It's pleasant, the cold, after the relative warmth of a car, the keyboard growing hot where he'd balanced it across his thighs, the blasting heat inside the diner. It's been a long time since snow, enough that the idea of it has become romantic again.

Like guillotines, maybe. Lestat cannot provide Daniel any gory memory reels in playful reply, however. He'd hated to watch that kind of thing back when.

So. Songwriting.

"Well," he reports, as they scout around for their likeliest meal. In no particular rush to do so, despite his complaining. "Tonight, I have a melody to untangle. It exists somewhere, and I only need to discover it." A little gesture, hands lifting, fingers spidering after invisible keys. "Unfortunately for you both, lyric comes after."

So, no Lestat singing broken poetry in loops on the way to Canada, probably. They will be forced to make conversation to fill the void instead. His hands slip back into his coat pockets.

"I told Louis a long time ago that I would go on tour. He's taken me quite seriously."