Chatty. It's enjoyable in a way, though Armand will never in his undead life admit it's a step up from the silent stillness of the penthouse on any given day. He taps away at his phone, taking only a moment to try and remember if he saw that interview. Not that he will ever admit to following Daniel's career unless it's in a sinister, pragmatic way.

He doesn't remember it. Shame, he would have been interested in that interview, if only because of the era he was quite taken with Dogma. And Osmosis Jones.

"What year was that?" he does ask, a few more taps before he pulls the phone to his ear and starts speaking to someone on the other line in smooth french. The conversation is short, the phone dropped to the side when he's done as though now they simply waited.

"You and Louis are similar in your incessant need to make your wealth bracket a singular part of your personality," he muses. Probably not a compliment. The question has him glancing over, more curious that Daniel would find anything 'kinda romantic.' The admittance makes him want to indulge so he does, taking a few moments to unearth those hunts from his memory and make a decision.

Largely that time period was dissociative for him, dull and exhausting, but just like in the catacombs the hunts were a singular pleasure to break through the muck. "Hm, there was one shortly before the Great War, on one of the bridges of the Seine. Rich enough they paid to have the water cleaned somewhat, and the dim light casting the waters black hid the sins of the city's filth. Candles floating on the water, deeply indulgent. They looked like stars dotting the stream. Celeste nearly fell in gazing upon them- she was still a fledgling at the time, easily taken with sensation.

"We stole the bride for our next show," he sounds almost nostalgic about it.