Armand's lips tug into a faint little smirk at the reaction then stay that way as they walk. The ease is alarming, he finds himself wanting to point out every passing detail he's missed in his studies of the modern world and ask 'what is that? why is that?' It's hardly much, this minor display of ignorance, but he can recognize a shift in the fact he feels no need to guard himself, or handpick which ignorance to offer up for proper effect.

What's more is the fact he feels very little in the way of alarm at the revelation. This is his, every instinct tells him, for better or for worse. His fledgling, blood of his blood, uniquely capable of harming him but also a lone safe haven in the world.

No, perhaps not safe but still he has a place here, carved out in a form he does not yet recognize. To find the shape of it is a terrifying prospect as much as it is an alluring one, and he dwells on it until the elevator opens for them.

It isn't until they reach the room that Armand untangles, the door opening before him with a click of manipulated mechanisms in a dramatic little flourish. He's pulling out his phone, banishing the thoughts of before when he decides he will be paid back as promised, striding further in as he taps at the screen.

"Let me see your wardrobe," he orders as he tap tap taps away. "I assume you brought at least one formal attire."