[ Alone in the dorm room, crying, gasping for breath, Armand stands in the middle of the floor and shakes. Futilely, he covers his ears with his hands, as if he can keep out the panic, the pain, the emotions he has so very little control of. He wants to wail and pound his fists a the wall, run until his body gives out, do anything to stop the dreadful sounds being pulled from his throat.
If he were mortal, he'd be light headed by now, well on his way to collapse, each breath too short, too shallow, interrupted only by sobs and his own broken noises. He falls to a crouch, drawn in on himself and biting back a pained cry as the movement pulls at his torn back.
It's quieter here at least, the shades barred from the room by some miracle, though he can here them howling and clawing at the door. Armand squeezes his eyes shut, presses his hands tighter against the noise outside and tries to remember what he should do, how he should weather this and it's there, it's Daniel, on his knees in front of him, years ago now - the first time - panicked for a moment, but then talking to him, talking him through the physiological response.
"Hey-- Hey. Armand? C'mon, you've gotta breathe-- I know you don't, but just-- Look, follow me- Hey, focus on me, on how I'm breathing, okay?"
Slow, steady, held in the middle, out, repeat. He'd always paid so much attention to Daniel's humanity, all of his functions, it felt so simple to focus in that moment, even as his body fought him, to do as bid. Each time after, it was easier, but Daniel had always been there then and now he's not--
Armand swallows hard against the thought, desperately clings to the vision, to the pattern of breath "You've got this, boss that's it.." trying to let the tension leave him with each exhale, to quell the panic...And, he does. He breathes through it, disjointed, clumsy, but he replays the memory over and over, following it dutifully and eventually he's in tentative control of his own lungs once more.
Slowly, Armand shifts to stand, only the stumble sideways and back - legs weak feeling - to land sitting on the narrow bed behind him. He flails out a hand as he does so, fingers catching on something silky soft and it's only then does he have the awareness to truly take in his surroundings. It's a plain room, comprised of the bed he's sitting on, a desk and chair directly beside it, some shelves, a closet. But it's as if a whirlwind has passed through. There are items scattered around and writing across the walls, the surfaces, messages that make little sense to him...until he looks at the desk.
Sitting right on the edge is a small bear with golden fur, wearing a faded tee shirt that reads 'I <3 Coney Island' and a pair of silver rimmed spectacles perched on his head. The glasses are human sized, comically large looking on the bears head and Armand's entire body gives a lurch in recognition. "Guess I won't be needing these anymore. Hold onto them, wont you, Bearson?" Tentatively, he reaches out, lifting the bear as if it will break, fearing covering it in his own blood, but unable to leave it there for a moment longer. It's real, familiar in his arms and fresh tears flood his eyes as he carefully turns it in his hands.
Desperate for a reason, an answer, Armand casts about, scanning the room, the writing, but it's there right next to where the bear was sitting - impossible to miss, to not recognise that practiced, dear hand - written in black permanent marker:
Armand, where are you...Do I still please you?
And it's as if it's the first time it's occurred to him - have they been taken wholesale from their own worlds? Is this an echo, is Daniel there, new born and seemingly abandoned? Dear god, please say it isn't the case. Armand clutches the bear to his chest then, folding in on himself as he cries harder, heart in a vice at the thought of Daniel alone, doubting, his firstborn, his beloved. This place, this hell, they've all been lured, made like docile lambs - even him - and the frustration, the longing all pours out of him, second only to the pain of his wounds as he bleeds all over the little bed.
He barely hears Lestat, barely registers that he's no longer alone, but Lestat has always been impossible to ignore and Armand covers his mouth to quiet his sobs, trying to contain himself before his kin, but it's futile. ]
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If he were mortal, he'd be light headed by now, well on his way to collapse, each breath too short, too shallow, interrupted only by sobs and his own broken noises. He falls to a crouch, drawn in on himself and biting back a pained cry as the movement pulls at his torn back.
It's quieter here at least, the shades barred from the room by some miracle, though he can here them howling and clawing at the door. Armand squeezes his eyes shut, presses his hands tighter against the noise outside and tries to remember what he should do, how he should weather this and it's there, it's Daniel, on his knees in front of him, years ago now - the first time - panicked for a moment, but then talking to him, talking him through the physiological response.
"Hey-- Hey. Armand? C'mon, you've gotta breathe-- I know you don't, but just-- Look, follow me- Hey, focus on me, on how I'm breathing, okay?"
Slow, steady, held in the middle, out, repeat. He'd always paid so much attention to Daniel's humanity, all of his functions, it felt so simple to focus in that moment, even as his body fought him, to do as bid. Each time after, it was easier, but Daniel had always been there then and now he's not--
Armand swallows hard against the thought, desperately clings to the vision, to the pattern of breath "You've got this, boss that's it.." trying to let the tension leave him with each exhale, to quell the panic...And, he does. He breathes through it, disjointed, clumsy, but he replays the memory over and over, following it dutifully and eventually he's in tentative control of his own lungs once more.
Slowly, Armand shifts to stand, only the stumble sideways and back - legs weak feeling - to land sitting on the narrow bed behind him. He flails out a hand as he does so, fingers catching on something silky soft and it's only then does he have the awareness to truly take in his surroundings. It's a plain room, comprised of the bed he's sitting on, a desk and chair directly beside it, some shelves, a closet. But it's as if a whirlwind has passed through. There are items scattered around and writing across the walls, the surfaces, messages that make little sense to him...until he looks at the desk.
Sitting right on the edge is a small bear with golden fur, wearing a faded tee shirt that reads 'I <3 Coney Island' and a pair of silver rimmed spectacles perched on his head. The glasses are human sized, comically large looking on the bears head and Armand's entire body gives a lurch in recognition. "Guess I won't be needing these anymore. Hold onto them, wont you, Bearson?" Tentatively, he reaches out, lifting the bear as if it will break, fearing covering it in his own blood, but unable to leave it there for a moment longer. It's real, familiar in his arms and fresh tears flood his eyes as he carefully turns it in his hands.
Desperate for a reason, an answer, Armand casts about, scanning the room, the writing, but it's there right next to where the bear was sitting - impossible to miss, to not recognise that practiced, dear hand - written in black permanent marker:
Armand, where are you...Do I still please you?
And it's as if it's the first time it's occurred to him - have they been taken wholesale from their own worlds? Is this an echo, is Daniel there, new born and seemingly abandoned? Dear god, please say it isn't the case. Armand clutches the bear to his chest then, folding in on himself as he cries harder, heart in a vice at the thought of Daniel alone, doubting, his firstborn, his beloved.
This place, this hell, they've all been lured, made like docile lambs - even him - and the frustration, the longing all pours out of him, second only to the pain of his wounds as he bleeds all over the little bed.
He barely hears Lestat, barely registers that he's no longer alone, but Lestat has always been impossible to ignore and Armand covers his mouth to quiet his sobs, trying to contain himself before his kin, but it's futile. ]