Life and Art are they the same?

[Armand]

Love is a strange thing...and so is art. Often, it is said that art immitates life or that life immitates art...but aren't they really the same thing? Isn't it totally human to create art? To take up one's pen, brush, instrument...whatever medium they love best... is that not an act of life? if an artist does't paint, if a musician can't play, if a writer can not write then death is sure to follow. Without art, how can there be life? Perhaps there could be life in the strictest sense of the word. The world has seen examples of this in communist countries such as the Former soviet union, China, North korea. Citizens in such countries were surpressed, their individuality squashed. Art and creativity, individuality...all these wonderful things were pretty much outlawed. AH! and people had lived in such conditions...but their existance had been sad and miserable.

And so, as Armand wandered through one of the greatest art museums on earth, the lourve, he tried to imagine life without art. But such a thing was impossible to imagine.

Sighing to himself, the arburn haired immortal found a bench in the hallway and sat down. Yes, he could sit here and appriciate art all night if he wished. Right now his attention was trained on the oh so very famous Mona lisa.

As he watched her, he let his own lips twist upwards in a mocking immitation of her famous smile. Such a beautiful woman...so very alive. And still, she was just a painting. But where would any of us be without paintings?

Of course, it didn't take long for his mind to turn from paintings in general to painters...namely Marius.

"Oh Marius, Marius I wish you were here. What fun we could have, wandering through this place together." ((forgive the crap intro, i had to write something and I couldn't think up anything cohearent so i just wrote.))

[Marius]

The moon held no welcoming glimmer, the rounded orb continued to bath the lone being with it’s light. Pale rays got caught up with the golden hue of his hair, the vibrant locks cut short, curls twisting delicately about his ears and the nape of his neck. His attire was normal, the usual for the retired Keeper. Scarlet velvet Jacket was askew, one part practically falling of one shoulder. The male was propped up against the brick wall, minuscule droplets of rain was sprinkled upon him, the cold bead collecting upon the fine jeweled fingers, Artists hands. So tall and elegant, finer then other men, the Roman was motionless. Marius sat as if drugged, legs sprawled out before him and arms lay limp at his sides. Tender lids lay at half-mast, the marble pallor of his flesh seeming utterly pale. No blood resided within him now, no victims has he taken in a few days.

This whole ordeal gnawed at him, spreading like cancer. It began a few days, when he first acquired the information of young Juliet’s sudden infatuation. The Keltoi was not reluctant to read the fledglings mind, but, it was quite easy and he could not possibly pass her by without hearing her thoughts so clearly. How Demonica knew of it he did not know, but she knew, and now the information was spoken to Lestat. Oh Mon dieu, he knew he would not take it well. Why should he? Of course, Juliet is just a teenager, falling in and out of love in expected, added that is she is knavish and rash.

A low moan passed through his rested lips, lids fluttering open to revels the magnificent deep blue hue. Weak, so exhausted. It all came to a horrible climax, although none is to blame, things happen. Marius called Lestat earlier for he reason, he knew Dem would be there; things do not go well with the pair. The roman thought she would say something, non-intentionally of course, but he knew it would not end up happy. Marius tried to assist them all, to once more play the card of the parent, to cease the chaos before Lestat knew. He did not want to think of it, it made him ache. Don't think about it...

Clear my thoughts, yes, the Musee de Louve

Hands groped for the wall, finding it, the immortal stood up. He used the wall for support, glancing down the empty street. The ancient took slow careless steps forward, not giving a damn where is feet went or where he was heading. Marius stumbled into a fresh man, bad man, evil man. The vampire forced himself to step away, letting loose apologies in his wake. The whole time everything seemd so quick, he wanted to paint. Painting...yes...there was a time he did so? Right?

'Twas such a effertless task, the lock was easily manuverd and was open in a instant. Marius knew not of his powers limits, he did not want to know. Mael, Khaymen, he could do away of them...that he knew.His steps were heavy and very carless, those wide set orbs open to gather in all her saw. An aisle, filled with Impressionist paintings.
He saw a Vermeer painting, Girl with the Pearl Earring. This man, he loved her. What was she looking at, the pearl, why does a mere maid have it? Ah, the dutch Mona Lisa.

Ye gods, there was Botticelli! The immortal seemed to loose composure, nearing the painting. Fine fingers reached towards at it, if he would touch the people, touch the tiny boy. Armand. Botticelli made him think of Armadeo. Both so complex but a simple beauty. Love, love, and more love. He needed him now, really, he was the fool now.
Armand, he knew he was here. The eternal bond between sire and fledgling was still present, minds closed. Perhaps it was mere paternal instinct, or coincidence, that he found his beloved lying upon a bench

Such fine russet hair, he wanted to let his fingers tangle in it. Kiss Armands neck, hands, and rounded cheeks. On sight of his fledgling his organ grew hard, hot and throbbing inside his pants, although such a feeling now is most inappropriate, but he wanted him so! Soon the passion died, he willed it, and so did the muscle die.Marius, forget the troubles, just think of Armand. Such a sensual feeling, those secret kisses in the Venice bedroom. Love him. Something so pleasant he has never been able to capture on canvas, although one should try and try again. No, stop, don’t get so caught up. Why...he makes me feel like I once was. Marius the magician, Marius the god, the wealthy Italian...painter.

He saw Amadeo run down the flight of stairs, adorned in a fine attire of blue. Blue, he loved him in blue. That tiny hand was tugging, pulling, the boy effortlessly tried to steer Marius into the Studio.
"Master, Father, paint me a sunrise..." He beckoned, the little cap with the peacock feather tilted.

A smile, the Roman smiled and complied.
Yea gods! He could feel the paint brush, the wood, after all these years. He saw Armand, the adolecent boy peering ove rhis should in anticipation. The Immortal tried to paint the sun, he would paint anything for Armand as long as it made him pleased. It made him weep, the sun, but Armadeo was smileing and kissing him in thanks. Yes...anything for him.

“My child…” Marius murmured, his words full of warmth and serenity, although such words cannot mask his utter sorrow and trouble. Oh yes, he was the only one that can tell Armand, especially a five hundred year old vampire, ‘Child’. A weak smile tugged at his lips now, yes, for a moment he was happy, happy with Amadeo again. One day, they might travel again to glorious Italy together, only at Armand’s accord. More importantly the Theater de Vampires, he wanted to paint again! The ancient neared him, footsteps heavy, stride of a mortal man. Oui, Marius de Romanus will constantly keep the countenance of a living being.


The Idiotic mind, how it grasps for something pleasant in the darkest hours, some sanity or familiar thing. Armand, I see him, the light at the end of the tunnel. He glaned behind, ah, look it's the Mona Lisa. Her smile, those eyes. When that painting was created what an uproar it caused. Anger. Oh, but Marius adored it...and he knew Armand must to, for he knew Armand liked Art, and why else would he be here?
Oh mon dieu, he could not help himself!

The hand reached into the depths of his left pocket. A pencil, good. He knew he had a neglected sheet of parchment in the other pocket, he tended to collect items as he walked the streets. Drawing, Mona Lisa seemed to matiralize onto the paper. Fine slow strokes at the start, but soon, quick and furious. Of course, the Vampire was standing, the free hand supporting the paper. He turned around, drawing in his hand, hopeing Armand would not want to see it...or maybe hopeing he would like to.

He seemed to forget himself for a moment, ah yes, Armand!
"Know why she is smiling?"

Yes he knew, or had a clear hypothisis. But the anchient started the conversation. A memory. 'If I'm an angel, paint me with black wings!'

Oh mon cher, have those wings not been clipped in those years as a Coven Leader? I want to help you soar again, I can do It, if I raisedyou I can do anything...

( Long, I know. I took A LITTLE bit from the other post. I thought the end was cute.)

[Armand]

Armand almost jumped from the bench, almost shouted with glee, almost ran to Marius and embraced him warmly...Almost. For the sake of preserving some sense of pride and self restraint, however, Armand forced himself to remain where he was. And how it killed him to do so! He would have loved nothing more than to....but he couldn't let his mind get side-tracked.

"First you must find out his reasons for coming here. Then you may show affection...but even then you must not act like some sort of foolish child." Armand thought to himself, stretching out his limbs and tilting his head to one side. Even as the words flashed through his mind, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold off on the mad bursts of affection for long. He might not want to act like a child, but he was Marius' child. And as such, he was thrilled to see his father. His lover? Could he use that term to describe this man? This fellow imortal that he so adored? Maybe.

He was watching Marius now, with those intense brown eyes of his. Staring at his maker instead of the painting. Watching him, observing him, taking in the sight of Marius as though he were a work of art. And to Armand's eyes, Marius was more beautiful than any work of art. Not even the best of sculptors could have fashioned a statue as fine as his maker. No artist's brush could capture the indescribable beauty that was Marius de Romanus. Armand almost wept at the sight of him. Dear god! Now wasn't he in a strange mood?

He remained quiet as Marius pulled out the pencil and paper, began to sketch god only knows what. He was in awe, didn't want to disturb the master while he was at work. Work...did sketching qualify as work? Was art actually work for Marius? Armand made a mental note to ask about such things later.

But presently he heard the words, "Know why she is smiling?" slip from his maker's lips and he felt compelled to answer.

"I know not why. Perhaps she is smiling at a friend, a family member, a lover? Or she could know a secret. Or someone could have just said something to make her grin....Perhaps she's a lunatic who smiles on and on for hours at nothing in particular? And lastly, one might conclude that she is simply a woman with an excelent disposition, driven by her personality to smile at all times because she considers frowning an unpardonable sin." A long answer, but an honest one. Armand grew silent again, waiting for an answer. He would let Marius lead the conversation, reserve his own questions for later.

[Marius]

Ahh, look, a littke Mona Lisa!
Marius was, whats the term, 'rusty' at art by now. No longer was the magican, painter, but, perhaps he was just Marius. How boreing. The immortal sighed, shoved the peice of parchment into his pocket, neglecting it as the grin of the Mona Lisa upon his paper simply diminished. This was such a mortal habit, really, when he cleared his throat or ran a hand through his hair, or perhaps crossing one leg over the other. Oh yes, he made a show of it now. Not on purpose, no, just it came so natural now.

He kept a polite distance from Armand, the gentlemen inside him wanting to ive him space, although the monster, the desirer, craved for more. Shoveing aside such things, his fine digits tapped a little dance upon the arm of the bench. A finly shaped mouth was rested, pinked lips slack as if he was in a mortal state of a daze. The lids of his eyes were now at half-mast, long lashes like strokes of a fine golden paintbrush.

Marius let his lungs inhale, now his position reclineing on the bench. Suddenly he leaned forward and looked to the painting, elbows casually upon his knees. The immortal blinked, skull titled to one side, golden locks falling over the smooth godlike facade to fall gently in curls.

The vampire was getting old, he knew it, and at times he feared he...lost himself. Did it happen then? No, then, what...oh the Mona Lisa! A grin tugged at the edge of his lip, sitting straight he cast a glance to Armand then pack at the maiden ahead.

"Umm, I think your right. I beleive it depends, and, perhaps I think to deeply into this. What if Da Vinci happend to paint her as so, for great minds are often simple, but the female produced such a smile to bewilder him? Your guess is as good as mine, better in fact. Why are you here?" Words were low, smooth, the calm tone was within as well as concern.

In truth, why was he here himself?

"Who is your favorite..." He added, arm gestureing to the long hallway, and perhaps to the whole establishment. Then, he looked to Armand once again with no expression at all. Now, is this not indiffrent? Marius always portrayed some emotion, anger,fear, conern mostly, but he was not one not to let expression become his face. Now, a perfect statue, something of the old god Adonis. Not angry, happy, just, Marius. But, what is marius without such things...
(Shit, im rambleing...sry)

"I love that color on you, I'd be displeased if I foudn't you in something else..." Now a smirk, miniscule lines forming at the corner sof his eyes, the old trick of ash and blood upon his face.

(DOne I gues....iddnt know what Armand was wearing...so yeah)

[Armand]

((oy, I totally forgot to include Armand's clothes in the intro I wrote for this topic. Sorry bout that! I guess...hmmm. dark blue cable-knit sweater, jeans, black tennis shoes. I'm not good with clothes descriptions, but I prefer to put Armand in relativly modern clothes. I like the whole idea of Armand looking like a modern teenager for some strange reason))

Armand leaned forward slightly and grinned, Why was he here? Oh, how odd it was for Marius to ask him that question when he wanted to ask the same of Marius... Hmm. Why was he here? Did he want to tell the truth? That he just felt the need to be here, longed to loose himself in the beauty of this museum? Or should he embelish the truth? Lie? Think up something more believable.

"There's an exhibit of modern art that I've been wanting to see for the past month." Armand said with a sigh. Well, that wasn't a lie exactly. There was a new gallery of modern art at the museum that he really did want to take a look at.... and it sounded better than 'oh, I just wanted to spend som time with the art'.

"As for my favorite work here...I can't say I have a favorite. One evening this painting before us might capture my heart. The next week I might return to the museum and see another painting that wins over my affection. What's your favorite?" He had decided not to say anything about Marius' last statement...the one about his clothes. how was he to respond to that? Well, the blush on his cheeks might count as a response but other than that.... Armand sighed and moved closer to Marius, longing for some sort of physical contact. But he wouldn't allow himself that...not yet.

[Marius]

((ITs fine, im brain dead....was gogin to have him say Botticelli, but, so Cliche)

Yea gods! Marius, what the hell! Why comment on his clothes..well..he looks so pretty in blue! Always has.

Marius tried to forget he every mentioned his clothes, he loved Armands choices of fashion, he appeard a modern Teenager. So lovly, him in blue like that. Marius did notice that little hint of color rise within Armands cheeks, oh, just to touch those cheeks. The immortal returned his attention towards the long hallway. He bite his lip a litte, then let it return naturaly, anouther mortal gesture he was so accustomed to. Maris shifted his cranium, letting the hair fly from his face, irritated. Should have cut it tonight. The red velvet blazer was askew, he was in no intention to adjust it, eyelids narrowed ahead.

"Well, I've been found of Caravaggio of late. Of course there is Renoir, Degas, Monet...then Sandro Botticelli" He stated quite casually, the tone smooth as surronding colors made up his cobolt blue optics.

The anchent let his leg return to its former position, crossed over his other, in the male fashion of course. He licked his lips swiftly, tongue playing with the fangs hidden, something he dispised. A sigh erupted from him, he knew Armand to well, he knew the truth was not fully there. Marius decided not to press it, not to push his question further and let his fledglings comment go. He gave no sign nor awarness of what he has discoverd.

Marius was faceing away, but he felt Armand grow closer. His heart grew still, but he did not react, not yet, although his mind was scatterd now because of this sudden closeness. The vampire tucked a golden strand behind his ear, studying the rings upon those delicate talentd hands.

"Amadeo...I'm troubled. Why do I care so much, for everyone, I put to much on my shoulders" He declared swiftly, now looking to his old child. Yes, he used that name, the old name, but it was just anouther habit and he meant not to bring up old memories yet. He always felt comfortable around his fledlging, accept, when his carnal disires were overpowering, then he forgot how to act to one such as this besides him.

That Italian bed, red velvet pillow, two upon the bed.
Was I ever that? Perhaps, once I was, I was...

[Armand]

Armand smiled softly at him and in one instand closed the distance between them to rest his head against his maker's shoulder, his boyish curls falling in front of his face to mask his expression. He took a deep breath, breathed in the scent of Marius. Oh he hated himself for giving in so easily and showing so much affection so early, but he would worry about it later.

"You care so much for everyone because that's just the way you are. You've always been this way. If you want to know the truth, I think it's because you can't stand to see people suffering, or in pain, or trouble. You feel like it's your responsibility to make this world a better place. But you worry too much, you take too many responsibilities upon yourself and in the proccess forget to live your own life." He kissed Marius' shoulder tenderly and wrapped an arm around his back.

"You aren't happy, are you? And you probably think there's nothing to be happy about but you're wrong. You're here with me now....And we have each other, if only for a little while. So let's not worry about whatever has that mind of yours troubled, alright? Lets just focus on having a good time. There's art here just waiting to be admired and we're all alone...." He kissed him again, this time on the cheek.

"Be happy, if not for your own sake than for mine. I can't stand to see you upset."

[Marius]

This sudden contact made the immortal take pause, a sort intake of air. He heaved a sigh, blond hairs swiping past the delicatly carved visage, dark eyes of blue half lidded. Marius was silent, he listend to Armands responce intently. The immortal did not speak yet, but the corners of that smooth mouth tugged upward into a grin.

"Yes your right, that has always been the core of my problem, hasn't it? I care to much for others, therefor forgeting myself and my own happiness. Although, I have been extremely selfish..." At this moment he directed his attention on Armand.

He always wanted Armand, he took him into immortality. He did not want him to die, but maybe death would have been better, but he was selfish. Marius wanted Armand with him, and he took the chance and was left with the conseqence of a eternal child.

Marius is without regrets, but perhaps he could have letted time continue and age to proceed his love.

Now a low chuckled emerged, Marius placed upon the auburn head a polite kiss, noting on the smooth rustic hairs and the body that was near him. Ahh, that kiss, such a simple gesture, but so much more.

I missed you, I need you now. Dem is drifting from me, I cannot find her. Im weary, Im worried, Im sad and ashamed.

"You know me, you practically analized me. If your not happy, I am not. So, I should be happy for your sake and for my own!" He declared, now adjusting the red velvet blazer, a slender digit placeing golden stray hairs behind the left lobe of his ear.

"Come on, the night is young lets go. I want to find a certain peaice of Art..." He added, the clear voice haveing a note of old Italian. He stood, extending a hand.

(Ahh.....lameness)