The cigarette has long since cooled down to nothing. Just ash, inert and useless. Louis draws a finger through it, looking away from Lestat.

Senses the way Lestat is needling them towards familiar argument. Tries to decide before the decision is made for him, whether or not he cares to be led into a fight they've repeated time and again.

"How many times you promised me you'd do it?"

Over and over again. Louis, waiting, waiting, waiting.