Dizzying, like waking up to oneself. He can remind himself of some things: he turned Daniel against his will, and although he is enjoying his honeymoon phase, it seems likely that the instinct that might pull them together is matched only by the latent resentment. He has been depicted as harming Louis grievously, some kind of lengthy extension from the sins he committed in Paris, the obscuration of exactly when and where he saved Louis' life. Daniel considers Louis a close friend, and both men have taken to Lestat's company, after a week of slow evisceration.

All of these things are true and lean a great weight against the likelihood that Daniel wishes to talk to him of his feelings, and do normal activities. Managing him, perhaps. Having fun in private while he does so.

It feels a little like a neat domino waterfall, where the dominos are the size of skyscrapers. He probably won't crash the car, or drive it off a bridge, but there is an odd kind of despairing pull where Armand is not exactly sure of where they are going.

It is all as dramatic as that while also not at all. No particular outward change. Even a shift in paradigm doesn't inspire a great swell of feeling. He thinks. Maybe?

Anyway.

A glance.

Thoughtful silence. Reaching so far back. Here, on this stretch of road, the clouded over sky is rendered in textures of grey from the reflection of distant city light, and so the outlines of the leaves, which they can see in an unusual kind of vibrancy, make dark, craggy edges, as if they were driving through a ravine. Here, he's looking at the leaves and whatever.

"The hunger," eventually. "I would confuse it with the nausea I no longer had. And I was more afraid of that feeling than I was concerned about the morality, sometimes. I rarely enjoyed my food as a human. I don't recall having that feeling again, as time went on."

Of course, he doesn't eat very often now either, because he doesn't need to.

"You look to me like you've made a full recovery."