Brandy in one hand, cigarette in the other, Daemon joined the larger men with his own feline grace, making small conversation periodically, but not determined to maintain it.

When Elle joined her father, Daemon fell silent, closing his eyes while his glass was refilled. It made it easier to listen to her voice while she spoke to her father, although he was somewhat surprised when he felt her approach him deliberately.

"Anything written by Faelen Morailissen is worth a read," he hummed. "Although, if you have plans to sleep this evening, perhaps you ought to stray away from that. It's difficult to put down." The voice of experience, that.