There's gratification and humiliation swirled together in Louis' apprehension for Lestat's safety. Being fussed over makes him pliant as a cat in a sunbeam purring under a solicitous hand; being reminded of his infirmity makes him bristle like that self-same cat prodded indelicately.

The tension of it flashes back, ship to lighthouse, as his muscles make to stir in his arm. The choice he makes to settle is an obviously made one, so that Louis will know it's a concession made especially for him.

"And here I imagined you might enjoy me playing protector of the people," he murmurs, smiling. He should think better of it, standing so close to these corpses in plain view. "But you raise an excellent point. Did they manage to try to defend themselves? Or did they quail and tremble like lambs?"

He looks back at the bodies, examining them with a different sort of critical eye. Less aesthetics, more practicalities.