The look Daniel gives him is hard, but it's a glare that's more wary than angry. He struggles to pinpoint what Armand looks like he's feeling, which makes him think that Armand isn't sure. But Armand isn't a normal person, Armand is fucking five hundred years old and carrying horrors Daniel probably can't actually comprehend, and trying to read him like this is always going to be flawed.

"Does it?"

Maybe he means it to be more hostile, carrying the thread of his displeasure, but it comes off genuine. Does it. Does any of this seem like shit we should be doing. Daniel doesn't know any more than Armand does. Invisible puzzled question marks over his head.

I want to. Does he. Armand seems pissed about it, which suggests it's more likely to be true. Right? Maybe.

"Eating people is one thing. I haven't unpacked the rest of that."

A tangle. Daniel is finally not dying, for the first time since his symptoms kicked in he has the freedom to tell people to fuck off when they offer him aid. The only examples of vampires feeding from each other - that he's seen, setting aside all the erotic drug examples of Louis' stories - are Fake Rashid's sex game dinner theater and Armand drip-feeding a half-burned Louis while he screamed in a coffin. And Armand is a person, and it just is a thing he hasn't thought about.

Murder is easier to grapple with.