"It would not take much." More than a little blood-drunk himself and with Louis' hands firm on his waist, Armand is more than happy to boast about his powers. "They are waiting for us, my love. Ripe for the taking."

He pushes back his chair to stand, though he doesn't go far -- moving just enough to shed his cloak of rustling dry leaves and to half-climb himself across the table and into his companion's lap, careless of the public display he makes as he does so. Settling his weight across Louis' thighs, he leans in to kiss him again, reaching up to hold his face and stroke his thumbs over his cheekbones. Enjoying the shape of him.

"Quite a Dionysian gathering," he continues. "There are some frightened minds here."