[ It's mechanical, how he undresses and begins assembling the outfit. It feels strange to be wearing modern underwear in the place of loose braies or at the very least a shift, but he ties his garters and tucks in his shirt and slips on the shoes like it hasn't been several hundred since the last time he did so. The breeches are tight, the cut emphasising his thighs, the waistcoat making his torso look long and narrow. He slips the buttons, tugs at the lace cuffs and ties the silk at his throat with only a moments pause to recall the particular fashion.
It's only when he's pulling on the coat that he finally looks at the mirror and Armand can't help but stare at himself. Never had he been allowed this level of Vanity, not during this era - such a wasted age - so he's never seen himself like this. In Venice yes, dressed in the best of everything, the little prince in his fine blue doublet and hose, but never this Parisian flair, never once. He swallows, nervous, wide eyed, settles the coat into place and tugs his cuffs, his shirt, then stares some more. The flowers have him enchanted, the way the colours bring out the copper in his hair, the gold making his eyes less dark..
Lost for only a moment, before Armand shakes his head, hair settling in waves about his shoulders - lacking any ribbon to hold it back - and steps out to be assessed by his fellows. It's a daunting feeling, but perhaps now he is less an urchin, less the little prince and more the master vampire he should have been, that first meeting with Lestat so many years ago. With that in mind, his movements are smooth, comfortable, the outfit sitting easily on his frame as he looks from one to the other, head tilted in question. ]
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It's only when he's pulling on the coat that he finally looks at the mirror and Armand can't help but stare at himself. Never had he been allowed this level of Vanity, not during this era - such a wasted age - so he's never seen himself like this. In Venice yes, dressed in the best of everything, the little prince in his fine blue doublet and hose, but never this Parisian flair, never once. He swallows, nervous, wide eyed, settles the coat into place and tugs his cuffs, his shirt, then stares some more. The flowers have him enchanted, the way the colours bring out the copper in his hair, the gold making his eyes less dark..
Lost for only a moment, before Armand shakes his head, hair settling in waves about his shoulders - lacking any ribbon to hold it back - and steps out to be assessed by his fellows. It's a daunting feeling, but perhaps now he is less an urchin, less the little prince and more the master vampire he should have been, that first meeting with Lestat so many years ago. With that in mind, his movements are smooth, comfortable, the outfit sitting easily on his frame as he looks from one to the other, head tilted in question. ]
..Well then, shall we?