She had stowed us away in ships, trains and wagons. She had asked the desperate farmers and rationed soldiers to teach her their languages before she killed them. And when she had cobbled together enough words and grammar, she stopped asking. Claudia was a thing of little indecision, a manic tour guide. And any castle with ties to Vlad Tepes or Vlad Dracul, however slight, had to be explored. And I endured it all for Claudia, whose rage toward me and my refusal to burn Lestat had dulled into a bitter silence. [Sits besides Claudia passively silent and staring at fire] This war. It's affecting the blood. Been drinking misery, hopelessness. It's in the blood, we're taking it in. Taking it on. [Grunts] I'm thinking that's why we can't get warm, warm up. You think that's it? [Imitates Claudia's voice] "Louis did you say something?" Thank you for asking. I did say something, Claudia. I said I'm cold. I'm sleeping in a hole every night. I'm worn to a nub. How about you? "Well, brother Lou, I'm a little low myself. But, uh..."
Air raid. [Louis and Claudia run out of building amidst bombings]
[Voice of thought] It wasn't the murdering Hun or beasts of Ivan, or the fire raining down from the RAF that chased the vampire away. The vampire hadn't been here for centuries. The few scraps of forensic proof we found made the case plain, but Claudia was unassailable. Like... like some deranged geologist waving a woolly mammoth tusk saying, "Let's knock on the neighbor's door, there must be one inside." It's dead. Maybe it's time we go home.
...
"He asked me if we can go home. Home? Can there be a more offensive question? Run back to New Orleans. Pry up his bones, why don't you? Louis de Pointe du Lac. Dead weight." I want to thank you, for the memories you helped restore the other night. I understand these diaries much better now.
And I want to thank you, Louis, for yesterday's eight hours on how to avoid the sun and torpedoes while cruising the Mediterranean war theater. And tonight's two hours and counting on chasing old world vamps who never materialize. You ever read "Moby Dіck", Real Rashid?
I'm here to serve.
Ah. Yeah, sure. I'm sorry, this is... this is so weird. Where did they send you when Shah Rukh Khan over here was playing you? Is there a panic room behind the stolen Rembrandt?
My love ran a theater company for 150 years, Daniel.
Your love was in a box pondering a premediated neck wound, according to Claudia. She wrote it, let's choose to believe it.
Unworthy in San Francisco, unworthy in Dubai. Disregard.
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