He's lost him. Lestat slides off of his chair and Daniel's mind is already working a mile a minute to get the other back. A hand moves down his arm, though, and Daniel finds himself riveted.

There it is again. The spark, the look. He understands why Louis fell in love with him. There's the accent, the way he moves, those brilliantly haunting eyes. Daniel's never been a poet, but he knows inspiration when he sees it. The hand on his neck is the grim reminder he needs to snap him out of it. His gut is telling him it was a silent threat. The tall blonde walks away and Daniel's gaze follows the shape of his back all the way to the exit before he seems to remember what he's doing here in the first place. He stubs his barely smoked cigarette out and downs the rest of his sugary mint drink in one last gulp.

It doesn't take him too long to survey the crowd and spy someone familiar--the reason he comes to places like this. His familiar friend spies him, too, and so while Lestat is outside Daniel slips into the bathroom and finds himself almost immediately on his knees in exchange for drugs.

He buys heroin and coke from of his connection and winds up doing two lines off of the older man's cock, but it's worth it: Daniel feels like he's fucking invincible when he stands and exits the stall. He orders two shots of bourbon and waits.

All he can think about is that thumb grazing the mark Louis made.