Louis knows Lestat is, as ever, as composed as he wants to be. Behaved is what Louis is looking for, as well as the absence of certain damning pieces of evidence like his flush or a too-sultry look. Louis has to school himself when Lestat kisses his hand, resisting the urge to turn his palm up and capture more of the electric spark that shivers up his arm.

"Well." Well. "I admit I feel a little warm."

Then the shutters come down, and Louis wishes he had his sunglasses. He doesn't touch him, or he will be lost here forever. He opens the door.

Cool as a cucumber except for the glittering of his eyes, he strides past the gloomy proceedings and people in the nave. The bodies are sobering at least. He is reminded of himself, Lestat, and Claudia exiting his mother's funeral in step with the surety of well-dressed vampires not wishing to be around a corpse anymore.