He can't put a finger on why he's so confident in the fact that Lestat would come back. A gut feeling, an instinct just like the one that had flared up whenever that hand had gently touched the back of his neck.

He finds clarity in coke, honesty in heroin--he can write and interview surprisingly well on both, carefully balancing the soft edges and poeticism of smack with the alertness and fast talking nature of blow. He feels more than invincible, he realizes--and he wonders if that's because he spots a few men looking at Lestat, noticing he's occupied with Daniel Molloy of all people.

Daniel's self loathing has never, ever been about confidence or his looks, but shred of that even being an issue has completely washed away. He's reminded, once again, of how quickly Louis had been enamoured with the tall blonde.

"So that's a yes to being interviewed," he says casually, clearly pleased, and picks up the bag with his recorder, slinging it over one shoulder. The cigarette is moved back to dangle between his lips as he digs out his wallet to pay for his drinks.

"There's a greasy spoon four blocks down the hill," he offers. A neutral location, though he already has a feeling it's going to be shut down.