Daniel has been alright as separating himself as he is now from mortals, from food, even during excursions with Lestat— he has to, there's no point starving to death, and the world is overpopulated anyway, full of soulless fucks, Daniel knows better than anyone, he sees to much in people, understands too much, has no problem deleting people.

Doesn't he? He just killed two vampires in grotesquely violent ways, and he had only recently struggled to communicate to Armand the ethical facade he's put up in himself to be alright with murder. Accepting blood from his maker to repair his head the rest of the way had tripped it, because he's only ever taken blood from mortals, and following that, until tonight, had only ever been violent with mortals, and something about the veil is shredded now, forcing him into looking at how he's existing.

A startle, when Louis touches his mind.

"Yeah," out loud, in-mind. The bad yeah, the lying one. He looks at him, looks down at their hands, frowns.

'You shouldn't have done that.'

Still not-quite-present. Freaking out, but quietly. He slides fingers around Louis' wrist and beneath the cuff, hating it.

'Help me with this,' he implores. He can tell it's made to be a pain in the ass, that it'll cut into Louis if he just yanks it, but they can probably do it without any damage with three hands. C'mon.