Hands free, Lestat can indulge in tucking the other over the bend of Louis' elbow, a cosy tangle. His keyboard balanced at his back from its strap, an easy and meaningless weight. His boot heels pitch him that little bit taller than the shoes he'd worn back when. Little differences, not unpleasant, just

threatened. Ephemeral. He is determined to enjoy his evening.

Then, this. He looks aside at Louis, as if to gauge the purpose of this set up. "Of course," he says. "I will always be honest with you."

I mean, he tries, and that's what matters.