shit-talking the glitterati

[the_cupbearer]

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?"

Comments

[inamabilis]

At this point, he doesn't know if whatever exists between Lestat and him can be savaged, and he also doesn't know if he wants it. There's too much bad blood between them, literal and figurative, but there's also kinship. Just like Ganymede was thinking when he first mentioned an interest in meeting Lestat, his kinship with Armand is the kind you can only find in those who have lived similar experiences or for as long as you have.

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."