[He expects dark blood shining slick against leather. He expects pain, dizziness, weakness--like the inescapably bitter aftertaste of medicine, no matter how many spoonfuls of sugar you add. Even prodding at delicate torn skin barely stings at all; for a moment, Demyx simply looks from Lestat, to the twisting tendrils of darkness, and back. The guy really does seem to be taking this hard.....

Weirdly hard, actually. Why is Lestat so shaken up by this? Sure, his blood might be bizarre and undrinkable, but he can't say he's used to people having anything like empathy or compassion. All of the Organization would have just told him to walk it off and stop being a whiny bitch about it.]

Haaa..... yeah, nobody's ever accused me of being smart before. I..... guess that means your secrets are safe with me! Pretty good, huh?

Oh, uh! S-sorry if it..... I dunno, hurt or anything? You're not supposed to expose yourself to that stuff unprotected.

[Demyx makes a broad, sweeping gesture to indicate his uniform. A little too late for that now that the calls are apparently coming from inside the house, so speak. Too bad it doesn't protect against the swoon's..... time mind magic stuff, too. Should he be worried, having everything exposed so effortlessly like that? He feels like he should probably be worried. Seriously, dude, he's taking "you are what you eat" waaaaaay too literally.]