Lestat does not appreciate blood bagged, stored and decanted later, Louis knows. He has been polite in Louis' company, but Louis had watched his face as he'd sipped from Louis' own mug. The intimacy of it had been sweet, even as Lestat had run tongue across his teeth, unmistakable lack of enthusiasm in the way he passed back the cup.

"Maybe," is followed swiftly by, "Maybe not. I can't imagine we wouldn't unsettle them, even decades into the future."

Predators. Even Louis. (Especially Louis.) Would there ever be a day when they wouldn't make humans uneasy? Innate instinct, seeking space from what might devour them.

"Is that what you hope comes of this?"