It doesn't take long for the mood to change at the crowded table as the drink flows and the dark powers of their hosts are revealed. Armand, anticipating attack or worse, watches it all, noting every facial expression, the noise of tearing and chewing and swallowing. Some resist. Others fall to it like beasts at the kill, or simply don't care.

He lets his gaze travel back and forth over the length of the table, paying attention to those he knows to be powerful or dangerous. Lauralae is one of the former, perhaps also the latter. He's pleased when her mind opens to receive him and she turns to look, meeting those black wolf eyes with his own lambent gaze.

As she arrives beside his place at the head of the table, in full view of the assembled mortals and immortals, he takes her gloved hand without hesitating, a gentleman guiding a young lady, a king receiving his guest. The coven leader in full. With his other hand he flips the edge of his cloak away from his lap, indicating where she should sit. He glances over at his companions, seeks Lucifer's ancient regard in the crowd, then turns finally to look at her.

"Daughter of air and darkness," he lifts his hand to gently touch her chin, "are you enjoying yourself tonight?"