[ set's never cared about innocence or guilt; he is not the arbiter of justice, after all — only the one who sees to defend armand when the mob rises against him again and again, or would hide the evidence if he were rightfully accused.
he falters — feeling fragile and off balance as he has since he became guardian. ]
Are you... upset with me? You asked. You know I do not lie.
Armand, you — know me by now, right? That my loyalties are to you. That I cleave to you, and would blind myself to anything you do. Now, and always.
I don't doubt you, Lord. Only myself. That I would seek to be believed in this game of deception. That even my gods doubt me. But I remind myself that you are a god, perhaps you see something in me that I cannot see in myself. And now I'm afraid that the collar around my throat is not the only thing leashing me to this place. That I'm a slave to their violence. A playing piece for someone else's amusement.
You know I've been a slave before, Lord. I don't relish the idea of becoming one again.
[ no you can't <3 because that's who you are and set's also annoyingly persistent
He hunts Armand down, with the energy of someone greatly pleased ( overjoyed, even falsely ), a small bowl containing herbs, steeping in heated water and cloth strips draped over the side — soaking up the mixture. The moment he spots the vampire's dear little face, he swoops in to press a fond kiss to his temple. Fearless and doting. ]
I only wanted you to know, as I did not think you did — that I have been in your place, too. Made into entertainment at the hands of others.
[ ( he can't express to what extent, and prays armand believes it to be something akin to bloodsport, to being made to fight. not to being placed on display — a "beauty unparalleled" — before the cruel eyes and hands and bodies of men. )
The basin goes to Armand's hands, where set begins to wrap his fingers around it to hold. For your injuries, former fleshworker, he murmurs playfully, an unimportant aside. What's more important to him is toying with Armand's curls, winding a hand underneath his jaw to elevate it — nigh proudly. ]
What I ask or do or say to you — it is not proof of doubt. That would mean that looking upon your "potential" defines how I would treat you now or later. Your innocence or guilt are of no consequence to me, as they do not make you the "Armand" that I admire. Your very nature does. It is the same as mine, and that is one of the greatest comforts... to not be alone, in all of this. Do you understand?
[ When Set discovered him, Armand had been sitting on the stoop of the little house that Louis and Lestat share, smoking a cigarette. He rises to meet him, taking the warm bowl into his hands, eyelids shuttering in grateful supplication as Set reaches for him with those warm, beloved touches. ]
I understand, Lord. [ He says it softly, holding Set's gaze, his own eyes coppery and sad. ]
I'm glad to be able to bring you comfort. To be admired by you. To be under your merciful protection.
You offer much to me. And collared as I am, I return little.
[ part of him fears armand's submission, because of his own experiences. some other, darker part, wants to see how far he can press until it hurts, until he protests. would he? ]
I want you to make this game yours, Armand. And I would like you to revel in victory, to spite the collar you wear and because you have my favor. A man like you... sometimes I wish I could be more like that.
[ The confession is a precious thing, a god's vulnerability handed to him. Armand takes it with reverence, turning his head slightly into Set's touch, closing his eyes briefly as he seeks the warm curve of his palm against his cheek. ]
You honour me far beyond that which I've earned. [ His eyes open, looking at Set with welling sorrow. ] But you're mistaken. I haven't been a man worth admiring for hundreds of years. I've allowed doubts and lies into my home. I have.. hurt those I love. And here.. I don't even have the Dark Gifts to bolster me. I'm not sure that I can secure the victory you desire for me.
[ He covets the sweet angle of Armand's jaw, thumbing across the plane of his cheek. The sorrow in his eyes does little more than entice him, urging him to see how far Armand will cultivate himself in this moment. ( Even if Set, like him, wishes to be believed more than anything. ) ]
I would not admire you without those things. The manipulations, the lies. Even the hurt you cause — this is the you that I know, and choose to support. Hear that much. You may hurt, lie, cheat, scheme, murder, and covet to your heart's content and still have me. Only try your best to win, at all cost. I will not forgive you, if you do not try your best.
[ A difficult burden to carry, victory at any cost, but one that's also strangely freeing. Difficult to get used to living in service for a god who doesn't demand absolution, who doesn't care to hear his apologies, whose grand mythology isn't steeped in original sin, only the red pleasure of existence. The clash of war -- and what is love, if not another battle?
Armand leans into it, unable to help himself. His eyelashes flutter in submission. ]
I hear it, Lord. I'll do my best, with your favour on me.
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no subject
he falters — feeling fragile and off balance as he has since he became guardian. ]
Are you... upset with me? You asked. You know I do not lie.
Armand, you — know me by now, right? That my loyalties are to you. That I cleave to you, and would blind myself to anything you do. Now, and always.
no subject
You know I've been a slave before, Lord. I don't relish the idea of becoming one again.
no subject
May I see you? I would have you look in my eyes, when I tell you this. Written language ill-suffices.
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no subject
He hunts Armand down, with the energy of someone greatly pleased ( overjoyed, even falsely ), a small bowl containing herbs, steeping in heated water and cloth strips draped over the side — soaking up the mixture. The moment he spots the vampire's dear little face, he swoops in to press a fond kiss to his temple. Fearless and doting. ]
I only wanted you to know, as I did not think you did — that I have been in your place, too. Made into entertainment at the hands of others.
[ ( he can't express to what extent, and prays armand believes it to be something akin to bloodsport, to being made to fight. not to being placed on display — a "beauty unparalleled" — before the cruel eyes and hands and bodies of men. )
The basin goes to Armand's hands, where set begins to wrap his fingers around it to hold. For your injuries, former fleshworker, he murmurs playfully, an unimportant aside. What's more important to him is toying with Armand's curls, winding a hand underneath his jaw to elevate it — nigh proudly. ]
What I ask or do or say to you — it is not proof of doubt. That would mean that looking upon your "potential" defines how I would treat you now or later. Your innocence or guilt are of no consequence to me, as they do not make you the "Armand" that I admire. Your very nature does. It is the same as mine, and that is one of the greatest comforts... to not be alone, in all of this. Do you understand?
no subject
I understand, Lord. [ He says it softly, holding Set's gaze, his own eyes coppery and sad. ]
I'm glad to be able to bring you comfort. To be admired by you. To be under your merciful protection.
no subject
[ part of him fears armand's submission, because of his own experiences. some other, darker part, wants to see how far he can press until it hurts, until he protests. would he? ]
I want you to make this game yours, Armand. And I would like you to revel in victory, to spite the collar you wear and because you have my favor. A man like you... sometimes I wish I could be more like that.
no subject
You honour me far beyond that which I've earned. [ His eyes open, looking at Set with welling sorrow. ] But you're mistaken. I haven't been a man worth admiring for hundreds of years. I've allowed doubts and lies into my home. I have.. hurt those I love. And here.. I don't even have the Dark Gifts to bolster me. I'm not sure that I can secure the victory you desire for me.
wow this was the perfect bittersweet montage
[ He covets the sweet angle of Armand's jaw, thumbing across the plane of his cheek. The sorrow in his eyes does little more than entice him, urging him to see how far Armand will cultivate himself in this moment. ( Even if Set, like him, wishes to be believed more than anything. ) ]
I would not admire you without those things. The manipulations, the lies. Even the hurt you cause — this is the you that I know, and choose to support. Hear that much. You may hurt, lie, cheat, scheme, murder, and covet to your heart's content and still have me. Only try your best to win, at all cost. I will not forgive you, if you do not try your best.
uwu
Armand leans into it, unable to help himself. His eyelashes flutter in submission. ]
I hear it, Lord. I'll do my best, with your favour on me.