Such sunglasses are tacky, Armand thinks. Maybe not in so many words but when he meets Daniel's eyes that hint of orange underneath sends a sick sort of thrill down his spine. With his big, brown tacky contacts his glance upwards has a softer edge. Fitting of the young thing here to meet some literary or journalistic hero.

"I never imagined you the indecisive sort, Mr. Molloy," he answers, tilting his head. Human skin pulled on tight and just as flawed a disguise as it was in Dubai with just a few holes poked through. "I would be happy to help."

Sure. At the moment he's watching Daniel intently, taking in his color to decide if he's been feeding enough. Leaning in just a touch, unable to resist with how his heart begins to match Daniel's pace. At least one person clocks him for wanting to take grandpa for a ride and hey, they aren't exactly wrong, just about who is actually the grandpa here.