Truthfully, Armand may not have minded if they were. Five hundred years is plenty of time for perversions of the flesh, as much as he lives a quiet and relatively domestic life these days. He stops when John does, obedient, though there's a brief spark of mischief in his gaze.

"And what of you, beloved father? Master of Death?" He takes a slow, deliberate step closer. Lets the gift blossom between them, an enhancement of his words, making them seductive, ensorcelling. "Are you having a good time?"