( Louis is still watching Lestat's face, though now and then his eyes dance through the dazzling, impressionistic blur of the electric lights passing them by. He makes a soft sound, thinking. How does he feel? Better than he should, though objectively his condition is terrible. He still hurts, and badly, but something about Lestat's blood working on the wound, working through him, makes the pain feel almost disconnected. )

Mm... better, I think. Slightly clearer. I don't want to fall asleep quite so badly, though that might have to do with the rain.

( A fat drop slides down the bridge of his nose; his hair is beginning to stick to his forehead and cheeks in dark, unkempt ribbons. He tightens his arms around Lestat's shoulders. )

I won't ask you to let me walk.

( He says it warmly, fondly, in spite of the grim reason for it. )