Christmas in New York

Disclaimer: this work of speculative fiction uses stolen characters and steals some old Latin hymns, uses titles of several well known movies and one ballet, in other words, the following people: SOME CRAZY BITCH WHO SUES HER FANS (Yes, Virginia, there is an SOME CRAZY BITCH WHO SUES HER FANS), Knopf Publishing, Tchaikovski, 20th Century Fox, Fox Video, George Seaton, Frank Capra, Republic Pictures, MCA Home Video, Paramount Pictures and God knows many many more, but please don't, because He knows if you've been bad or good, so don't sue for DA's sake. No infringement upon their rights in intended. Keep Cookies And Milk Inside The Sleigh At All Times. Thank You.

FYI - Adeste Fideles (O Come All Ye Faithful), Veni, Veni, Emmanuel (O Come, O Come Emmanuel), Ave Maria (Hail Mary)

French Glossary:
Ferme la bouche - Shut your mouth
J'taime - I love you
Joyeaux Noel - Merry Christmas

Italian Glossary:
Io ti amo - I love you
Béllo - Beauty (male)
Buon Natale - Merry Christmas

SPOILERS: IWTV

Information from all VampChrons are incorporated into these characterizations of Louis and Armand, but in the main they are based upon the characters and their relationship as presented in IWTV.

This SPEC is dedicated to my heart and my soul, Father of Lies.

To Heather
To the Mods
And finally of course to all of you who read and comment.

Merry SPEChristmas darling dears!
****************************
"I want you. I want you more than anything in the world."

"No, I've had to wait and watch for you. And now I'll fight for you. Do you see how ruthless I am in love?"
-Quotes - Armand to Louis IWTV

"You have me. I love you."
-Quote - Louis to Armand IWTV
***************************

Christmas in New York
by DarkAngel
- - - - - - - - - -

23 Decembre

        Armand, constant and loyal, still with me though my companionship is less than pleasant. I haven't spoken for at least five nights, or is it seven? I have nothing to say. I have spent the last few weeks in the museum, studying the Italian Renaissance art. It is wonderfully rendered; such rich colors, such expressive faces. It is truly beautiful and I can lose myself in it for hours. Unlike the Eastern ikons which I stared at until the colors swam before me. The disproportionate bodies, the odd adult faces on the Christ child, the symbolism, it was all so foreign to me. It had to be studied. I couldn't digest it immediately. It was something I had wanted to discuss with Armand, but he wasn't interested in it. I didn't press. It is often enough that I do the same to him. I do not begrudge him his turn at it. But then the Italian works are easy to love. I understand the vibrancy and the images. Due to the season, an exhibit of Renaissance Nativities has been on show. I love to   be with them. I sit in the middle of the exhibit walls, surrounded by them.

        Armand accompanies me to the museum, then seeing that I am once again not in a talkative mood, disappears. I don't know where he goes. I sit entranced until he comes to retrieve me. If he didn't come I think I might sit right through dawn. I have thought on that. Perhaps one night he'll be delayed, and I will go with the sunlight.

        But Armand would never let that happen. He is accustomed to caring for lunatics, the coven master of Paris. I suppose that is why he stays. He is used to the responsibility. He may not know what to do without it.

        I feel that I should do something for him. I do appreciate him, though he couldn't tell it from my behavior. He thinks me indifferent to him, which isn't true. I must make an overture to him. I must try to make amends. I have been unforgivably rude, and he is so patient with me. He is so kind to me. His voice is still soft when he speaks to me.

        It is nearly Christmas. There has been a large Christmas tree erected behind the ice skating rink. I wonder if Armand knows how to ice skate? God knows, I haven't the vaguest idea, but it looks lovely, flying over the glass-like ice.

        Perhaps, rather than the museum, I'll ask if he'd like to come with me to watch the skaters and to see the tree. It is a wonder of lights, as I saw through the blood of my unfortunate victim last night. He'll agree, of course, cher Armand, he always agrees with me. But I wonder if he would actually enjoy it? Only one way to find out, I suppose. I would ask him what he would like to do, but his answer is always the same, "Whatever you wish, Louis."

LdPdL
New York
Winter, 1947

        I came back to the apartment and Louis was already up, writing in his journal, quite a surprise. Last night and the night before I had to rouse him from his coffin, where he had lain after he awoke brooding on his hellish dreams. I know this only because I can read his thoughts. He hasn't spoken in over two weeks. I constantly monitor his thoughts, checking for any hints of madness. So far, he has retained his sanity. This is a blessing for me, as I don't know that I could lead him into the fire, though often it is the most merciful solution.

        "Bonsoir, Armand." Louis looked up as I entered and actually smiled at me, another shock.

        "Good Evening, Louis," I answered, coming to him. He put his pen down, closed his journal and stood. I did not mention anything about his recent silence, nor his sudden return to speech. We never mention such things.

        He stepped forward and, very politely, kissed both of my cheeks, and then stepped back. I stepped toward him and returned the gesture. One trait I do appreciate in Louis is that he does take care not to accentuate our height difference. He never stands too near so that I have to look up at him. He never pats my head, nor rests his arm on my shoulder. Louis respects me as his elder. He is able to make me feel more my immortal age than my mortal one. I could love him for that alone. And he loves me.

        "Would you like to go and see the Christmas tree?" he asked. "I thought we could watch the skaters for a bit tonight."

        Was I dreaming? Louis wanted to go and watch mortals? "I would, Louis. I would like that very much," I answered.

        He smiled again. His green eyes sparkled. How long since I'd seen that? Years certainly, but how many? He put his journal back into his desk drawer. Not that I would read it, but he must have things in their proper place.

        I went to the closet and removed the coat I had bought for him two years ago. It still looked brand new. He hardly ever wore it. I looked in the pockets for the gloves and scarf, but he had no hat. I'd have to cut his hair, which he disliked. It isn't the short hair he minded, but the barbering. Unfortunately men did not go around in this day and age with hair the length of his. I brought the coat into the sitting room.

        "You'll need to wear this so that you do not attract attention. Reasonable people do not walk about this city with no coat on in the dead of winter," I informed him. He laughed and acquiesced. I went to retrieve a comb and scissors.

        "Come into the kitchen, Louis," I called as I walked back through the sitting room with my tools.

        "Why?" he asked.

        "You have no hat. I need to cut your hair."

        "Oh." He followed me listlessly.

        I sat him in a chair and combed out his hair. "This will be easier if it is wet."

        "Alright," he answered in a bored voice.

        Louis was so unconscious of his appearance. He acted as if it were all a waste of time. But styles change, and fashions change, one had to keep up with them. One must identify with the present, not the past. I'd had to deliver this lecture to him at least once a decade during our travels together. He didn't argue with me anymore.

        He returned to the kitchen with his hair dampened and sat down.

        "Tres bien," I said.

        He sighed. I combed through his hair once more. Such fine black waves, nothing as difficult as my mop of curls. I cut off most of the length to begin with, then shortened the back and sides, parted it on the side and combed it over. It was a fairly standard style for young men in New York at the time. Of course it would never stay, but I hadn't cut his hair in so long, I no longer had any of those products used to hold it in place; Brill Cream, VO5, Vaseline. Oh well, it was only tonight.

        I stood back and regarded my work. It was a good haircut, even and all that. It did however, serve to give Louis the appearance of a somewhat tall sixteen year old. Short hair accentuates his childlike features, as long hair does for mine. I doubt he noticed, but I rather enjoyed it.

        I brushed the hair off of his shoulders. The clothes he was wearing would do; dark sweater and black pants. They would be under his coat anyway. I led him back to the sitting room and handed him the coat, taking mine from the coat rack.

        "You need to wear the gloves. They're in your pockets," I told him. He obeyed me.

        Out on the street he turned to me and asked, "Do you know the way, Armand?"

        I laughed. We'd been in New York twenty-two years, even if he did spend most of them in a museum. "Have you forgotten?"

        He smiled an embarrassed smile and nodded.

        I took his hand. "Come, Louis."

        He gave my hand a gentle squeeze and then we released each other. The casual touching, which he and I had been accustomed to with our more European backgrounds, was not appropriate in modern America. We both still had to be careful of that. I led him through the streets. I knew he was hungry, but I also knew he wouldn't feed until late in the evening. We saw the Christmas tree from blocks away, but the closer we got, the more stunning it became.

        "Armand!" Louis gasped, as we finally reached it's very branches.

        "Yes, beautiful, isn't it?" I answered.

        "It is." There was wonder in his eyes, and actual delight in his smile. It warmed me to see it. We bent our heads back to look up at the star.

        "Such lights," Louis commented.

        "Six thousand light bulbs," I told him.

        "Six thousand?"

        "Yes, it was in the newspaper."

        "Ah."

        We walked to the edge of the ice rink and watched the skaters.

        "Have you ever ice skated?" he asked me.

        "Me? Ice skate? No."

        "Oh." He sounded disappointed.

        "You don't know how, do you?"

        "No."

        "The lovely green winters of New Orleans." I studied him for a moment. "You can you know, Louis."

        "Can what?"

        "You can ice skate if you wish," I told him.

        "Strangely, Armand, the prospect of making a fool of myself in public does not appeal to me," he said. His sense of humor was back, a very good sign.

        "No, Louis," I laughed. "I mean you CAN skate. You have the ability. You have excellent balance and faster than human reflexes. You won't fall."

        He looked as if he didn't believe me.

        "You climbed the tower, didn't you?" I said.

        "Oh that damn tower." Louis rolled his eyes.

        Well, yes, perhaps I did use that particular example somewhat more than necessary, to get him to do things I wanted him to try, but still, he couldn't refute it.

        "Are there any other new marvels they've erected for Christmas?" he asked.

        "Louis, you are changing the subject." It was one of his favorite tricks. He was getting more and more skilled at it all the time, but I always caught it. Sometimes I would pretend I didn't and let him get away with it, but not tonight.

        "I'd rather not skate now, Armand," he said, in his formal tone, which was supposed to imply that I was being less than gracious to him. Childish, but then he was one, compared to me. I ignored it.

        "Come with me, then." I smiled. "I think I know of something which you would like to see."

        I led him to the shopping district. It was nearing 9:00 p.m. and the long lines of people which usually ringed the buildings were short and thin. I brought him close to the street level windows.

        "Automatons!" Louis exclaimed.

        "Yes." I smiled.

        "Armand, these are magnificent!" He smiled back at me.

        I knew he'd love them. We walked slowly around the buildings, in awe of the Santa writing his list, the elves building toys, the rabbits building a snow rabbit, the bears baking cookies, the penguins sharpening their skates.

        "See Louis, even penguins can skate."

        "If you'd look closer, Armand, you may notice that they aren't actually skating."

        We continued past the family decorating a Christmas tree, snow fairies making frost paintings, puppies hanging stockings, kittens hanging mittens and other such scenes of such undeniable cuteness I was ashamed to be enjoying it so much.

        Christmas music could be heard from speakers mounted on the storefronts. We paid it little heed until we heard a melody we both recognized. We looked at each other.

        "Do you hear that?" we asked.

        "Yes!" we answered.

        We listened a bit longer.

        "I know it, what is it?" I said, trying to place the tune.

        After a few more notes Louis answered, "Adeste Fideles!"

        "Of course!" I cried.

        And, in a completely uncharacteristic display for both of us, we joined in at the chorus.

"Venite adoramus,
venite adoramus,
venite adoramus,
Dominum!"

        We laughed. We continued down the street; seals decorating their seal house with festive fish of all sizes and colors, polar bears drinking soda, dancing reindeer. After a few incomprehensible melodies, another song we recognized was played.

"Veni, veni, Emmanuel,
captivum solve Israel.
Qui gemit in exilio
Privatus Dei filio.

Gaude, gaude, Emmanuel;
Nascetur prote, Israel."

        We sang it right through to the end. It had a rather sad melody, but it was beautiful. The street was almost deserted by this time. I took Louis's arm, he put his hand in mine. We stood and watched hedgehogs play hand bells.

        "I always did love Christmas," Louis commented.

        "Did you? I suppose Pére Noel brought you many many gifts," I said cynically.

        "Yes . . .If I was good," Louis answered, grinning.

        "Were you good?"

        "I tried to be."

        "As I suspected. I cannot imagine you being anything but the perfect child," I said with disgust.

        "And weren't you?"

        "I cannot remember ever being anything other than the little demon that I am," I answered, proudly.

        He laughed and shook his head. We continued to walk through the city. Though it was after midnight, we could still hear carolers and the bubbly sounds of Christmas parties. Louis began to shiver. He had to feed. I needed to give him an escape. And I had just had a terrific idea.

        "Louis, I have business I need to attend to. I will return to the apartment later."

        "Yes, Armand."

24 Decembre

        I have little time to write now, I am going out with Armand, but I want to briefly put down what has happened so far tonight.
        I had to go to my coffin before Armand returned last night, but I awoke to an amazing sight. A Christmas tree, lit with so many lights I couldn't count all the strands! I pushed myself out of my coffin, wondering how he had fit such a tree into my room. But as I stood, I saw that he had instead carried my coffin to our sitting room. I turned to see him in the corner, smiling indulgently at me.

        "Do you like it Louis?" he asked me.

        "Armand, thank you!" I stepped from my coffin and went to kiss him. He was warm from the kill. He held me tight. We kissed as we had years ago when we first discovered our love for each other.

        "Do you want to go out again?" I asked him.

        He smiled, such a pure expression of love. Armand's beauty is truly transcendent. He is living art. I could study the curve of his mouth, the depth of his eyes, the perfection of his limbs, forever.

        "Yes, Louis, let's go out again," he answered me. He lifted my coffin and carried it back to my bedroom. "Go and fetch the comb and the scissors."

        I did as he asked, wetting my hair as well, since he would only make me do it later if I didn't do it now. He insisted upon cutting my hair whenever we went out. I thought it was a nuisance, but I think he enjoyed it. He cut his own hair to reflect the current fashion, which was fine with me. But he always made me sit until he had achieved something fashionable with mine. I've told him that it would be faster, easier and acceptable in society to simply cut it all off, very short, like soldiers do. He was horrified. So, instead, I endure at least thirty minutes of cutting and clipping and various concoctions that are supposed to make it stay in whatever unnatural configuration Armand has made of it. I hate it. I plainly hate it. But I do love him, so I must tolerate it.

        I went into the kitchen.

        "Sit," he pushed me down into a chair. He lifted the hair at the back of my head, gathered it, and cut it off.

        "Finished?" I asked, hopefully.

        "Ferme la bouche, Louis, or I'll cut off your ears," he threatened. He combed my hair out, cut off most of it, parted it in the wrong place, and combed it all over to one side, which my hair is well aware that it was never meant to do. It refused to stay. He produced a jar of something sticky and greasy.

        "What is that?" I asked in annoyance.

        "Pomade. Don't complain."

        He combed this odd substance through my hair and released me.

        "I don't know why you use such things, I'll only have to wash it out before I go to sleep."

        "I don't make the fashions, Louis, I only follow them."

        I sighed and went to find my coat. I thought vaguely that life was much easier when I wasn't talking.

        "Wait, Louis." He said. "I have another surprise for you."

        He held out two tickets to me. I was oddly reminded of the first time we'd met, when he had handed me the invitation to Le Theatre des Vampyres. I took them and read the event.

        "New York Ballet - The Nutcracker Suite." I kissed him

        "I thought you might enjoy it." He said, laughing. The laughter made his deep brown eyes flash with ruby sparkles and golden light. I loved to look at them.

        "Armand," I said. "It is wonderful!"

        "Good." He said, "Go and put on your suit."

        Which I must do now.

LdPdL
New York
Winter, 1947

Page II

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