Armand went to rest earlier than usual that night and slept all through the hours til dawn and beyond to dusk the next day. When he awoke, there was a strange civility to the apartment. The usual raucous noises of the shower, or the television, or the blender (Armand's addition to the apartment), or the vocal chords of the brat prince were extinguished for this pleasant evening.

Instead, the only sound that carried through to Armand's curtained room was the subtle scratch of pen on paper. The miniscule sound carried through Armand's sensitive hearing and woke him up. He sleepily wandered through the apartment, running a hand through his ruffled hair as he did so.

Armand pushed the study door to and saw, nestled amongst the books, the papers and the many old parchment's Lestat and Louis had collected through their years, David Talbot, copying them down into his moleskin notebook.

"So." Armand said, leaning his forehead on the door frame.

"So." David replied, tenting his fingers and looking up over the manuscripts at the fluffy looking Armand. His curly hair fell in odd angles over his face. The long silk shirt he fell asleep in had creases along it, as did the flannel trousers Armand wore the other night. His face was pristine and white, softer perhaps for all the luxury of the beds and pillows Lestat provided for him. Armand stared at David dismissive, perhaps of his presence in the apartment.

He walked into the study, ignoring Talbot, took a book from the shelf, and walked out without a word.

David smiled. He opened the newer of the notebooks he brought with him and noted down Armand's reactions to his arrival with a self satisfied nod.

He walked lithely out the study door and followed Armand into the lounge room. Armand was already curled up on the leather armchair, flicking through the pages of Machiavelli's The Prince with a lazy sort of concentration.

"I would think you'd have read that before, Armand." David spoke to him, initiating conversation.

He was ignored. Armand continued turning the pages, and so David took up his note book and scribbled into it. Armand gave a furtive curious glance at the note book then looked back to his book. David noted this as well.

Armand's dedicated attempt to ignore David through the book resulted in him finishing it earlier than he had planned. He held the last page between his fingers, unsatisfied with how quickly it ended. He should have picked a larger book. He knew that next to The Prince on the shelf was Dostoevsky's War and Peace, a large and far more time consuming book that bored Armand beyond his capacity.

"Talk to me?" David asked again.

Armand looked at David, his disposition disgruntled and venomous.

"I can't get into your head." David said, puzzled.

"Yes, well it's become somewhat of a necessity, to block everyone out now, hasn't it?" Armand replied, bitingly.

"Will you tell me about it?" David crooked his head and crossed his legs, sitting on the footstool opposite Armand's high backed chair.

"Why should I, you seem to find out these things well enough on your own." Armand glared at Talbot.

"You are referring to the book?"

"Maybe. Perhaps you've taken to browsing through my thoughts as a new hobby; it could be more than that one time."

"I wrote what you said, everything in that book truthfully happened to you."

"Yes, but I didn't say it all, did I? You just went in there, searching for the juicy bits."

Talbot raised his brow questioningly. He wore a slight smirk about his mouth. Armand felt ashamed of his temper. This momentary lapse did not reflect well on him. It seemed the old man always knew how to get him riled, how to irritate him into admitting things he shouldn't.

"I didn't lie." David leaned closer to Armand's chair. He had little room now to avoid the British gent.

"They were my memories, they belonged to me."

"You didn't want to tell them to Sybelle and Benji."

"They didn't need to know."

"You were ashamed?"

Armand flushed bright red. "No."

"What then?"

He noted Talbot's pen flying across the page of his little notebook, almost as though it were acting separately from the rest of his arm. Armand leaned forward, trying to read what it said.

"What are you writing?"

"Nothing. What were you ashamed of?"

David leaned forward, into Armand's path to block him reading the notebook. This move was quite unexpected, as Armand assumed the older gent would defer his path to Armand's more obstinate behaviour. Talbot was acting rather forward in this respect. Their faces were practically touching.

"Don't think you can push me around, David Talbot." Armand's voice was dripping with arrogance and disbelief.

"I haven't pushed you yet." David replied with a wolfish smile. That wolfish smile reminded him of the smile of another, the smile of one who was older than he, in many ways. Armand's sarcastic smirk slipped a little from his face.

"Marius?" Talbot whispered with an indulgent smile. He was now smiling at Armand with that smug look many adults used against him, whenever they thought they knew what he was thinking. Whenever they thought they had him figured out, as if that was so easy.

Armand tried to get up from the chair and walk away from the conversation. To his surprise, David let him leave the room. Armand walked into the study again and picked up another book. A longer one. When he turned around David was there again. He had followed him.

"Don't you have something to do? Somewhere to be?"

David smirked at Armand again, his eyes raking over Armand's casually defiant pose.

"If I heard about Marius, you aren't blocking your thoughts as effectively as you would think you are doing so. Someone could find where you are."

Armand's scowl twisted his youthful face. He shot a look of annoyance at the caramel skinned scholar standing in the doorway and David chuckled. He hated the way Talbot assumed his anger wasn't serious, how he underestimated him again because of his size.

"I think you're forgetting how I ripped most of your face off the last time you made it your own ungodly crusade to try to make me tick. So you should let me alone, Talbot. You think you're so indestructible because Lestat gave blood to you, but if you like I can prove that it doesn't make you so."

"Deteriorating to threats already!" David raised his eyebrows. He seemed to be doing that a lot. It made Armand smile, just briefly. "You have been inside for too long, Armand. You need to get out more." David smiled lopsidedly as if to push his point that he made his jest in good humour.

Armand threw the book he held at Talbot's head with uncanny force and accuracy. He grinned as David caught it and smiled back at him. They bickered like schoolchildren; it seemed to be part of their unusual friendship.

"Why, Louis would kill you if he found you threw one of his books."

"It's Lestat's book. He wouldn't care."

"Then Lestat would kill you."

"He expects it of me. He comes home pretty much every evening and just frowns at the bookcase. He says I don't put it back right."

Talbot looked towards the ruffled disarray on one side of the shelf, and the meticulous tidiness on the opposite.

"These," he paused; his expression was one of horror. "These are all first editions! These are priceless. Do you think he'd let me borrow some?"

"I've lost count of the multitude of items of ours that have wound up in your hideous vaults, Talbot. Do you think I'd willingly surrender more of them?"

"They aren't even yours!"

"Well, they're not yours either. I'm a guest here, so I can make that decision. You're just a visitor."

Armand grinned wickedly. The relationship between himself and the young-old man was very childish, if you were frank about it. They spent most of their time insulting one another, fighting one another, and after much of that making a move on one another. (That was generally more David's cup of tea, as Armand found himself more often than not pushing away the amorous advances when it got too far.)

"More of a babysitter than a visitor; that means I have authority here."

"AHA!" Armand exclaimed and pointed at Talbot. "He did send you as a baby sitter, I knew it! Oh, I am going to break every one of his CD's, I'm going to smash his shiny television plasma. I'll put every last one of his wretched discs into the blender."

"I hope then, Armand that you intend to eat or drink the evidence afterwards –and kindly sweep up the mess?"

"No, never. I'll leave it there, for him to weep over. I hate his stupid music." Armand rushed out into the lounge room again and began pulling CD's from the shelves beside the television. David lazily followed him.

"Oh, poor little Armand. You know, not everyone has the privilege of having a song written about them. Let alone a song that reached platinum on the charts." David drawled.

"Jealous, Talbot?" Armand turned around to face him, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Of a platinum record? Definitely. I used to be quite the singer, you know."

"Urgh, please don't start." Armand rolled his eyes. Ever the teenager.

"Let me just – hrmmm- clear my throat – hrmmm!" The auburn haired boy across the room recoiled in horror and covered his ears with his slender hands.

"Please, Lestat's bad enough, you know he was wailing those hideous lyrics in the shower the other day."

"When my baby, when my baby smiles at me I go to Rio! De Janeiro!"

David Talbot stopped singing then, as Armand flung his tiny body at the singing vampire and clamped a hand over his mouth. The CD's he pulled from the shelves clattered to the ground.

"Don't. Sing. Just don't."

"Fine," Talbot's response was muffled by Armand's muting hand. "But you have to talk to me. Really talk to me."

Armand frowned and moved to draw his hand away. Talbot reached up and snatched it, held it still close to his face, maintaining the contact between Armand's hand and his cheek.

"Talbot," Armand began warily. "This isn't a chance for you to get what you want. I won't be with you just to shut you up."

"But I thought that would work with you."

"No," Armand gave a little laugh, and tried tugging his hand away. "No, I know that you aren't who I want."

"Who do you want then? Will you tell me? Talk to me."

Armand then tried a different tact. He saw how David's eyes were lingering on his face, how all this "Non-talking" was making him more of a challenge than talking to him would be. It was the same when he wrote the book. Talbot's advances were halted in their tracks once Armand started talking, as the Englishman's insatiable desire to record every syllable of vampiric knowledge into his tiny notepads outweighed his other desires. Put a pen in his hand and he was happy, Armand thought to himself with a satisfied smirk.

"Alright," he replied. "Let's talk then."

Armand walked over to his favourite lounge chair. The one with the curved red upholstery and the embroidered mauve pillows. Lestat's extravagant taste in lounge furnishings wasn't always a bad thing. Talbot watched him recline on the couch, as casually as he would if Talbot hadn't been there. Talbot smiled bitterly. Armand's confidence in his actions, his remarkable ease with his own movements was enviable. Talbot knew some of this confidence came with the many centuries Armand had over him, but as Talbot was new not only to this life, but also this body, he felt the clumsiness of his own movements deplorable. He sank onto the lounge opposite, trying to make his movements as elegant as he was able.

"What do you think about your recent situation? Will you tell me what happened?" Talbot's hand itched for his pen.

"Well, Lestat let me stay with him, and I have that little room at the end of the corridor to sleep in. It is very comfortable and I have no problems with it. Things can get rather boring staying here most of the time, so I have been reading a lot. Sleeping a lot too, but I think that's only fair. I haven't yet had the proper sleep, the deep sleep that others have known the pleasure of. Lestat's had more of that luxury than I have. So there's no need to give me that sort of look, thank you very much."

"What look?"

"That interfering look you have, when you get all superior and decide to do what's best for a person. I've seen you do it before."

"When?"

"Just – before. Like when Lestat wanted to go buy Louis a fire truck for his birthday, and you interfered and told him no."

"Louis hates fire trucks though, he says they ruin everything."

"Yes, but can you see where Lestat would have thought that it would have been a good idea for a present for him?"

"Yes, but-"

"You just don't understand the whole master-fledgling relationship. There are certain rules, limitations to the amount of control you have over their decisions."

"But how can Louis control Lestat's urges to buy things?"

"That wasn't Louis controlling it then, that was you. You forget your place, and that is below Lestat on the authority ladder."

A sly smile crept across Talbot's face. "So..."

Armand blanched. Talbot was sneaky.

"Why is it that you seek to impart on me a correct sense of master-fledgling responsibility?"

"W-well, um –"

"Do you want to tell me how it should be done then, Armand?"

"What's that supposed to mean, Talbot? Are you insinuating something?"

"Are you?"

Armand sighed. Talbot was a sneaky adversary, and though Armand could probably run rings around him if he were so inclined, he really was worried, being shut in the house all this time, and if he had to spill his worries onto someone, Talbot was the only one he could shamelessly pour his heart out to without feeling like he owed him anything from it.

"I didn't drive Danny mad, did I? Santino says I did."

"You didn't drive Daniel mad. He was just too naive about what this life he was taking on involved. He didn't comprehend that the price for his immortality was one of blood and alienation. You didn't drive him any madder than he would have turned with the eventuality of the world."

Armand curled his legs up to his chest and sank lower into the couch.

"Don't listen to Santino. Who is he to talk about madness? You know, Maharet tells me that Santino was acting very strangely before he went to the manor."

Armand looked up curiously over the embroidered pillow he had buried his face in. Talbot knew something about Santino's odd behaviour? And how had he got Marharet's confidence? The sly Talamascan.

"Oh, really?" Armand attempted to be as casual as possible, he tilted his chin just up over the pillow. Talbot's quick eyes flashed over him and Armand quickly looked away.

"It's fine, I don't need to know. You wouldn't tell me anyway, though you seem to have no trouble divulging everyone else's secrets."

Talbot laughed, a short rich laugh and moved over to Armand's high backed chair. He plonked down on the chair next to him and ruffled his hair.

"Hey!" Armand shook his head at Talbot.

"Well, you have to concede me certain liberties if I'm to tell you his story, and this is one of those liberties, Armand."

"Touching my hair?"

"I have wanted to for some time you know. It's looking gorgeous and fluffy, your little curls all swept carelessly about your face. It makes me think of how you sleep, all tangled in your sheets."

"You're teasing me again. You won't really tell me what happened; you'll just mess around and then wander off when you've had your fill of my company."

Talbot scowled. He tugged a lock of Armand's hair in his hand. "I'm going to tell you, be patient with me. Now, I have to get in the story telling mood."

"Story telling?" Armand drawled. He rolled his eyes at Talbot, but Talbot merely nodded and gestured for Armand to cuddle up to him.

"You're serious?"

"My liberties, if you will."

Armand pinched Talbot as he leered at him. He then leaned into the older gent's chest and allowed him to gently stroke his hair over in his hands.

"You'd better not be lying to me."

"Why would I lie Armand? What's the time?"

Armand frowned, and then looked over his shoulder to the tiny analogue clock in the study.

"It's only eight thirty."

"Well then, we have until three thirty AM until Lestat and Louis get back from watching the nutcracker on ice."

"Why is that being performed in June?"

"Lestat wanted to see it, so he called the troupe together for a performance. They all think some rich mad man just wants to see something whimsical on a random compulsion."

"They were half right, mad stupid idiot."

"Shall I begin the tale?"

Armand closed his eyes slightly as Talbot's stroking fingers pulled through his hair. It was relaxing and felt very sweet against his scalp. It reminded him of nicer things, far nicer things than cruel Italian monks, or crazed consort's of mysterious red headed beings, or Lestat's reaction when he sees his CD's snapped and littered onto the floor in silvery shards. Yes, it was very relaxing.

"How does it begin then?" Armand asked. He could swear he heard a smile in Talbot's voice when he answered.

"Well," He said. "It begins at the end of November last year, on a rather tepid night in the rainforests of Indonesia. This is where Santino first discovered that he was going to hell."

… …

… … .. DUN DUN DUUUUN!

I am a cliff hanger loving tease. Not really. Think of this as how Anne Rice uses chapters with "The Story of Marius" and "The Story of Armand" after the introductory bit with Lestat usually. So, thankyou to my new reviewer. I don't know what the other 155 of you who traffic through my story are doing, may you come to your reviewing senses immediately. Yes, I gave Lestat a shiny new distraction for this chapter. Oh the nutcracker is in town? No it isn't but does that stop the man? If anyone wants to see anything in particular in the next few chapters after Talbot's storytelling, because I plan to include some light hearted bits, then drop me a review. I will do my best to include it.

Felice