Lestat watches the car roll forwards, sink, tip a little beneath its own imbalance. Content to stand there for a moment and ensure neither of them will have to go for a swim, but beneath the whorl of muck, released gouts of air, the car is finding a soft and muddy landing below.

He looks back to Daniel. Considers lying. Yeah, the Great Conversion, everyone knows.

"I tore my copy into little pieces," he says, pleasantly. "And then purchased another." He turns, starts wading back to shore, the tails of his long coat dragging along through the water. "So I suppose you can say I was a passionate reader."

It would have been an absolutely miserable time if by some twist of fate, Lestat was the vampire that Daniel had stumbled across and had decided to interview. Hours of truly useless audio files of fond anecdote, poetic description, circuitous justification, and probably several meltdowns. Maybe the end product would have worked out to be nearly the same, assuming a skilled editor, and minus the clusterfuck of a riveting plot twist at the end.

He dips a hand into the water as they go, absently cleans one with the other. "And I found it to be clarifying. Of course, flawed. Many glaring errors. But for that, you can hardly be blamed. What is the Great Conversion?"