Chapter Text
With a groan, Daniel raises a hand to his pounding head. He hasn't felt this bad in... Well... He felt this bad two weeks and five days ago, in a different way. His second attempt at going sober. Well, that's over now. Not his fault this time around though.
“Your head hurts? I apologize.”
It’s only then, when he jerks with shock but feels the tug that stops that jerk going very far, that Daniel realises there’s a chain locking his leg to the bed. Bleary-eyed, he looks across the room, to see his interview subject sitting calmly in a chair, legs crossed, like some kind of sleep paralysis demon.
“How do you feel otherwise?”
Daniel looks down at the chain on his leg and heaves out a disbelieving laugh. He’s been taken as a hostage once before, but he wasn’t treated quite so genteelly then. They didn’t offer him wine and drug him, just put a gun to his head and locked him in a cage. “I see. You get new members by kidnapping them and brainwashing them.”
De Romanus gets to his feet and walks towards Daniel. “In truth, you are the first human I’ve ever used this chain on. It was for a gate we keep the sheep in. It isn’t chaffing too much, is it? We put a little bandaging around your ankle to cushion it before we locked it on.”
Glancing down, Daniel realises that they did. How weird. Why's this guy so determined not to hurt him? “What do you want with me? This a punishment cause I asked something you didn’t like? You gonna threaten me into publishing only the least creepy parts of that story you fed me?”
His captor bends down and Daniel watches, but for some reason he doesn’t pull away. All de Romanus does though is pick a piece of lint off of his shirt, and flick it to the floor. “You were closer with your initial assumption.”
Daniel’s eyes narrow. “You seriously want me to join your cult? And you think kidnapping me and tying me to your bed is gonna work when I wasn’t persuaded by the initial 'no more human illness' pitch?”
There’s a knock on the door, which de Romanus invites in. It’s Rashid again, with a plate of sandwiches cut into triangles, like they’re for a little kid.
“Hi Rashid,” Daniel wiggles his fingers in a mockery of a wave, leaning back the little the chain will allow him to lounge on the bed. “Long time no see. Or maybe not. I wouldn’t know. I was knocked out.”
Lips curving up as he turns to take the plate from Rashid, de Romanus thanks his underling, then brings the offerings over to Daniel, extending the plate like he expects him to take one.
With an unimpressed look, Daniel shakes his head. “You just drugged me, pal. You think I’m gonna willingly put anything else in my body that you try to give me? I don’t think so.”
De Romanus takes one of the sandwiches and puts it into his own mouth as proof that they’ve not been tampered with. Daniel supposes he could have planned this and know which ones are okay and which ones aren’t, but with the smell of the sandwiches under his nose, a wave of hunger has suddenly hit him and he can’t hold out any longer.
“You seem particularly hurt about the drugs,” de Romanus observes as Daniel snatches and scoffs down three of the bite-size sandwiches, then takes a swig of some brightly coloured drink that must be juice from the self-sustained garden they’re so proud of.
“Well, yeah,” he mumbles, a bit of food still in his mouth, but do you really owe your kidnapper perfect manners? Weird enough the guy’s acting all upset Daniel was ‘offended’ by the way he knocked him out. “I told you I was tee-totalled. I can’t have that shit. I’m getting all jittery again already.”
De Romanus nods, clicking his tongue in acknowledgement, glancing to the window. “Ah, yes. Again, I apologize. I thought it would do you even more physical harm to hit you over the head. This seemed more civilized, though I suppose I did not consider your past issues. Unfortunately, it will have to continue for a while, but I can promise you won't experience any adverse long-term effects."
Daniel snorts. “Thanks ever so much.” Stuffing one more sandwich into his mouth, he points at his jailor. “You’re full of shit, y’know that, maître?”
He fills the title with scathing irony, but de Romanus shivers nevertheless. “Call me Armand.”
“I don’t wanna call you anything,” Daniel says, trying his damn best to hide the something he felt zip between them at that. No. No. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. “Except screwed, cause people are gonna come looking for me soon enough, and when this gets out, it won’t be a quirky interest piece gets written, just a police report.”
Maybe he went a bit ham there, cause… Armand… doesn’t look intimidated whatsoever. In fact, he’s looking at Daniel like he’s just said the most adorable, naïve thing in the world. Still sitting beside Daniel, he cups his cheek condescendingly. “Oh you beautiful boy, don’t be a fool. As I told you, I did my research just as you did yours.” He leans in even closer, like it’s a secret between them. “No-one is coming for you. You don’t have anyone who’s in your life enough to notice your absence.”
Daniel feels his adam's apple bob, but tries to stop any other movement, to do his best to seem unswayed by the intimidation. “My editor-”
“Knows your history. They’ll just assume you’re on a bender- what is it now? Twenty days sober? Never been the most reliable, have you Daniel, even if your talent makes up for it.”
Armand’s hand strokes horribly gently down his cheek, and then he sighs. “I must go lead the evening ritual, and I’m afraid that while I’m not here, I’m going to have to lock one of your arms to the bed as well. I’m sure you understand, it won’t be this way for long, just while you adjust.” There’s really no response to give to a statement that wack said so apologetically. “Ah, how about I turn on the television for you?! We don’t have a satellite, but we do have some VHS tapes. I’ll put in one I’m sure you’ll like.”
So Daniel’s arm is secured to the bedpost, and as Armand fiddles with the setup, his bladder starts to call to be given attention.
“…Armand?” Daniel asks through gritted teeth, embarrassed he’s been put in the position where he has to ask this question. His captor hmms in response, still working on getting the tapes working- it looks old anyway, and it’s clear he doesn’t use it much. “You got an can or something? Can you loosen the chain enough I can go do my business?”
Armand looks back at him, eyebrows furrowed, and then moves to grab an empty wastebasket, placing it just below the bed. “There. That will be fine for now.” He loosens the chain ever so slightly. “Check you can reach it.”
Humiliating though the idea of sitting in a room with his piss is, Daniel gets to his feet to test how far he can go, and just about gets near it. He definitely won't be going any further.
“Perfect,” Armand smiles as the tapes suddenly start moving for him, and swelling music plays over a black and white scene. “I’ll see you soon enough, darling.”
With that, he leaves Daniel alone with his piss bucket and his grainy movie.
The ritual is entirely tedious tonight. Despite their arguments, Lestat has taken his criticism in stride, and rallied the flailing congregation to put a renewed effort into their participation. Armand should feel lit up by it- he can certainly sense their fervour- but it does not quite penetrate him. His mind is with his little lamb locked up in his home, his Daniel.
He delivers the blood, he honours the blood, he drinks of the blood, but it is all just mechanical, until he imagines Daniel’s mouth wide open accepting the dripping copper red gift, and feels a twinge of excitement return to him.
The congregation must notice his renewed enthusiasm, for they mirror it. It is Estelle and Celeste’s turn to offer their blood and they are thankful to have the honour, not slightly peeved as they would have been a week ago. The vampire itself is the same as ever, godlike in His detachment, accepting their offering, granting them what it has promised them, but He knows about Daniel. He spoke of Armand to it in his head even before he went down to see Him. He wants to know when He will finally be granted new blood, and Armand promises it will be soon, but that this is a slightly different situation than normal, and that this initiate will take some convincing. Mael is intrigued by the idea, and agrees to wait, although He lets Armand know telepathically that He will not wait forever, and not to dally too much.
Before Armand can leave, Sam and Tuan race to him, telling him, on behalf of all the others, they have some new scene and projections to go with it that they would be honoured for him to witness. He nods distractedly, only realising what he has agreed to afterwards. This could be hours more.
“Louis,” he calls, and the beautiful, once-more pregnant man comes towards him, sending his son off to his other father, and shifting his youngest daughter to his hip. The elder one, Claudia, is already sitting with Lestat, listening to him discuss some acting choice with Santiago with her hand on her chin, intensely focussed. “I trust your husband has filled you in on our situation.”
He has explained it briefly to the congregation, first last night, when he told them all to be on their best behaviour for the journalist, and to only speak if Armand brought Daniel to them, and even then, to respond to whatever he said by talking only about the plays or their jobs here at the Church, which they were all happy to do, not a one giving any information away about the ritual. The second time he spoke to them was before tonight’s ritual. He decided it best to get ahead of the rumours, and informed them all that they would be getting a new member shortly, he just needed a little time to adjust. That was enough to satisfy them all for now.
Louis, of course, knows more though. Knowing Lestat, Armand would never expect him to keep many secrets at all from his paramour. The pregnant man nods, and Armand threads a hand through the crook of his arm, pulling him slightly to the side, away from curious ears. “You have an easy way about you. You do not overwhelm or suffocate. Would you go greet our guest while I tend to the flock? You may speak to him of our way of life if he wishes to know, but avoid the topic of the ritual. I will discuss it with him myself.” The little girl baaas, reaching up to bat at Armand’s arm. Louis starts to apologize for her, but Armand waves him off.
Louis opens the door to Armand’s home- it’s never locked, neither is anywhere else on the premises- and steps inside. He immediately hears the reporter call out Armand’s name, and heads towards the sound, not wanting to keep him suffering alone for longer than necessary. Still, he can’t help but be struck walking into the maître’s home. He’s never been inside before- events, big or small, are always held in the main building. He’s surprised how similar it is to his and Lestat’s home, albeit without the toys all over the floor and with quite a few more precious looking trinkets, presumably bought for him by the grand maître.
“Armand? At least come turn the sound down on this goddamn thing!”
Hearing the journalist’s plea, Louis reminds himself to stop snooping, and get up there to help him.
Entering the room, he’s hit immediately by the smell of urine, and goes to find the source- mostly inside a little wastebasket Armand must’ve left there for him. “Not Armand, sorry. I can sort this for you though, and then I’ll come fix the volume.”
His eyes go wide with interest, rattling off a response. “You’re American? I’m from Boston. How ‘bout you? Louisiana, is it?”
Louis turns to look at him, surprised he picks it up so quick, but even if his accent has faded, he guesses it’s not gone entirely, and this guy’s probably used to trying to pick a story out of a voice. “Yeah…”
“Armand tell you why he’s got me here?” The journalist demands as Louis leaves the room, heading straight for the bathroom, following the plan of his own house, and finding it’s in the same place. “And how? Stuck a needle in me from behind, dragged me up to be his entertainment for who knows how long.”
Louis ignores the provocation, choosing just to introduce himself instead, shouting back into the room as he cleans out the basket with some product he finds in the cupboard, “I’m Louis. Maître asked me to come check on you.”
He can practically feel the journalist’s piercing gaze from the other room. “So you’re in the inner circle, huh? They wouldn’t even let Rashid talk to me. What’s he? Low level initiate, limited privileges? Gotta sing for his supper?”
“I wouldn’t be so sure that wasn’t just Rashid. He’s a quiet guy at the best of times. And we don't have an inner circle here. Everyone's equal. It's just that Armand and Lestat help keep things organise.d But if those types of structures are what you're used to, I guess I would be. I’m Lestat’s husband.”
He comes back into the room, puts the clean basket down, and grabs the remote to turn the volume down so it’s barely audible. Then he looks at the journalist, who looks back at him, his stomach, to be specific. “That his?” Louis nods, and the journalist’s face contorts in confusion. It doesn't look like he actually took the bump in when Louis was in the room before. He was probably too shocked to hear an American voice. “They do miracles here? Can get anyone pregnant, no matter their gender, as well as the disease panacea thing?”
“No,” Louis rubs his twenty-eight week pregnant stomach absently. “It’s nothing to do with the Church. I’m a hermaphrodite. And that's not something that happened here either. I always have been one, though my mama kept me from workin' it out till I started hearing locker room talk 'bout what the other boys had."
“Oh,” the journalist’s expression falls, a crack in his guard for the first time, shifting uncomfortably on the bed, his chains scraping a little as they bump up against the metal. “Sorry. I didn’t even-”
Louis shrugs, pulling over a chair in the corner of the room so he can sit down near him. “It’s okay. She- People back home sucked, even when they didn’t have a clue about all that and just assumed I was a queer and that was it. But everyone in the Church was just happy for me. They got me fertility pills and helped my dreams come true. I’ve always wanted kids, just never imagined it’d really happen in a way I wanted. The only options seemed back then to be stay in the closet, swallow my pride and have ‘em with a woman, or embrace my sexuality and give up my hope for children. They gave me everything I coulda ever wanted.”
“Well, I know it’s tough, but it’s possible. You never thought about gettin’ a lady friend to help you out?” The journalist asks. “You coulda given her what she needed, and… y’know…”
Louis shakes his head. “Didn’t have too many. I wasn’t out of course, but I couldn’t imagine any of them agreeing to a thing like that at the time.”
“Hmm…” He’s fixed with a focused expression again, all hints of guilt and embarrassment gone. “When exactly was that, Louis? When you got here, I mean.”
It feels sorta like this guy’s tryin’ to catch him out on something, but the question seems harmless enough, so Louis answers. “I was nineteen, woulda been ‘bout eight years ago.”
“Right,” he nods. “So you were legal- just- but vulnerable. ‘Specially if you weren’t out yet.”
Louis narrows his eyes, not liking where this is going. “I’m not a victim…”
He waits a moment for the journalist’s name.
“Daniel,” he says after a second, and Louis repeats it back.
“Daniel. Like I told you, the Church gave me everything I coulda ever wanted.”
“Got you out of the draft, I guess. Sure that at least was nice.” When it takes Louis a second to remember what he’s talking about, Daniel zeroes in, starting to ask if he remembers, but Louis interrupts as the lottery comes back to him. Daniel’s right. He was at risk of being called up that year. The Church did save him from that too.
“I remember. Were you called up?”
“Yup,” Daniel says, popping the P. “Couldn't get out of it cause I hadn't gotten into any schools yet. But they saw I'd won some prize in high school so they got me to do state propaganda for ‘em like some kinda sucky internship. That put me off ever working for the government again. Soon as I got back, got into more critical circles, started publishing totally different pieces, talkin’ to protestors.”
Louis’ never even felt tempted to try to find out how things are going back home, whether that’s still the state of affairs, but suddenly, he feels a burning need to ask, and it bubbles up out of him before he can stop himself. “What are people saying about the war now?”
“Oh,” Daniel rolls his shoulders. “That it traumatised them, that it was a shitshow run by paranoid fuckers, that we shoulda pulled out way sooner, or never gotten into it at all. I've certainly had my fair share of night terrors, thinking I'm back there. Guess I've found a pretty effective way of blockin' it out by putting myself into situations that are just as terrifying and/or dangerous."
Noticing the way he talks about it, Louis leans forward. “It’s over?”
“Yeah,” Daniel replies, looking at him with surprise, almost pity, like he can’t believe he doesn’t know this, all the irony gone from his voice. “Seven years ago.”
Louis feels the realisation hit him like a truck. The land over the ocean has been nothing more than a frozen, fuzzy memory for nearing a decade now. He didn’t expect to ever hear so much about how things have changed... That the war ended a full year before any of his children were born...
“Louis…” Daniel says cautiously. “Why do you think they got you to come talk to me?”
He shakes himself out of the trance, the unfamiliar, unpleasant feelings, and explains, “Armand had to go talk to some of the residents. He-”
“Why’d he choose you, I mean?” Daniel says. “An American, 'bout my age, married to his second-in-command... He wants us to become friends! Wants you to show me the ropes, how to be a good little husband to a cult leader, doesn’t he? I wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted with me, but the way he looked at me like he wanted to eat me up put together with your visit makes it pretty clear that’s it.”
Louis bites his lip, trying not to grimace. Daniel makes it all sound so nefarious. He’s probably right, to an extent. Armand probably does want him to be a friend to Daniel, help him adjust to life here. Is that so bad? They do have quite a lot in common, after all, and from what Lestat’s said, Armand has indeed decided this man is gonna be his husband. Doesn’t sound like America has done him many favors either, sending him off to war to paint them as the heroes. Daniel clearly doesn't have much affinity for his homeland. It's just what he's used to... Though he made it sound like he likes his job now, and the people he gets to talk to. Louis doesn't remember ever meetin' anyone like tha-
The sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs turns both their heads, and Louis gets to his feet, pushing back the chair. “Nice to meet you, Daniel. I’d better go check on my kids, but I’ll look forward to seeing you again.”
“You too Louis,” the journalist says, still looking at him through eyes that seem like they have a pen behind them, writing down everything he says.