Daniel wants to believe he's upset him, so that's what he sees in that sorrowful gaze, and he doesn't feel bad about it in the slightest.
After a few moments with his thoughts he also hauls to his feet and starts to search the study for something to write on and with, settles back in his seat with a fresh glass of brandy and tries to process what he's feeling in the only way he knows how.
He's hungover the next morning at breakfast, dips toast soldiers into his boiled egg like a spoiled British child and ignores all attempts at conversation; he's not the only one, more than a few people are all avoiding each other's eyes. Maybe writing about torrid gay vampire affairs has awoken the tabloid journalist in him, because he finds himself taking an interest in that shit, the petty relationships between the youths, real Red Top, Page Three kinda stuff. One girl oblivates at length about her dream where she was made of cake and someone ate her.
Daniel also has dreams of being eaten, in between the restless pain sweats. He doesn't see Armand again for a few days, which feels like a longer time than it is. He keeps turning over his feelings like a worry stone; but he's also starting to discover it's not just that the UK is backwards as hell. Trying to search stuff on the internet ("late life gay feelings" "age difference gay relationship issues") pretty quickly demonstrates everything feels back at the start of the millennium.
Getting to the bottom of this is the perfect excuse to bury all his awakening memories and feelings and the burgeoning concern that he might get really sick in this fucking place, and refuse to think about them. So Armand can watch as he turns social, chatting with the other people stuck here (now sources) and ambles about the manor and its surrounds looking for clues. Listening to a Spice Girls CD very seriously. Walking up and down way too many stairs for a guy in his condition. And then one morning, early, fully dressed in a black tshirt and golf pants, waiting by the pool when Armand finishes his rigorously scheduled swim.
no subject
After a few moments with his thoughts he also hauls to his feet and starts to search the study for something to write on and with, settles back in his seat with a fresh glass of brandy and tries to process what he's feeling in the only way he knows how.
He's hungover the next morning at breakfast, dips toast soldiers into his boiled egg like a spoiled British child and ignores all attempts at conversation; he's not the only one, more than a few people are all avoiding each other's eyes. Maybe writing about torrid gay vampire affairs has awoken the tabloid journalist in him, because he finds himself taking an interest in that shit, the petty relationships between the youths, real Red Top, Page Three kinda stuff. One girl oblivates at length about her dream where she was made of cake and someone ate her.
Daniel also has dreams of being eaten, in between the restless pain sweats. He doesn't see Armand again for a few days, which feels like a longer time than it is. He keeps turning over his feelings like a worry stone; but he's also starting to discover it's not just that the UK is backwards as hell. Trying to search stuff on the internet ("late life gay feelings" "age difference gay relationship issues") pretty quickly demonstrates everything feels back at the start of the millennium.
Getting to the bottom of this is the perfect excuse to bury all his awakening memories and feelings and the burgeoning concern that he might get really sick in this fucking place, and refuse to think about them. So Armand can watch as he turns social, chatting with the other people stuck here (now sources) and ambles about the manor and its surrounds looking for clues. Listening to a Spice Girls CD very seriously. Walking up and down way too many stairs for a guy in his condition. And then one morning, early, fully dressed in a black tshirt and golf pants, waiting by the pool when Armand finishes his rigorously scheduled swim.