Nearly eighty years of drinking from Armand. Of growing powerful in his own right.

Louis' eyes are fixed on this man. Predatory.

As aware as Lestat of the humans gathering, though clear having come to some decision as he gives Lestat's hip a squeeze before making to slip out from beneath his arm.

"Perhaps he requires an escort out."

Some misalignment here, between the words and the posture. The absence of glee that should accompany malice. Louis isn't sure what to make of it.

But even so, Louis' gums still itch with waiting fangs all the same.