Ganymede | Benjamin Prince (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_cupbearer) wrote2025-02-20 01:12 pm
the_cupbearer) wrote2025-02-20 01:12 pm
shit-talking the glitterati
Sitting on a convenient bench in the middle of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Ganymede crosses his ankles, legs outstretched in front of him. It's a mix of snow and drizzling, misty rain outside through the wide glass windows, and he's enjoying playing tourist in his own city. The art is magnificent, he remembers much of it being made--and in front of him is a painting of his own story. The Abduction of Ganymede.
"I know it's supposed to be beautiful art," he murmurs. "But most of what I remember is the artists groping me. And most of them were bad at it to boot," he chuckles. "They all thought they were so irresistible, do you remember?"
"I know it's supposed to be beautiful art," he murmurs. "But most of what I remember is the artists groping me. And most of them were bad at it to boot," he chuckles. "They all thought they were so irresistible, do you remember?"
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"I like making my friends enjoy themselves," Ganymede says with a little smile as he watches Armand spin and can see the surprise replace the sadness on his face. "Light cannot be light without its balance of darkness, Armand. I can love the dark all the more knowing what used to be in it. And what still is." They both know he's never shied away from the darker things in life, and derives pleasure from many of them. Armand has bitten him before, and it hurt, but god, did it feel breathtakingly good. He playfully swatted at his friend for the suggestion of having him strip in front of the statue he'd posed for, a gentle dusting of color settling atop his cheekbones as he chuckled.
"You should tell me what your favorite color is, too. So I know." He likes knowing things like that about people; favorite colors, drinks, the way they wear their hair, what they named the dog or cat.
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It happened a long time ago when Daniel was young. Another of those past memories he'd rather not think about now that he's with the present company, as sweet as those brief moments of happiness had been. Ganymede deserves all his attention.
"So sweet in that regard. You're too generous, G." He doesn't say that one, that such a thing might come to bite him in the ass because Ganymede has lived for more than a millennium now. Either it has already happened, and he either learned the lesson or didn't mind, or he managed to avoid getting in that sort of trouble before.
And what he says next has Armand feeling some kind of way; it's hard for him to decipher it and put it in thought, much less in words. It's a good feeling. Comfort, perhaps, at hearing proof that he could be loved despite his many horrific failures. Ganymede truly is a romantic.
"I feel like you're determined to discover if someone like me can blush." Like me, meaning either 'a vampire' or someone as broken as Armand. It's said teasingly, but the answer is obviously a yes. It just hadn't happened in a while, but Armand does have the capacity. And it's easier to joke than to accept that someone might see him for who he truly is and not be immediately horrified by what lies beneath the mask. So far it's been like that with Ganymede, and hell if it doesn't disarm him at times.
It was good to know he could cause a similar reaction still towards someone who was as used to being flirted with as Ganymede. He didn't laugh, but Armand grinned after that playful swat. He actually hates sharing deep secrets about himself, but his favorite color, his favorite music, the movies he enjoys, and what opinions he has on certain poets (lots of them!) are all that he enjoys casually talking about. It makes him feel as if the constant death and loneliness that surround him take a step back in the face of lighthearted conversations.
"I like violet. Maybe not a color that most people will think about, but I find it really beautiful. Violets are also symbols of faithfulness and loyalty. That's in short supply nowadays."
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"Maybe I want to know you," he murmurs gently, as softly as he can utter such a thing in public and still have it be private conversation. "I like you, you are my friend, and I like knowing my friends. It's what keeps me from...going mad. AFter all the years." He knows how long eternity is--he's lived through several. Longer than lifetimes, longer than any realistic imagination can stretch, and still here he is. "I know you think little of yourself in some ways. But I don't share that," Ganymede says.
Violets, hm....he likes violets himself, a pretty and unpretentious little flower, something that reminds him of a little garden, simple and lovely. And even if Armand isn't simple in the slightest way, he is lovely, and he is a good friend. Ganymede has long since learned not to judge people for being good moralists or not. It gets boring far too shortly.
"I would love you in Byzantine purple. You'd look royal."
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And then he took everything they had and killed them. Armand got money, and the world was rid of that scum; everybody won. He has the feeling that Ganymede might not be too heartbroken about these kinds of people missing. The man sounds so sincere when he calls Armand his friend and so open in his reasons for wanting to keep socializing that he really wants to believe Ganymede.
"I get it. The biggest enemies of the people who are like us are time and loneliness. I've met a lot who just couldn't keep up, both with the changes in the world and the changes in themselves. Sleeping your problems away for a century or two can be tempting, too, but I never much liked that sort of escapism for myself. It's much harder to reconnect with reality and progress once you're awake again."
Armand keeps his voice level and cautious, while not too worried about being overheard. He can just mess with the minds of those who try to pry too much or eavesdrop on them. Ganymede's words are touching, which is all the more confusing to Armand. People flirting he can handle. Disdain and anger? Old acquaintances, too. This...not so much. It leaves him feeling a bit out of his depth, which is why Ganymede also gets a sincere answer in return.
"I don't know how to handle your warmth sometimes."
And he is a cold-blooded person, in the most literal of ways, so to offer him this and not expect him to cling to it desperately would be foolish. Armand knows himself, though, knows how he gets when he turns obsessive and devoted to a partner, and while Ganymede would do nothing but be a good one, he's not so sure about himself. It's why he sometimes tries to keep his distance, even if he fails miserably at it at every turn.
"Look who's talking. I was never royalty, unlike someone I know. You look good in anything. And without anything."
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"It...has taken effort on my part, and I make no bones about that. Society changes, and either people change with it, or they fall behind, and I can't say I have always been in the former category." He's fallen behind plenty of times and he doesn't often adapt the easiest. It took him years to stop telling people who he actually was, and or them to stop thinking he was insane.
He knows that their extraordinary ages have taken a toll on Armand, and it will maintain that toll as his friend grows older, unless he can find something he likes enough to keep him occupied, so the enormity of change will be easier, and taken in smaller pieces. And in some ways that grieves Ganymede, but he retains hope. "I know it's difficult to trust someone that could mean you no harm, but I promise, I don't. I could gain very little by hurting you that would not lose me something dearer."
Ganymede laughs at the gentle-hearted jibe about being royalty, shaking his head. "It has been a long time since I was anything royal," he murmurs. "But I remember it. they're supposed to have exhibits from around where I lived here. Something new and on loan," he suggests. "Maybe it'll give you some good visuals, though I can't promise anything about me being in any of it. With or without clothes," he adds teasingly.
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It's a relief that Ganymede doesn't get too put out by his vampiric friend doing what's in their nature; otherwise, this friendship would not have lasted. Armand can hide what he is only for so long, and lately, after the mess with Louis and Daniel, he got tired of pretending.
"Ah, it happens to the best of us. Sometimes it's easier to just give up. I'm glad you didn't." He can understand. Armand was, after all, stuck in the old ways when Lestat and he met in Paris and the other man 'enlightened' his coven. He's happy to see Ganymede perfectly blending with society after so long, or they would never have had the chance to meet. "Do you miss anything from the old times?"
The problem with vampires is that, as they grow older, their bodies also change and make them even less human. The resistance against the sun is an advantage for sure. The hardened skin can make them look more like statues than flesh, not so much.
He considers Ganymede's reply and can't find anything but the truth in that statement. The logic behind it is as comforting as the declaration of friendship. Rather than answering immediately, Armand presses himself a little closer to Ganymede, obviously pleased.
"The sentiment goes both ways." He almost playfully adds, 'Don't tell anybody, I have a reputation,' but the kind of reputation Armand has is questionable at best, and they only have a handful of friends in common, so it doesn't matter much.
"We must find them." The exhibits, he means, are now determined in that weird, intense way Armand gets about him when he's excited about something. He wants to know as much about Ganymede as possible; that's how friendship works, right? "A pity, but also that's good, actually. You should get to choose who sees you naked. I'm happy to be one of the lucky ones these days."
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"Sometimes, I do," he answers to the question of whether he misses things: his cheery smile falls a little, gentling as he remembers the things he's gained and lost over the years. "I miss my friends, my lovers. My children. I miss the cities I used to live in--I certainly miss my home. And the music sometimes--it's so loud nowadays, but it's all just noise, not music. I remember when you could hear songs all through towns from people singing as they worked." He loved hearing the busy-ness of people around him, knowing their lives were bright and joyful as his, for however long they both lasted. "I miss the food sometimes--tastes have changed, though I can still get some things the way they used to be made, deep in the middles of the old neighborhoods. But I've gotten to see so many things change--cities grow and merge, and rivers change course, and such industries! I can buy new clothes, from the skin out, and it costs me a fraction of what it used to. Even the expensive ones."
He chuckles and plucks at the button placket of his shirt. "Sometimes...I think I miss the old days, and the pace of the world before clocks were popular and people didn't divide up days and weeks into hours, minutes, seconds. It seems to be so rushed now, but there are trades. Electric lights--I can make my house as bright as noon at midnight, with only the flip of a switch? That's a hell of an exchange."
They make their way towards where the Ancient World exhibits are, and Ganymede seems to straighten his posture, to walk differently when they surround themselves with the gold and rubies and crystals and pearls of the jewelry, the marble statues and reliefs oh-so-carefully preserved or recreated. "I have some of the tiles from the courtyard of the palace where I grew up in a shadowbox. Little glass tiles, they used to make up a sun mosaic around a little fountain."
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He has yet to see Ganymede angry in that icy way that makes it show as terrifyingly calm, but if he did, he would probably find it pretty hot, actually. It's not difficult to find anything Ganymede does attractive; it comes naturally to the man. It's only that Armand is also fond of humans' darker parts; as long as they don't abuse the wrong people, they make them just as fascinating as having a good heart.
Arm wrapped around Ganymede, he gives it a light tug when his friend's smile wavers, understanding all too well that kind of loss. Nothing can really replace certain people, certain places, experiences you wished you had the chance to enjoy one last time, but you know it will never happen. Even the most heartless of vampires or the most casual of immortals suffer from the same affliction.
"I do remember that kind of music, the one that came from the people. The world seemed so much smaller back then, not in a bad way."
He doesn't have proper words of comfort because nothing had ever worked for him either, so he hopes that the proximity helps, that being someone to talk to and lending his ear might soothe the sting of loneliness for the times gone by. He agrees with Ganymede on the matter of clothes and food; they just don't do things the same way anymore, and sometimes it's for the best, and other times it's one less good thing in the world. He does love technology and how it separates and brings people closer at the same time, but it can be that Armand's fondness of it is interwoven with his fond memories of Daniel teaching him how to use all sorts of machines so many decades ago.
"Tell me about your children." Armand says instead, knowing that memories are painful, but thinking of them can also bring up the moments when life felt lighter and kinder. "Please."
He adds it a moment later, as an afterthought, but not unkindly or manipulative. Armand is more blunt when he's not putting up a front, and those happen when he's with people he trusts, hence why he can be a bit curt when asking for things even when he's trying to help. If Ganymede doesn't want to share that part of himself, though, Armand won't ask again.
Once they make it to the Ancient World exhibit, he can see immediately the change of behavior in his companion and can't help the smile poking at the corner of his lips. They should have come here sooner.
"After so many years? That's a good memento to keep. I never got to keep anything that mattered from..." He almost says 'my time in Venice,' but amends at the last moment. "...before. But the memories are enough." Meager as they are, but this isn't about him. Ganymede's arm gets another tug, playfully now.
"To find your inspired art, we should look for people swooning and fanning themselves."
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He hums in agreement to Armand's remembrance that the world seemed smaller, knowing it had. It had been smaller, for a long time when the wilderness between scattered groups of people was still terrifying and untameable, even for cities as great as Rome, and Troy, and Paris. The dark and the unknown had been the masters of travel in more ways than could be easily listed. And sometimes even now they still did. He leans gently into his friend when he's asked to tell more about his children, and he has to think for a moment. "My first child was a little boy--not mine by birth. I remember he wanted to learn to read so badly when he saw me writing something. He'd never seen anyone do it before, he thought it was magic. His name was Azmi, and...he understood at least some of what I was." Few of his children had, even though he couldn't blame them. There was only so much a human, a mortal, could understand. "My only child by blood was a daughter, Melisande. We called her Meli, and...I loved her. She looked so much like me, and she loved to dance if I played music for her. She loved to play, to be happy. I still have her portrait." He's never without it, no matter where or how quickly he has to move. "I've had so many children to raise. Every child deserves someone to love them." It's been an unpopular opinion at many points in time, though he has stood by it.
"The tiles, though...they're the only thing I've ever found that still exists of my home. There are fewer and fewer every time I go back, but these few I have. And they keep me tethered to where I came from." He did not come from Olympus. He will not go back there. But he knows Armand has lived through equally bad--or worse--things, and takes his hand softly, twining their fingers for a moment and squeezing. "Have you ever been back?" he asks, as they round a corner, and Ganymede is faced with an image he never thought he'd see: himself. A restored, frescoed bit of wall with his face on it.
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There's something magical about the sea; Armand would agree with Ganymede. It feels both welcoming and temperamental, calming and treacherous, cruel and kind, and a force of nature—very relatable for someone like him and his odd moods. He had always found it calming to go to the docks and watch the ships set sail (so to speak) or simply sit by and watch them pass in the distance. He was a slave the first time he set foot in a vessel, but that memory is so old that it doesn't stain the joy that ships brings him.
His mind stays in the present; he listens with rapt attention to what Ganymede shares with him about his family.
"Blood doesn't make someone family; it's about making a connection. Your children sound very sweet, and I agree with you. Children should be loved and protected." He is curious now about what Melisande might look like, but that's a level of personal that not even Armand is blunt or rude enough to ask to be shared. He squeezes Ganymede's hand in sympathy for all he had and lost. "I never sired children. I didn't have the chance when I was...not this. I had many brothers when I was in Venice, none of them blood relatives either, but I had always dreamed of raising a family of my own."
Another of those stupid dreams that died when he did. Unlike Louis, he's not selfish or foolish enough to turn a child into an immortal monster simply to scare away the loneliness. There were many issues between Claudia and Armand, and things ended horribly, but the truth is that he pitied her existence. An adult mind stuck like she was in a body that would never satisfy her, trapped in time and cursed to be a bloodthirsty predator...no. He would never do that to a kid. He didn't sire any vampires for that reason.
Until Daniel. But Daniel, damn him, has always been the exception to many things.
"I understand why you treasure them." The tiles might seem like not much to the common man and invaluable to a historian, but to Ganymede, they have a special kind of worth, and Armand sees that. He looks down at their hands and shakes his head briefly. "I don't remember all that much from my time as a human, even less of my time before Venice and Marius."
And what he remembers, he wishes to forget. He for sure doesn't want to think about it now and bring the mood down. Luckily, once they step into the new room, his attention is quickly caught by the fresco.
"Oooh, I wonder who that handsome fellow must be. They really captured your likeness; it's impressive."
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They function on a different timeline, immortal as they are. Days are inconsequential, but the rhythm of the world, natural and immovable and implacable as it is can be soothing in ways that are hard to put to words. The number of times he's sat on a beach near the shipping yards just to watch the container ships crawl by as if in slow motion are many.
And he wanted to respond to that desire to raise a family: Armand still could, it would be perfectly possible and acceptable even now to adopt children. He'd be a good father, Ganymede has few doubts about that. But the response, and all his attention, is momentarily stolen by the fresco--something he hasn't seen in centuries. It's very clearly him, not someone who looks like him, but down to the way he wore his hair, the holes in his ears, the colors he favors. And if he looks mildly terrified by it, he hopes Armand could understand why; he's never seen an existing portrait of him, none existed to his knowledge save for a precious few that were destroyed in the war, or so he thought. He's never come face to face with that before.
"I...where did this come from?" he asks softly, barely above a whisper. He's already getting looks from a few people, two or three in the passing crowd that double-take at his similarity to the art on display. "I've never...there were never pictures of me. Not outside the city, and they were all destroyed." He knows this. He has always known this.
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To be fair, he'd place the same level of importance on both tasks, finding the right shirt —possibly one that bore a little too much chest—and an island suitable to his tastes. Many doors open to you when you're stupidly rich, and like Ganymede, he had many centuries to amass a little fortune. Nothing that will attract too much attention, but Armand also doesn't shy away from the fact that he's loaded and he's going to use that money as he sees fit.
"Excellent. You know how much I love your company. And your input—you have impeccable taste. I'm sure you have a good eye for islands."
Which is a totally normal thing to say and assume from people. It's a strange topic, but probably better than addressing Armand's nonexistent chances at a family. Adopting is an option only if you don't consider that your children will grow old when you're stuck in time, and you'll have to see them suffer and degrade. He wouldn't be able to bear something like that. He tried with Daniel and they both know how it went.
Either way, that topic of conversation is forgotten pretty quickly because, wow, that painting is something else. The person who did it was clearly skilled and had an almost criminal attention to detail. So much so that Armand briefly wonders if they should find a hat or something for Ganymede to wear before someone stares at the painting, then at him, and does a double-take.
"I don't know, but the colors are beautiful, and so is the subject. Perhaps it was recovered and restored fairly recently? or it was part of a private collection." Armand keeps his own tone of voice low so no one overhears and then does a quick mind reading of the room. So far, everyone's sufficiently distracted. "Do you want it back?"
Aka, should he organize a heist? It wouldn't be the strangest or most complicated thing Armand ever orchestrated.
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And he needed it to be hidden if he wanted anything like an easy life.
"This...that is the only image of me as I really was back then," he whispers, watching Armand's reflection in the glass of the case in front of them. "Not like people think, because of the myth." In its many retellings and translations and versions, the story had been sanitized, rewritten, twisted to fit what modern thinkers felt was best to portray of an ancient civilization. Very few of them were accurate, and none were entirely true.
"I don't know if-- But I don't want it here." Here where so many thousands of people could see his face, and would ask questions, and would dig and pry and research, and he knew beyond any doubt that there would be someone, some several dozen someones most likely, who could piecemeal a connection between him and it. And his life--friends, lovers, family who all thought he was normal, a mortal man as any other--would be gone. Even those like Armand who knew what he really was couldn't easily risk being associated with such a bombastic story.
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"You should tell me the reason why you chose them, or if you had a favorite."
Ganymede looks away, but Armand studies the painting some more, his vampire eyes catching on details a normal human might miss, even studying the flow of the paint strokes and their texture. Whoever made this painting did it with purpose and care. The theme and style are different, but he feels as if he's looking at one of Marius's paintings, only for the devotion imbued in it.
He turns away, now also looking at the jewelry set. After Ganymede confirms that he would rather not have his image exposed in one of the most famous museums in the world, it takes Armand less than 10 seconds to decide he's going to steal it.
Not now, but eventually. So he can offer it to his friend, to whom it belongs by virtue of the painting having the man's own face in the painting. That is as special as it is dangerous.
He's already orchestrating a plan when he asks,
"At what time does the museum close?"
It will be easier to do this if he is already inside than to break in during off hours. He'll have to trick the minds of the remaining guards present before the museum closes, then switch the painting for another and leave. There are hi-tech sensors and cameras, of course, but he can move at supernatural speed, and that is no match for the naked eye or for modern technology. Perhaps things will change in the future, but for now, Armand is confident that he could pull it off.
Of course, he won't be saying any of this to Ganymede just in case it goes sideways and to not spoil the surprise if it works as intended. Instead, he tugs gently at Ganymede's hand.
"Let's gets some fresh air. They serve some pretty good cocktails on the Cantor Roof garden bar." They all taste like liquid cardboard to Armand, but Ganymede might appreciate them. And it's better if they don't stay in this room for much longer.
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"I chose them...most of them because I could be alone, and in control of my own life, for however long. However I wanted to live it," he murmurs, purposefully not looking at the fresco again, but turning a fraction to look at Armand. His friend looks steady as ever, face gentle and smooth save for the tiniest furrow between his brows. If Ganymede were paying attention, he'd remark it, but the sight of his own face so properly rendered from so long ago still has him rattled.
There's no artistic license there, no tweaking his face to make his eyes lighter, his lips thinner, his nose less. And what that means--that someone knew him, that someone knew what he looked like when he was mortal, and marked it down--is terrifying. The implications are even more so. So when Armand suggests they leave the art and go get a drink, he smiles.
"It tastes awful for you, I know," he says lightly, a small smile touching his face as he laces their fingers together and squeezes at the tug. "This place closes at nine, every day but Sunday. Five on Sundays. Why?" he asks.
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"We could visit it one day if you are in the mood. You can play host." When one lives as long as they do, there's an infinity of time to make plans. When Armand says 'one day,' it can be either within the next days or the next decades. Ganymede's reasoning has Armand nodding lightly in approval, smiling.
"It's a good sentiment. And see, that's exactly why I want to go island shopping too." It took him a long time to realize that the home he had in Dubai wasn't really a home at all, that things were falling apart long before Daniel entered the picture. He's still bitter about how everything ended between Louis and him, but it was doomed to fall from the start.
Only an idiot would miss how affected Ganymede is by the painting, and Armand is quick to redirect him out of the room and toward the nearest elevator once his friend agrees. He keeps their hands entwined together, and she shrugs at the remark, acknowledging the truth of the statement but making it clear he's gotten used to it.
"I can still smoke. Nicotine does nothing for me, but I still enjoy it. And no reason, really. I just wanted to know how long we have left before they kick us out."
The sun has started to set by the time they go out, and it makes Armand realize that they really lost track of time when they were chatting and watching the first paintings. Ah, nothing like surrounding yourself with art and forgetting about everything else. However, there's still an hour before the MET closes, and that gives them plenty of tiem for both have a drink and to later be somewhere else when the painting eventually disappears. The bar is busy with both local visitors and tourists alike, but Armand can get anyone's attention pretty quickly, and that obviously includes the bartender.
"What are you in the mood for, G?"
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Ganymede smiles at the idea of the museum kicking them out--as if they could, given both of their skill sets. If Ganymede can't get them to reconsider, Armand can. But they'll play nice for a little while longer. "You might like the cigarettes I have, then," he murmurs. "They're...technically tobacco," Ganymede clarifies. They're also technically something a hell of a lot stronger, and that hasn't been popular since the 1700s, but he still likes it. It's hard to get addicted to anything for him, no matter what it is or how he tries it.
"I think...I'm in the mood for something dark. But sweet," he amends with a little smile at his friend. "Maybe with some bite."
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Young vampires need the blood often and feel the thirst with more intensity because their bodies are slowly growing used to their new nature. After 500 years, Armand is beyond having to suffer the disadvantage, but he does enjoy a good meal. Or freeing the world of the scum it won't miss.
The museum could never kick them out, no, but Armand will try to get Ganymede out of it before it closes so he can later come to collect the painting and meet with his friend again. With some luck, he won't have to try too hard to convince the other man that he needs to excuse himself for half an hour.
"A generous offer, G. I do enjoy these kinds of technicalities, thank you."
He won't say no to trying pretty much anything. What's the worst that could happen? It's not as if drugs could get him addicted or tobacco could give him a pulmonary disease. In that regard, both Ganymede and he are very lucky.
Armand leans in to gently assault Ganymede's personal space, pressing himself close to the other man and tilting his head, sharp gaze meeting the other man's eyes before flicking briefly to his mouth and then back up.
"Is that so? Well, who am I to deny you anything you want? I live to please."
He also lives to cause mischief and trouble, but that's neither here nor there. And Ganymede might enjoy the kind of trouble Armand brings to his doorstep anyway.
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Once they step out onto the balcony in the open air, the weight and compression of having seen his own face staring back at him seems to lessen, and he pulls a slim cigarette case out of his pocket, offering it out. The cigarettes inside are very clearly hand-rolled and a faintly sweet smell comes with them: matches are lit with a neat little one-handed trick, offering the flame out. Ganymede relaxes slowly, entirely, once the first thin ripple of smoke passes through his lips, and he tosses his head just in time to see Armand come up close, head tilting.
He tilts his own the other way out of habit, staring into those captivatingly sunset-orange eyes, leaning in without realizing it until Armand looks back up to his eyes, when he almost loses his balance and takes a tiny half-step forward to catch himself. "Oh," he laughs, absolutely amused at the easy play, "You live for far more than that."
Ganymede glances out to make sure no one is directly looking at them before he tugs Armand in for a playful, short kiss, laughing as they separate again.
"Like that."
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"We both know that we don't always need one to do...what we feel like doing." Any flat surface is good enough for him, and sometimes not even that. Armand has never been too picky about comfortable sex or whatnot, often by necessity, but with Ganymede, he simply knows he can be playful.
For what it is worth, yes, he could read the other man's thoughts as easily as skimming a newspaper's cover, but because he respects Ganymede and enjoys being surprised by his inputs, Armand mostly stays out of his head. Sometimes humans simply project thoughts and emotions, thinking things out loud even if they don't realize it. It happens more often when they're angry, upset, or excited.
Or in this case, when they are relieved to be away from a painting.
He takes the offered cigarette wordlessly but with a small nod of gratitude, and his enhanced senses let him appreciate the smell of its components even now when the cigarette is still unlit. It doesn't stay that way for long, and Armand appreciates the smell even more once it's Ganymede exhaling it. He doesn't immediately bring his cigarette to his lips because he wants a different taste first.
Their eyes met, and it would be impossible to miss the amusement in Armand's at Ganymede's, well, everything. The man's just so fascinating, for a human. But he's much more than that, of course.
"Perhaps I do. Can you blame me?" It's said with a grin and not an ounce of shame, but with a small degree of reverence. It's a rare thing to even get to understand a creature like Armand, let alone be someone he cares so much about. And oh, how much Armand enjoys getting his way—in this case, that involved a kiss.
He's still grinning when they separate and makes himself comfortable next to Ganymede's side so they can both watch the rest of the visitors here for a moment before going to get a drink.
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"I don't think I can blame you for much of anything," he says to that question, and Ganymede finds the reverence from Armand easier to take, somehow; perhaps knowing his age, and knowing how many truly impressive people he's known make that easier. But it is a rare person indeed that Ganymede can stand any of that from. He doesn't pull away after they've separated from the kiss, gentle as it was, and he leans back comfortably against the balustrade, settling into his friend's side. "I love seeing that smile," he confesses, letting the breeze flirt with the hairs around his face tugged loose from his braid and brushing his thumbnail thoughtfully over the end of his cigarette. Ganymede can't imagine not doing almost everything in his power to see it more often.
"Tell me what you're thinking about right now."
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He means the coffin, of course. Armand still keeps one around, but it's really more for sentimentality’s sake than anything else. He has mixed feelings about it and the partners he shared the coffin with in the past, which is why he doesn't bring it up as often as other vampires might.
He could not blame Ganymede for wanting someplace warm to lie on, especially considering how not warm Armand is unless he has recently fed on someone. Young Daniel had complained about that on occasion, he remembers.
"Oh you could blame me for plenty of things, reasonable or not. It's almost a hobby for some." He sounds a bit more bitter than he wanted, but that's what thinking about Daniel does to Armand when he doesn't check himself. He lets that bitterness go; Ganymede doesn't deserve it, and adds, more amicably.
"But I know you would not, because you're far too kind and have the patience of a saint. May that never change."
He is not accustomed to having a loyal friend, you see. Not since he was very young and living with the other boys in Marius' palazzo. It's something that feels so impossible; Armand had honestly stopped trying. Maybe that's why it is affecting him so much now, and why he is so pleased by Ganymede's settling comfortably next to him.
"Thanks. I want to do things that please you." Armand has yet to take a drag of his cigarette, but he has more wonderful things to focus on.
"I'm thinking that I should get you that drink you wanted, and later, once we're done here, I'd like for us to go for a walk. How about an evening stroll through Brooklyn Heights?
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It is the nature of being like them, of having a longer-than-human lifespan. One of the many exchanges neither of them were ever told about.
"You do that already, though you don't have to. You are my friend whether or not something pleases me. We are both adults--I am far and away too old to be playing such childish games as that." And he means it; his liking Armand isn't dependent on the vampire treading some sort of line to keep himself in check and ensure favor. Ganymede finds that sort of existence tedious at best, and mind-numbingly awful at worst. "I'd like taking a walk with you. Just a stroll?" he asks. "Two old men on a free evening?"
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"My life span is, but a drop in the ocean compared to yours, but I see your point." They're both too old for judgment and wasting time on petty resentments or accusations.
Armand leans into the brush against his jaw, always hungry for even the smallest touch when it's sincere. Ganymede is often a light in the darkness, a miracle in itself that it had not diminished in brightness or snuffed out during all those years, and Armand wants to help keep him that way. Another reason why he's so determined to get his hands on the man's painting.
"You would be surprised how many centuries-old men I had to deal with that behaved like children. Maturity is certainly not a matter of age. It's why it's so refreshing to be with you. Also why I am sure you'd hate Lestat."
Enough of delayed gratification, Armand brings his cigs to his lips, then tilts his head to the side and exhales slowly, eyes closed as he listens to this friend. When he looks at Ganymede again, his smile is as honest as it gets.
"Two old men on a free evening, yes. I have a surprise for you too, but that will have to wait until later." And before Ganymede even thinks to ask what it could be, Armand brushes their free hands together and gives them a squeeze. "I'll go get your drink." Don't let the admirers distract you too much."
And with that, Armand grins and leaves. There are people already glancing at them from time to time; Ganymede's a very handsome man, after all, and Armand can read minds. He knows these things are inevitable.
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"You know, one day I will have to meet that man, just to see what he's like," Ganymede chuckles. "I've heard a decent amount about him, but never from the man himself." He's got opinions on what he's heard, yes, and he values Armand as an honest friend: so it's likely he will have at least a few issues with Lestat, but currently all of it's unfounded. "Oh--"
He can't help the little unfettered laugh when Armand leaves him to get his drink, and though he knows there are people staring at him, hoping he'll look their way, though he has eyes for no one but his friend right now. Ganymede loves easily, he knows that, but there's something about having a kinship with someone who understands--who knows personally what life has done to them--that touches him quite deeply. And there's relief as well, because whille he knows he may well lose Armand to something, it won't be simply time. He doesn't feel the tug of it like sand through an hourglass the way he does with mortals.
"I started to wonder if you were coming back," he murmured in gentle teasing once Armand returned, turning his hand out in offer to hold his friend's.
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He scrunches his nose at the idea of seeing Lestat ever again, even if Ganymede's laugh is always pleasant to his ears.
"Do not. He has a way to get into people's heads and charm his way out of any problem he himself created."
Not unlike Armand himself, this is absolutely a pot-calling-the-kettle-black situation, but Armand is purposely ignoring the blatant hypocrisy of his reply. He can't help but worry that Lestat's charm, which had caused him no small amount of issues because Armand himself isn't immune to it, will cost him to lose another friend, another companion. Ganymede might not lose Armand to time, but he might want him out of his life if Lestat brought up just how many ways Armand is monstrous.
He's by the bar in only a few strides, using his powers to get the bartender's attention over the rest of the people waiting their turn, and returning to Ganymede's side with two drinks. His wine is mostly to keep up appearances of normality, but Ganymede's drink is one of his favorite ones.
"Oh, sweetheart, I can never part with you for long." He places the drink on the nearby railing with a smile and reaches out to squeeze the offered hand. His expression sobers up a little after a moment, and he adds, because he can't not help it. "I know Lestat might seems like a fascinating subject of conversation to those who had never had the misfortune of meeting him directly. I am also aware that my own opinions about him might be a little biased. But if you have questions about him, I might answer them."
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And Lestat appears to be one of them, judging by the subtle shifts on his companion's face at bringing up the possibility of meeting him. "I don't mean to upset you in saying that, you know. I like meeting people, and largely...they are only people, despite all our individual quirks." He considers Armand and Daniel slightly apart, yes, but that's more because he personally likes them, less because they're both vampires. He has no interest in interrogating anyone to dig up unsavory things from the past--if he did it to himself, he'd hate it. He won't to someone else, not without a very compelling reason. "He seems like an interesting man, that's all. Whether that is for more than a passing moment remains to be seen." And there are many, many people that are only interesting for a moment: a day, a night, a week. And Ganymede loses interest.
He is aware, uncomfortably so sometimes, that he is a mercurial sort. He wants what he wants, and sometimes he doesn't want to exercise more patience than he already does to get it. "Do you think my head would be so easily turned?" he asks, sipping his drink as he twines their fingers together in reassurance, looking out at the crowd. "I told you once I value your company for many reasons, love. None of them are so shallow as I think you fear."
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This isn't Armand trying to deflect the subject for once; this time it's a promise. Ganymede knew a few things about his past and how he had lived in Venice, but Armand kept the other, more gruesome details to himself, including his age back then and what happened before he was found by Marius. And especially after the Children of Satan found them. After all, how do you say to someone, 'The last person I considered my best friend died by my hand'? Or rather, his fangs. Blinding thirst after being locked up didn't leave Armand with any rational mind back then, but he still
He's not ready to tell Ganymede everything, but he trusts the man enough to honor all the offered affection with some returned honesty.
"Yes, I know, G. I'm not angry at you. I think that I am mostly angry at myself."
Lestat has always been and always will be a touchy subject. Part of Armand will always feel affection towards the man; it's like trying to get clean from a drug. You try to ignore the pull, sometimes remembering how good it made you feel, which is instantly followed by all the unpleasant things that happened after, and yet you long for some of it.
The other part of Armand wants Lestat's head on a spike.
Complicated doesn't 'even begin to explain what these two have had going on for more than a hundred years.
"Besides, I can't control who you decide to hang out with, even if they're bad influences." Such as himself, Armand means this time, showing a little fang as he grins. "Lestat does have some wild, interesting stories to tell, especially about himself. He is his own favorite subject of conversation. Just be careful if you ever meet him. He might look like an angel, but he's more like the serpent in the Garden of Eden."
And now he's being dramatic. Count on Lestat to bring that out of Armand even when he isn't present. Personal issues aside, he understands why Ganymede might want to meet other immortals; there is a degree of understanding about their existence that you can't get with normal humans.
"No, you've lived too much and know far better, but it's just..." And then Armand's voice falters, and he frowns, not exactly sure where the line wanted to end despite his determined first 'no.' Because Armand knows Ganymede is smarter than that, that he has a good eye for seeing people's true nature, and the heart to decide if they are worthy or not...but Armand also knows that there's something truly magnetic about Lestat that defies all logic.
It's hard to believe anyone would pick Armand over him, even for a friendship. Louis sure didn't, nor did anyone else. Even Daniel, who should know better after everything Louis told him about the blond, should know better than to go near him, and yet Armand is sure that Molloy's curiosity won't 'ever be sated until he can talk to Lestat.
He shakes his head.
"You're right. And pondering about what ifs is wasting time."
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It's hearing him describe Lestat as a snake in the garden that makes him chuckle just a little, fingers squeezing. "You know, I've heard myself spoken of just about the same way," he murmurs, shaking his head. He feels much the same way about Zeus as Armand does about Lestat: he's had enough dealings with the man to know no good will come of it. Ganymede can't help but think of the phantom feel of fingers in his hair, however securely it has been braided all day, or the thoughtless caresses that had never seemed anything but possessive, as if they'd all needed to remind themselves--and him--that he was an object of affection.
But an object nonetheless.
And still, he knows the thoughts he can all but hear echoing behind Armand's face--he understands. The pervasive, insidious idea that they are not enough, despite all evidence to the contrary, is difficult to quiet, and impossible to silence. Ganymede has lived with that voice ever-present in him for millennia, and the unceasing repetition has left him with many of the same problems as Armand. It is one of the many commonalities that drew him to the vampire in the hope that they might be close enough that their loneliness could be relieved. Just for a little while.
He finishes his drink, not bothering to pretend it's going to affect him, and shifts until his arm is pressed to Armand's from shoulder to wrist, affectionate and companionable. He does like the man. "No, I know. It just," he agrees, with the tone that says he truly does know, and no other words are necessary. "So why Brooklyn Heights?"
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That's why the whole issue with Danniel right now is even harder to deal with than Lestat. Lestat, at least Armand can manage to ignore for the most part. His fledgling, not so much. He can't even hear Danniel's thoughts anymore, and it's the part that drives Armadn up the walls. He's doing Ganymede a disservice thinking about past partners and whatnot when his good friend is the one keeping him company, and he decides to focus instead on the man and his lovely laugh.
"Tell me who was so unkind as to call you that, and I'll make them pay for it. Provided that they're still around and have now been underground for, let's say, a few centuries by now. If it's the latter case, it might be trickier, but I could manage."
The last bit is a joke, but given how there are witches and ghosts in this world, finding ways to torture a bastard's soul might be possible with the correct motivations. Of course, Armand can make a few polite assumptions about what sort of person might say these things about Ganymedes. And granted, gods above are trickier to punish for their selfie misdeeds; it's why so many get away with them, but there must be a way still.
He enjoys the cigarette as Ganymede finishes the drink, briefly studying their surroundings and keeping track of time to make sure he can time their departure from the museum correctly so he can move in to grab the painting. He smiles, taken aback by Ganymedes' so easily offered affection - part of him always will be- and looks at the other man with appreciation. He feels seen and understood, and that's rare. Instead of saying anything, Armand nods and presses himself a little closer.
"It's a nice place at night. I like the views of the city" And it's far away from the museum, so it makes for a good alibi about where they would be at the time of the theft if, for whatever reason, anyone came investigating in the future. "I'm an old man; sometimes I just want to look at the beauty in the world." He made a show of staring at Ganymede up and down and grinning. "But if you want to go somewhere else, we can change our plans."