"Personally, I think near-fatal levels of embarrassment are great for bonding," Daniel says as that horrible exchange shakes loose, inviting looks back at his own moments of soul-scathing cringe that Louis has endured, trying to make him laugh. What's going on with you, Louis du Lac, why does your heart beat this way for trainwreck white guys, why aren't you hanging out with anybody normal.

Art chat is fun, Louis' actual expertise vs Daniel's layman's enjoyment; there are oversized canvases propped at the back of the small staging area, all a mess, some kind of live painting performance earlier in the evening before their arrival. A survey of minds suggests it was not a successful act. Still, something to speculate over. Speed painting to club music in sparkly underwear: helping or hurting art?

Daniel downs Louis' other cocktail. It tastes like nothing, but he likes alcohol. A salute with the glass, for Lestat's return.

"I think you should try the one that's currently being sued for minting NFTs of their displays without artist permission," he says. "Even if only to study the brain of the insufferable trust fund kid running the place."

Hours slip by too quickly towards last call, a reminder that dawn will follow it. Daniel has missed calls and texts on his phone, but he's forgotten to look; out of practice, carrying burners or none at all except when conducting real business, like the book reading.