Accompanied in conversation with another, that person who uttered my name so succinctly Daniel ofcourse So much wrapped up in the saying of it - fear, wonder, disbelief, excitement - Noone had said my name or known it in a century. During the chase I’d often record a message for him to hear, he’d shown me how to so this was a way to communicate as well as surprise. Talking into his little machine to focus his mind as he flitted from hotel, motel - state to continent - I’d use a cassette fresh, it would have been impolite to record over his fevered works, his art of verbalising. We were both lonely just in different ways.

Palazzo Ducale by @davidcoynephotography // Edited by MFL

Lost Photographs from Daniel’s Missing Luggage, or, Glimpses of an Unlife

I found out afterwards that the first time I went to Venice after I met Armand was the first time he’d been back in more than a century.

I started thinking I’d finally escaped him, and he didn’t do more than simply watch me in my hotel room like a total creeper from across the canal. Only later did I realize how hard it must have been for him to follow me there at all, just to keep tabs on me. 

He broke his own heart to go back to where his life was shattered, just because he wanted to be with me. So why did he think I wouldn’t be willing to die, just because I wanted to be with him?

dm.

Our game was seasoned by this point, and when the trail led to the place that had been my falling rebirth and falling again, I would be lying if I didn’t hesitate. Weigh up the possible hit to my fought for self control and walls within my psyche to tread the streets of what had once been my paradise. The answer had been simple I had to go, show my face if nothing else. Incase you thought I’d abandoned you finally in my absence. To come to that hotel room you’d made your latest sanctuary opened a large can of worms, I played out the various scenarios. Most ended up with questions I couldn’t or wouldn’t answer, tours around the city that resonated pleasure and pain in my heart. I was a ghost again in that city. So much still was as it was, so much had changed but I knew where the Palazzo had been, rebuilt as, where that house of ineqity had been once. Biancas home that existed still. I felt so much because i was allowing mtself the luxury of feelings, the crueller nuances of cat and mouse lent to more complicated emotions. You fasinated me, but I wouldn’t let you see me so vulnerable just yet. This should have been a hint at how deeply I was already in your thrall to myself. But love is blind as the saying goes, rather i was blind to the possibility that my dusty ancient heart could beat intime with such a springling mortal. I later realised I’d do much for this love, if not the one thing you wished. Just as you eventually died for me, I let myself be cut anew then. Perhaps we can visit here properly one day? We can both hold Amadeos hand as we tread old paths….

Lost Photographs from Daniel’s Missing Luggage, or, Glimpses of an Unlife

//[Trigger warning: alcohol poisoning]

I was always dead on my feet by morning.

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This is how Marius must have felt when he’d watched me cavorting into danger as a mortal, a soul already marked. Saved once, about to have petals crushed again. Even if I hadn’t courted my death, would my maker have watched me age year by year steadily approaching the earth? As our dance progressed, and Daniel became disassociated with the real world, and desperate to step fully into mine I foolishly let my fear reflect in my eyes. He found this condescending, annoying at best. Patronising at worst. Alcohol was the comforter he used to balance the power. So much could occur when i was dead to the world, I knew how much could occur to a mortal via another mortals hands. I wanted you too live, because to damn you to become like me did not seem like an act of love anymore. Hadn’t I done enough against the natural order by loving you, let alone letting you fall in love with me. I’d let my greatest fear known to you, that you would slip away in my absence. Not just to another town or state. But off the mortal coil. It could be used as a weapon in our battle love. He hadn’t intended to strike then. He’d taken too much liquor and his body finally rebelled. Watching the medical crew work on you. Wires, breathing mask and modern paraphernalia was one of the worst sights I ever saw. And believe me Beloved these orbs have witnessed countless horrors. The worst of it was this had been an accident. If a maid hadn’t room serviced your room that night, ignored the do not disturb sign.

I would have found you cold. Colder than me…..

You don’t remember but I travelled with you in the ambulance. Watched over you as your stomach was charcoaled and pumped empty. Then waited until your vitals stabilised. Before retreating for the day. If I could have streaked with grey, I would have….

Currently, Sol was lounging on the couch, legs spread out over either side. He looked rather a mess, wearing only a pair of white cauliflower boxers, his gaze far off, dream-like. He’d spent most of the day inhaling noxious plant gases (completely on accident) when he took an innocent enough trip to what he thought was a plant store. So now, early at night, laying slack on one of the most public sofa’s at Trinity Gate, Sol’s grey eyes were hazed over as he spoke to his most trusted companion; Captain Cactus Molloy. Who, very wrongly, he thought was actually Daniel that had somehow become a lovely floral cactus that currently rested over his chest. The talk consisted of mostly tripped explantations of hallucinations he’d suffered hours before, when continuing to smell the plants then acquiring “cactus juice” for his “drink” had seemed like a mighty fine idea.

Somewhere in the lower regions of his mind Sol was vaguely aware that Armand and Daniel would wake up soon. But then again maybe not Daniel because Daniel had become a cactus.

That’s right, a cactus, that was clearly logical, “right Captain Molloy? Yeah, I am right, thanks.” Sol lapped in and out of internal conversations with his fuzzy mind and conscious, seeking out the wise advice of Captain Molloy because who more could he trust for great judgement than his vampire-cacto friend?

@auburnandamberangel

Armand awoke as usual prior to Daniel. Kissing his still slumbering fledgling on his forehead he assessed who was in the house. Sensing Sol downstairs, but the usually crisp thoughts of his precious mortal friend were jumbled tonight. He was under the influence, of what noxious origin unknown. Putting on a dressing gown, intending to get back into bed later on. Padding downstairs to the main lounge he could hear Sol talking to what the man thought was Daniel. Daniel the cactus? Once downstairs he encountered quite a sight. Sol spread akimbo on the generous sofa. Wearing a pair of boxers only, Sol was holding a cactus close to his chest. As if this was his most trusted friend. Grey stormy eyes swivelled to him as he approached. Glazed over and fogged. The human appeared to be quite high, not knowingly so by his memories. He’d gone for cactus juice. This much he had known. They had discussed whether he wished such a family group of cacti for his proposed Night Island Garden. He had politely declined. The emanating gas was a unsuspected side affect. Sol thought Daniel was a cactus, oh dear… not just any cactus. A vampire cactus. But ofcourse what else. “Sol. Good evening. Daniels upstairs dearest. Slowly let go of your prickly friend." Seeing there were spines and pin prices already on Sols arms and in his bared chest. Sitting beside him smiling benignly.