The softer light suits how stoned he is, anyway: Daniel is eager, and after a brief moment he's grabbing the bag he'd just set down and moves to a couch directly opposite of Lestat. He all but sinks into it inspite of himself, and pulls out what he needs. His well worn note book, a pencil. A few blank tapes, which he sets on the coffee table in front of them, and finally the recorder itself. It gets set with a special kind of reverence; Daniel Molloy's holy relic, his sacrament, and he's digging for those cheap American Spirits once more.

"Just him and some rats," Daniel confirms, and his brow knits. A girl. That's interesting. Daniel never heard about someone like that from Louis, nor had he seen anyone. It had just been them, holed up for days, talking, takeout. His gut twinges, and he's not sure if it's because his instincts are telling him to go for this line of questioning or if it's because Louis and him had done a lot more than just talk.

"A mutual companion? One that knows about you and Louis'... Un-nature?"