Chapter Text
The year was 1973, and the city was Paris. Daniel Molloy (a bright young reporter with a point of view) was idly wandering down an old cobblestoned street. The summer heat was finally coming to an end and the autumn chill was just starting to pick itself up. Despite this sullen change in the weather, there was still so much life and joy in the air. The local cafés and restaurants were yet to put away their outdoor seating, and happy couples, friends, and families dined out underneath the soft glow of lanterns and fairy lights. It was incredible romantic, but Daniel wasn’t here looking for romance. He was looking for a story.
His affliction for drugs had resulted in him being fired from yet another newspaper, which was a shame because he’d just been starting to really enjoy his little life in San Francisco. He’d been writing good stories, had a nice group of friends, and was becoming a welcomed regular at a local bar called Polynesian Mary’s. The drugs hadn’t even been interfering with his work (he wasn’t that stupid) but a random desk inspection had revealed a couple of joints and a little baggie of coke hidden in the back corner of his drawer.
It’s not like he needed the drugs, and had proven time and time again that he was perfectly capable of writing without them. However it had to be said that they did give him that certain focus, that wonderfully unique point of view, to truly write something spectacular. That’s why he called it a drug affliction instead of a drug addiction. Calling himself an addict would’ve been admitting that he had a problem, which he didn’t. Daniel could quit anytime that he wanted.
Anyway, after losing his job in San Francisco he’d said fuck it and decided to try his luck in Europe. He’d started in Scotland, travelled down England, spent a couple of months in London, and then hopped across the channel and into France. He was perpetually broke and tired, and this unwavering sense of being unmoored never seemed to truly leave him alone. Wasn’t the experience of travel supposed to be freeing? So then why was he longing for someplace to call home and lay his weary head?
Here he was pining for a home when he couldn’t even afford anything more than shitty hotel room, or a group hostel where he was crammed in a room with at least eight other people who all spoke a different language to him. His freelance work had been keeping him going thus far, but now he was struggling to find a story that would be interesting enough to pay for the next leg of his journey. He was thinking about heading towards Italy, or Spain, or perhaps even Germany. He’d make up his mind once he had the money. For now though, he was stuck in Paris.
Daniel was starting to realise that he actually quite disliked Paris. Yes, it was undeniably beautiful and romantic, but that just made it plain old boring to him. Or maybe the romance wasn’t all that fun when you were lonely and single and still getting over your last breakup, even though it’s been months at this point, and it was all your fault anyway because you got drunk at her sisters birthday party and embarrassed yourself, not that you can even remember what you did because you’d blacked out shortly afterwards, but the vomit down the front of your shirt painted enough of a picture, and she’d been so upset with you, and, and, and…
Towering above Daniel was an old stone building, dark and intimidating and completely domineering. He was so shocked by the sight of it, so utterly surprised, that it smacked him straight out of his spiralling thoughts with a startling effectiveness that left him reeling. All of the building’s windows and doors were barred shut expect for the main entrance which was made up of red and gold stained glass. The lights were on inside, making it appear to be glowing like a doorway to the fiery pits of hell. And, if all of that wasn’t intriguing enough, there was the bright neon sign above the door that said:
THÉÂTRE DES VAMPIRES
He raised an eyebrow. Now, admittedly Daniel’s French was rather lacking, but even he was confident as to what that had to translate to. So far everything that he’d found in this drab little city had been exactly what he’d been expecting to see. More than curious now, the reporter stuck his hands down deep into the pockets of his brown leather jacket and causally made his way over to investigate further. Firstly, what on earth was a theatre doing in this part of the city? The more artsy sector with its galleries, famous stages, and social elite was miles from here. And why claim to be a theatre of vampires? It could all just be a cheap gimmick for the tourists, but Daniel was deeply hoping for something more.
As he approached he spotted a man outside selling tickets who was dressed in a red and gold bellboy’s outfit, although it had been made to look old and grimy, as if he’d been wearing it for years and years already. His face was caked in a thick layer of white paint, complete with freaky contact lenses and plastic fangs that made it rather difficult for him to talk. All of this was incredibly disappointing to Daniel, who felt his hopes of finding something interesting here being rather quickly squashed.
The man was doing a good job of luring people in however. He was charming as he played and toyed with the crowd, effortlessly convincing the holiday makers to spend their hard saved cash on an evening at the theatre. He grinned at them with his fake fangs, putting on a spooky voice as he promised them a night they wouldn’t soon forget. The whole thing reeked of cheese and caused Daniel to roll his eyes. He was actually about to brush the experience off and call it a night when he overheard a comment from a small group of dressed up fanatics talking rather excitedly in a tight little huddle.
“How does one even begin to describe Santiago’s performance?” A pretty looking French woman was saying, her thin hands cocooned delicately over her breast. “Before I saw him on that stage I believed Death to be feared, but now I know better. There will be no pain, I tell you, no pain at all. I welcome that final curtain call, embrace it, even.”
One of her friends replied with “To be loved by Death? Oh, what could be sweeter than that? I would welcome Death tonight if he was even as half as handsome and as charming as that Santiago!” He sighed dramatically. “What a beautiful beast that man is!”
Daniel couldn’t help himself, he was fascinated. “Excuse me.” He asked, inserting himself into their conversation. “I take it that you’ve all seen this show before, yeah?”
The group grinned at him, proudly showing off their own plastic fangs and gory face paint. Dark circles made their eyes appear to be unnaturally bright and sunken into their hallowed skulls. To some it may have appeared scary, but to Daniel it was nothing more than what it was, a cheap Halloween costume.
“Oh yes, we all come and see this show at least three times a week, and would come more often if only we could afford it. I promise you, you won’t see anything else like it in the entire world. It is simply brilliant, witty, and best of all, it is utterly horrifying!” One of the members explained joyfully, speaking and gesturing dramatically, as if he was the one up on the stage performing, and not merely another spectator in a crowd of many.
The women, the same one that had first caught Daniel’s attention, grabbed onto his arm and hung on tightly like some kind of clingy limpet. She stared up at him with wide and imploring eyes, hypnotically drawing him into their endless whites.
“All of that is true, so very true, but let me tell you the secret of the théâtre des vampires.” She whispered, leaving Daniel helpless as to not lean in closer so that she could whisper into his ear, her breath hot against his skin. “It is not the plays themselves that matter, as entertaining as they are, but the ending. The end is all that matters.”
Daniel felt his breath catch in his throat and pulled back just enough to desperately search her eyes, but there was nothing there that spoke of lies or deception. Whatever this women believed about death, about the end, she did so with an absolute clarity and unwavering certainty that he’d only ever seen in the deeply religious. Daniel had no doubt that she no longer feared the end of life as she knew it to be.
He swallowed down his rising nerves. “Yeah?” He pressed. “How does it end then?”
As soon as the question had left Daniel’s chapped lips he realised that he no longer wanted to hear the answer. But the group merely burst into hysterical laughter and whatever spell he had been under was suddenly broken. Daniel crashed back down to reality to a chorus of “No spoilers!” and “You’ll just have to see it for yourself!”
The disappointment returned to him like an old friend as he felt the potential for a story slipping away like sand between his fingers. Of course some rundown theatre, situated on some back ally road, wouldn’t hold the answers to questions that had plagued humanity from their very inception. It was all so ridiculous! What had he been thinking, and why had he even bothered to entertain this place for so long? He was about to throw in the towel, but he couldn’t without at least giving it one last Hail Mary.
He frowned and said “Come on, I’m a journalist doing a piece about this place.” (Not a complete lie, he might end up writing a story if it turned out to be interesting enough.) “And I want to know how some actor on a stage has the power to suddenly make you unafraid to die. A fear of Death is like, literally the one thing that all human beings have in common.”
The group laughed at him again. “Mr. American Journalist, did you not read the sign?” They mocked. “Théâtre Des Vampires! Do you think that vampires fear Death? No! They laugh in the face of Death! They are Death!”
Daniel sighed as he begun to accept the disappointing reality that these strange people really were nothing more than crazed fanatics, obsessing over a show that they clearly didn’t fully comprehend the meaning behind. There could be no way that they actually believed the actors on the stage to be real vampires, and were obviously suspending their belief for the sake of entertainment. Even a child would be able to tell that the man selling the tickets was wearing nothing more than a silly costume.
“Alright, well, thank you for your time.” Daniel dismissed them with a polite wave of his hand as he detached himself from the women with only some mild difficulty. “And enjoy the show.” He added as an afterthought.
An uncomfortable sense of unease and dread was still stubbornly clinging to him as he turned around to leave, only to almost walk headfirst into the ticket-seller. He stumbled backwards in surprise as he stuttered out an apology. The man seemed unbothered as he stared back at Daniel blankly. Up close he could now read the little name tag pinned onto his jacket which said ‘Sam’ in shiny neat gold lettering. Sam was no longer smiling. In fact he was looking at Daniel with nothing but disdain, even as he was holding a ticket out for him to take.
“Oh.” Daniel said dumbly, looking down at it in confusion. “I didn’t actually want to see the show. I was just curious and-“
The ticket stub was torn, a loud ripping noise cutting Daniel off and effectively shutting him up. The fancy paper was then pushed rather forcefully into his hand as Sam continued to glare at him with what could only be described as disgust.
“I’m afraid that our artistic director and owner of this here company insists. He overheard that we appear to have a journalist in our midsts and wants to offer you the best seat in the house. You’ll find him upstairs in the private box waiting for you.” Sam explained, although it really didn’t explain that much at all.
Daniel looked down at his ticket and shivered. Something about this place, about these people, was putting him on edge. He was aware of something weird, of something not quite right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Surely Sam had not been close enough to overhear him talking with that group of people, and even if he had, how had that information been fed back to the director of this place so fast? It wasn’t humanly possible.
The neon sign boasting a theatre of vampires silently teased him from above.
Yeah, fuck that. Vampire’s weren’t real, and whatever weirdness was truly going on here, Daniel was going to uncover it for himself. He felt a kick in his chest, a wave of adrenaline, the heady feeling he always got just before he uncovered his next big story. It was his intuition waking up, and Daniel was never one to ignore the call.
He flashed Sam his biggest, fakest smile. “Alright, thanks man. Upstairs, private box, right?”
Daniel brushed his way past and headed on inside despite something in the back of his mind screaming at him not to. It was his survival instincts telling him that this was a very bad idea indeed, but journalists who listened to the voice of survival never got the good stories. There was no reward without a certain amount of risk, and Daniel had been flirting with danger his entire life. Unlike those people outside, he was not one to willingly accept the threat of death, not when it was the fighting back and the skirting along the very edges of danger that made him feel truly alive.
He paused to take stock of the foyer he’d just entered. The walls were painted dark and lit with low, moody lighting, and there was a vendor selling drinks and popcorn by the large double doors leading into the main theatre itself. Daniel could see the rows of chairs and the audience which was steadily filling up the seats inside. The stage, unfortunately, was currently hidden behind a giant red velvet curtain. It added wonderfully to the overall allure, and Daniel found himself suddenly wanting to snoop around backstage as well as exploring out front.
He briefly considered the idea of buying a beer for himself but quickly decided against it. Technically he was working, and anyway, he was three days sober at this point and doing rather well for himself. See, he really could quit the drugs and booze whenever he wanted! Daniel felt a wave of pride as he bypassed the concessions stand without so much more than a wistful glance back over his shoulder.
He walked up to a woman (also in full Halloween vampire attire) at the doors and handed over his ticket. She looked at it, shook her head, and pointed to a set of stairs off to the side. Daniel politely thanked her before heading in that direction, once again passing by the concessions and drinks, and once again valiantly not ordering himself a beer.
The stairs were metal and his footsteps echoed ominously off the walls as he gradually ascended upwards. At the top was a long and mostly empty corridor, just a few people lingering about, although they all seemed rather well dressed in expensive looking suits and dresses. Daniel felt rather out of place in his old sweater and leather jacket, his trusty shoulder bag hiding his precious tape recorder inside swinging as he passed them by with his head held down low.
He quickly deduced that these must be the private boxes, but unfortunately had no way of knowing exactly which one he was looking for. That was when Daniel remembered his ticket, and lifted it up under a nearby wall lamp. He squinted at it, but there was nothing there which indicated any room number. What was he supposed to do, knock on each door until he found the director? That would be pretty embarrassing.
“Mr. Molloy, I presume?” A beautifully honeyed voice with a slight accent spoke up from somewhere directly behind him.
Daniel spun around to find himself frozen under a pair of utterly gorgeous yet unnaturally orange eyes. With the dull lighting up here they seemed to illuminate themselves, and Daniel was wholly captivated by their enchantment. All he could do was nod his head dumbly in awe, because it wasn’t just the eyes, as striking as they were, but the whole picture that had him quite enthralled.
He was standing before a young man of strikingly offsetting handsomeness. He was maybe a year or so younger than Daniel, with much darker skin, curly black hair, and the most perfect fucking face that Daniel had ever seen. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of some kind of old yet classic painting, leaving Daniel feeling self-conscious about his own appearance in a way that he’d never quite been before. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was supposed to say, or what this man had even said to him in the first place.
“Armand.” The man elegantly greeted when Daniel still didn’t speak, extending out a hand with long fingers and sharpened nails. “Please may I formally welcome you to my theatre.”
Daniel scrambled to reach out and shake the mans hand, still slightly in a daze that he was desperately trying to snap himself out of. He hoped that his rudeness could be forgiven, as it’s not everyday that you find yourself accosted by such a stunning vision, and surely Armand must know what he looked like? In fact Daniel was in such a state that he almost didn’t register how cold the palm in his hand felt against his own. Vaguely he wondered just how seriously they were taking this whole vampire thing, but he decided not to dwell on it for now.
“Uh, yeah, nice to meet you, man. You know, you really didn’t have to do all this just for me. I’m only a freelance journalist, nobody special. And, uh, I’m not here to write a review. Just looking for a story, that’s all.” Daniel babbled, feeling his cheeks heating the more that he stammered and tripped over his own tumbling words.
It was alarming just how useless he’d become, feeling like nothing more than a teenage boy standing before his first childhood crush all over again. If he wanted to make it as a serious journalist then he needed to get his shit together, and fast.
Despite all this, Armand was smiling at him, and there seemed to be a slight sparkle in his eye as well. “I highly doubt that you’re nobody special, Daniel. And as for your story, I’m sure that you’ll find many here. This theatre has existed for over one hundred and fifty years, and the building itself is even older. But come, let us sit and talk some more in private.”
Daniel found himself being ushered into a nearby box by a strong, firm hand against his lower back. He decided to focus on the interior of the box, on its comfortable looking chairs, carpeted flooring, and dark, ornate wallpaper. This was far more preferable to embarrassing himself even further by saying something stupid. It was expensive and classy, and Armand looked perfectly at place in it, especially in his dark suit and cleanly pressed white shirt. Daniel sat in the offered chair and tried to discreetly tuck his messy and scuffed boots up underneath himself and out of sight before another wave of shame could hit him.
“Here.” Armand said, pushing a glass bottle of cool beer into Daniel’s empty hands. “Allow me to be a good host.”
Daniel accepted it and hastily took a big swig for a lack of anything better to do, not wanting to appear rude or ungrateful. It was perfectly refreshing and scratched an itch at the back of his brain. Besides, it was only one beer. You had to drink more than one beer to be considered an alcoholic.
Armand sat down in the seat next to him, a glass of red in his own hands and one long leg folded primly over the over. He seemed perfectly calm and in control, and Daniel found himself trying to discreetly watch him from the corner of his eye. The rest of the seats remained empty. It was only the two of them now.
“So.” Daniel started, glancing down to where the stage was still hidden behind the closed curtain, taking the opportunity to ask a few questions before the show started. “Why the whole vampire aesthetic?”
Armand’s face was passive and unreadable as he replied. “What an obvious and disappointing question, Mr. Molloy. Vampirism is not the theatres atheistic, but merely what we are. Perhaps refrain from questions about the show until after you have seen the performances?”
Daniel felt his cheeks flaming red as he looked down at his beer, Armand’s tone reminding him of being a child scolded by his teacher in front of the whole class. He didn’t like this feeling and picked at the label already peeling off the glass restlessly. He wanted to prove that he was good at this, and that he knew the right questions to ask. And, if there was some small part of him that inexplicably wanted to impress Armand and earn his approval, well, that was his business.
If he couldn’t ask about the show itself yet, then perhaps he could attempt to find out some more about the director? He smiled as he discreetly looked over at Armand out of the corner of his eye. His stiff posture, eyes unwavering from the audience below, even the way he carefully held onto his wine glass. Daniel could tell it was all a front from a mile away. What was the real Armand like? That’s what Daniel wanted to know.
He propped his beer onto a small side table and dragged his leather satchel onto his lap and rummaged around inside. He’d save the recorder for later, for now his notebook and a pencil would do. He quickly found what he was looking for, carefully tucked his bag underneath his seat, and twisted in his chair to face Armand.
“So, Armand, what made you want to start a theatre company? It’s quite a big investment of both time and money and, for a guy who looks about the same age as me, it must dominate a large portion of your life. Most fellas our age are out getting drunk and laid, but you’ve chosen a different path. Why?”
Armand hummed, then turned to face Daniel, their knees ever so lightly touching. It sent a small thrill up Daniel’s spine, but he forced himself to focus on the interview.
“Before the theatre my life was rather directionless. It was dull and repetitive, the days blending together into a maddening monotony of sameness. I wanted an escape from it all, but I had the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. The only way out that I could possibly think of was…well. To end it all, I suppose.”
Daniel felt his throat dry up. He knew there had to be more to the guy, but he hadn’t been expecting that. He swallowed and forced himself to continue with the interview.
“You felt suicidal?” Daniel asked softly.
Armand frowned and shook his head. “No, it was not as simple as that. As I have previously mentioned I had responsibilities, people who were dependant on me, and I couldn’t leave them unmoored. An evolution was required. I just didn’t know how to make it so.”
Daniel gnawed on his bottom lip. Armand sounded like he’d been pretty suicidal, but he was a journalist, not a therapist. It wasn’t his place to press on the matter. Instead he asked a different question.
“I take it that this evolution happened eventually though, right?” He said. “So what triggered it?”
Armand smiled wistfully. “A man by the name of Lestat de Lioncourt happened. He crashed into my life like a hurricane and destroyed everything as I knew it. Then, lovingly, he helped me to rebuild. We started this company together, although he left shortly afterwards. I believe he’s in America somewhere now. Perhaps New Orleans.”
Daniel paused the scribbling in his notepad. “You and this Lestat. You were…together?”
Armand gave a slow nod of his head, not saying anything more on the matter. A touchy subject, perhaps? Daniel shut his notebook.
“I uh-“ Daniel cleared his throat nervously. “Was seeing this girl when I was living in San Fransisco. She was great. Me, not so much. I fucked up one too many times and she called it off. Broke my heart at the time, but that was months ago now. I wish I could say that it doesn’t hurt anymore, but it still does. Sometimes.”
Daniel didn’t know why he was sharing all of this, it wasn’t very professional of him. But for some reason he wanted Armand to have someone to relate to. A friend, maybe? Daniel inwardly cringed. He’d been travelling on his own for far too long it seemed, desperate for any kind of familiarity with another human being.
“Why are you telling me this?” Armand asked, but it wasn’t unkind, just genuinely curious.
Daniel shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know, man. I guess I want you to know that I get it, I suppose. That you’re not alone, or whatever.”
Armand looked down at the red liquid in his glass and swirled it hypnotically. Daniel thought that it looked quite thick for wine.
“I…thank you.” Armand eventually replied. “That’s very kind of you, Daniel.”
As he turned to face the stage once more Daniel suddenly realised something. He’d never told Armand his name. He’d never told anyone his name, in fact. A sense of dread and unease slithered down his spine, making him shiver involuntarily. He gripped his pencil tightly and braced himself.
“Say, how did you know my-“
He was swiftly cut off by Armand. “Lately the monotony of repertory theatre has been droning on me, but I feel a breath of fresh air within you, Daniel. Would you be willing to stay with us until your story reveals itself? You can sit in on our rehearsals, speak with the cast, and explore the building as you’d like as our honoured guest.”
Daniel blinked in surprise. That was a very generous offer, especially when you took into account that Armand didn’t really know him at all. He looked down at his notebook and fiddled with his pencil, and at the bite marks from where he’d been absently chewing on it when lost in thought. There was something strange about this place and something deeply wrong and unsettling about Armand. But Daniel wasn’t afraid. The fact that Armand somehow knew his name didn’t make him want to turn tail and run for the hills, it made him want to stay and investigate. He wanted to know this strange young man sitting next to him more than he’d ever wanted to know anyone else before.
“Yeah, alright then.” Daniel replied softly. “I’d like that. I’d like that very much.”
Armand gave another one of his small nods, the decision deemed made. That was when the lights dimmed and a rumbling drum beat started to ramp up. He felt a tension rising in the room as he found himself holding his own breath. The curtain parted swiftly and an older man with slicked back white hair and shocking green eyes stood in the centre stage. He was illuminated by a spotlight, skin so pale he looked more like a ghost than a man.
He eyes slowly roamed around the audience, taking in every single member before finishing at the box where Daniel and Armand were sitting side by side. He looked at Armand first before settling on Daniel. His face twitched minutely in disgust and Daniel felt himself unable to look away. Why did he suddenly feel like he was staring down the barrel of a gun? He felt afraid, he wanted to run, dear god his life was in danger!
He felt an arm settle across the back of his chair and a possessive hand curling over his shoulder. It was Armand. Daniel finally broke the intense eye contact with the actor, only now noticing that his eyes had been watering.
“Breath, Daniel.” Came Armand’s silky voice. “They know better than to hurt you now.”
Daniel let out all of the air in his lungs before breathing in deeply again. He sunk further into Armand’s embrace. He was safe here, and everything was alright. He giggled a little hysterically, somewhat drunkenly, even though he’d only had half a beer. His fear felt absurd all of a sudden as he wondered what had come over him just then? Ah, perhaps it was just the group that he’d spoken to earlier outside, their strange words getting into his head and confusing him. He was being silly, that was all.
He cast his eyes back down to the stage, listening and watching as the man gave his dramatic opening speech. He conducted himself like a Shakespearian actor, effortlessly commanding the stage and everyones attention. But Daniel was struggling to focus, especially with Armand’s sharp fingernails tracing patterns into his shoulder. He turned to see orange eyes already on him and smiled warmly, looking up from underneath his eyelashes in a way that could only be described as coy.
“Watch, Daniel.” Armand directed, firm yet soft, his other hand gripping Daniel’s chin and forcing his gaze back down to the stage. “I want you to pay attention.”
His hands withdrew as he put some space between them once more, leaving Daniel feeling like he was floating, lost out in a dark and endless sea. But there was the man on the stage, and that was important, Daniel knew that much. He sat forward in his seat, almost falling right off in his eagerness to be closer to the scene playing out before him.
“What you’re about to see…” The actor spoke, his gaze flicking up to Daniel’s in the audience once more. “Is real.”
There was the flashing of lights, the pounding of the drums, and Daniel felt himself falling, falling, falling…
He couldn’t have taken his eyes off the stage even if he wanted to, dreading the ending that he’d already been forewarned about. But it was too late, he was in it now, the story would end in death.
The only question was…
who was going to die?