Magnus doesn't require an answer, for the understanding is nearly palpable. Ambrose has had to face the possibility, more and more as of late, that he may have some lessons to learn from Leon yet -- lessons neither he nor his sire could have predicted. Ambrose can fathom the idea of necessary self-interest -- really, he would call it selfishness, because what else is it? -- and the disregard of lecherous others...he can absolutely conceptualize it. Taking it up as a weapon to defend himself with, however, is still so foreign to him. Foreign, but not completely unfamiliar...and therefore, somewhat dreadful, with past experiences to loom in the shadows as guilty reminders.
Magnus seems resolute and sure that he will make Ambrose come to enjoy such flattery, doesn't he? Ambrose's face pinches in briefly over a flashing smile, still so certain such things are a joke, if not empty pandering. Yet the man continues with something poetic and assuring, a secret that proclaims more longing than he thinks he's ever heard Sir Magnus admit to to date. His glow of surprise darkens quickly as he thinks -- recalls something Leon had said to him a few times, before luring him into the pit of the damned along with him. Something that sounded like praise, until it became disparaging.
Ambrose doesn't sound wry often, but his low chuckle sounds brittle at its edges. "I was given the impression that such a thing is not befitting of the dead." There's always a bit of whiplash in talks like these, where this vampire reaffirms his experience with such simple but effective language. The changes have been vast and great, but his mind is still so much the same -- he truly does forget what he is. Dead, in some unarguable way.
But it is a small gift that Ambrose finds he glows in awe for, and he wonders if such things to say come to Magnus so easily. He would never dare ask, never dissect him like that. The parameters he follows for their dialogue are his friend's, playful and challenging. Ambrose isn't so desperate to find assurances, just a certainty of intention.
It's also hard to question him like this -- soft conversations basked in low light, hand on his face, skin against his jaw...it makes Ambrose's teeth ache mildly with want, and there's a small rush in both that, and knowing he does have agency over his own demon.
"I would," Ambrose begins, looking into the werewolf's eyes, seeing him as well as through him, fingertips drifting over his wrist -- a small artery there. "I imagine Leon would be absolutely thrilled that the lead of the show would be abandoning the tour, for absolutely no discernible reason." There is no souring inflection, or tone of voice -- no, only a melancholy flatness to it. He knows he's being guided here, and while the sense of being lured makes the vampire cautious... Agendas, Ambrose. More than wondering what Magnus' might be, could Ambrose decide what his own should be?
no subject
Magnus seems resolute and sure that he will make Ambrose come to enjoy such flattery, doesn't he? Ambrose's face pinches in briefly over a flashing smile, still so certain such things are a joke, if not empty pandering. Yet the man continues with something poetic and assuring, a secret that proclaims more longing than he thinks he's ever heard Sir Magnus admit to to date. His glow of surprise darkens quickly as he thinks -- recalls something Leon had said to him a few times, before luring him into the pit of the damned along with him. Something that sounded like praise, until it became disparaging.
Ambrose doesn't sound wry often, but his low chuckle sounds brittle at its edges. "I was given the impression that such a thing is not befitting of the dead." There's always a bit of whiplash in talks like these, where this vampire reaffirms his experience with such simple but effective language. The changes have been vast and great, but his mind is still so much the same -- he truly does forget what he is. Dead, in some unarguable way.
But it is a small gift that Ambrose finds he glows in awe for, and he wonders if such things to say come to Magnus so easily. He would never dare ask, never dissect him like that. The parameters he follows for their dialogue are his friend's, playful and challenging. Ambrose isn't so desperate to find assurances, just a certainty of intention.
It's also hard to question him like this -- soft conversations basked in low light, hand on his face, skin against his jaw...it makes Ambrose's teeth ache mildly with want, and there's a small rush in both that, and knowing he does have agency over his own demon.
"I would," Ambrose begins, looking into the werewolf's eyes, seeing him as well as through him, fingertips drifting over his wrist -- a small artery there. "I imagine Leon would be absolutely thrilled that the lead of the show would be abandoning the tour, for absolutely no discernible reason." There is no souring inflection, or tone of voice -- no, only a melancholy flatness to it. He knows he's being guided here, and while the sense of being lured makes the vampire cautious... Agendas, Ambrose. More than wondering what Magnus' might be, could Ambrose decide what his own should be?