Ah...Back at the last the "Devils Minion", a lame lamb forfeiting before the lions mouth, ready for the consumption.
It has been quite a long while since I have touched the keyboard with the intention to dabble something halfway coherent, yet Armand insisted that I make myself a web site. I am sure his intentions were good, and full of high hopes. So to following tradition with the others, I shall speak a bit of myself. If I were you ...I would halt further inquiry now.
What am I really to say? I am a listener, not a story teller. My "calling", so to speak, is buried in the lives of other people.I find that within other pyches therein I can find peace, humanity...even a bit of myself.
Yet it is proposed that I write about myself... And even now I wonder at what I plan to type. Hmm... lets start with the obvious shall we?
My name is Daniel Molloy. I am sure you have heard of me... I am the boy reporter, the interviewer of the ever so famous, and forever gentle Vampire Louis. What was meant to be a quick meal for the creature turned into what I believe to had been the most successful night of my journalism career. Not to mention the last.
After the interview... the bite, I found it impossible to focus my attention on anything else. I went through furies of delirium, madness, to find my proof. No, not for the story, not for the public, but for myself. I needed to touch the relics, feel the surroundings to which he spoke, and most of all, find his immortal companian: Lestat.
I went to New Orleans, as you have read in "Queen of the Damned." I turned on the tape of Louis' tale, waiting. After pocketing a fine golden pocket watch, engraved with the name "Lestat." Impressive though it was, it was nothing compared to what I would find next.
My beloved master: Armand. -sighs- He stood there like a phantom, a fallen angel. Louis had not nearly described him as intensely astonishing he really is. There are not words for his beauty, no... just feelings. Feelings of awe, of fear, of wanting to give yourself entirely over to him.
That is exactly what I had done. For ten years Armand followed me around the world, asking me endless questions even treating me as dress up doll. No, it is not that I minded this attention, quite the contrary, the idea that this could all end on account of his obstinance bore into me. The only thing I desired was him, eternally; I wanted the blood.
I find no reason to expound upon the details of those 10 years... I believe "Queen of the Damned" illustrated the particulars enough. Besides, I know you did not come here to be told the same old things.
Somehow, in the depth of my shallow mortal mind I had the belief that the blood would keep Armand and I inseparable; this, my friend, was not the case. The first few years he and I were bound by love, the next few by toleration... and by the early nineties. bitterness. I was not all together lucid, and he... stubborn. I left him, followed by his blessings, to pursue my own reckless life elsewhere. Our contact was minimal at these times. Oh sure, every now and then I would visit, hoping to revive our differences but for the most part, it was all in vain.
By the end of '98 I had fallen back into his grasps. Tired and brow beaten I let his wings enfold me. There were moment that were sweet, yet even more that we could not tolerate each other. It became clear to me, in not even a years passed that he could not "put up" with my weakness. I was only 13 years into the blood, still so weak and so mortal in mind. I could not be strong for him, so Marius swept me away to his home, both denied by the one we loved so dearly.
In Marius biography I made an appearance. giving the impression that I am a "crazy", or so the mortals have told me. -laughs- I do not mind. In fact I find it amusing to be called a mad man. Thus the title of my web site. Though if you come here hoping to hear about my miniatures or train set fetish... then you are out of luck, I gave them up soon after the release of' Blood and Gold" . I fled Marius' fine over inflated home, unable to stand by and watch every endearing immortal soap opera unfold before my weary eyes.
No, I wanted to blend in , so where did I head? -laughs- To the bars of course! I rented out an old studio apartment back in Chicago, this time a little further uptown then I had a decade before. (taste was growing on me) It was the perfect location. Far enough away from my life in San Francisco, the brood in NYC, and those in New Orleans.
I had meant to make more use of my time, perhaps write again., study up on history (Marius has a way of inspiring that) anything!Instead I drug myself back into the bars... and pool halls, where my presence would be unnoticed, and unattended. And where I had felt the most comfortable.
Hovering over my bottle of beer, taking in the pungent waft of sterile brew, I would sit. Speaking to those who would come my way and offer their stories to me. (You must understand, a drunkard is always willing to bare his soul to you, if you ask for it or not) So this is what I did.... Grant solace to the drunkards, as I hid my crimson tears beneath their white fumes.
It was for a year or so, I haven't kept count, that I did this taking from my friends as I could of their blood without recall; those droughts alone were barely enough, I would starve myself. Wither away with those mortals I came to know and cherish, with barely a care in the world . This was my way of banishing myself from this plane of existence. I figured if my master cared enough, he would save me from this...
One night while pulling myself back to my apartment ,just before sunrise,I found a notice telling me my water had been turned off. I laugh. Such a dreadful chore taking care of bills, I had always procrastinated, or forgot about them all together. After shoving aside the scattered magazines, books, I collapsed into my computer chair and proceeded online.
Silly enough I had registered a yahoo account so that I may pay my bills.
Browsing through junk mail, offers of teen sluts, get rich quick programs I came upon his name. Armand. "How had Armand found me via e-mail?" I thought. I had made myself a pseudo name ... even stayed away from posting my address anywhere, yet somehow my master had found me.
I laughed imagining him trying to work the thing... Armand... the one who exploded cockroaches and rats in the microwave for days after discovering the blessed invention. Had he his own e-mail account?
I clicked.
The letter was simple.
It was a link. No words. No begging . Just a link. I clicked.
