Lestat flicks a glance down at the mug of blood being held as Louis approaches, initially unmoving from his stance and posture before he unfolds his arms. Goes to take the mug from Louis' hands, bringing it up to peer into. Sips from.

Tastes like blood. But like how he would expect dead blood to taste, bitter, lifeless. Doesn't make a face, but doesn't take another, wiping teeth with tongue to get rid of it. Swallows.

"Did she hurt you?" he asks, instead.