Daniel's smile widens, a cross between pleased that he's right and pleased that he's pulled that look from the man--creature--he can only guess is Lestat. He's unsure why he suddenly gives a shit about how the other doesn't break eye contact. About how the other seems to find him interesting. About how he finds he sort of likes it.

Maybe he can get the appeal after all.

Probably, he should run. Louis is a killer, doing all sorts of things. Feeds on human blood, even. It's dangerous. Lestat is more detatched from what makes him human, and Daniel Molloy isn't stupid.

He is, however, ambitious. He leans back, allowing this brief moment of smugness, already trying to calculate how he can get the other's side of the story.

"A man with claws, hypnotic eyes, and a French accent skulking about the bar a former lover frequents?" A beat, and Daniel is finally able to move his gaze away from the the others. A hand dips into his leather jacket to pull out a crumpled pack of American Spirits.

"One plus one usually equals two, Mr. Lioncourt." See? He knows all about you. "I'm a reporter. I interview people, and I interviewed Louis."