{ there's a hesitance to the flicker of his expression, one that he hides under the anger that is boiling beneath. it's the same anger over his own slippage, over allowing the monster to surface. he's had to hold it in for so long, and now he's being offered the chance to let it all go. it was easier when he had control over it. he has to have control. he hadn't fully succumbed to the ways his immortal companions disregarded people, but he also didn't attempt to stop them. the last few decades were better in terms of what was offered, but it also left him slowly thinking he's losing the distance between what died when he turned and what he's trying to preserve.

despite it, louis does not take to authority well. he's always been undermined, but this, he can deal with. his eyes look down at the hand and then he purses his lips before he tries to reel in the overwhelming sensations of his aching body. his fang is sharp enough that it cuts his lip and his own blood tastes acidic, malnourished. he starts by slowly retracting his fangs despite the numbness of not being used, to the urges that cause him to beckon the apex predator. it would be as if he never had them, visually at least. }

It's not... The last person I killed was in the year two thousand. Protection seldom comes free, in my case. There has to be a reason we're all dabbling in fuckery here. Would you please take your hands off me, Sir?