"And what kind of silly buggers would that be?"

The voice is soft and very faintly French-accented, the question gently wry.

Louis looks like he belongs in a graveyard himself, deathly pale and dressed in black from head to toe. The stranger's demeanor intrigues him; there's a certain nonchalance there that Louis is drawn to all the more due to lacking it himself. Under the current circumstances, he's willing to listen to anyone who seems to have the slightest inkling of what's going on.

Or perhaps it's only the fact that wearing sunglasses at night is the sort of thing Lestat would do, and Louis is searching for something familiar amidst all of this.

"I thought I recognized some of the names," he says, casting a long glance around the dilapidated cemetery. "But I couldn't be certain."