Daniel steadied somewhat under Vlad's comforting hand and Rosalie's enthusiastic hug. She was warm and welcoming where the villa was neither of those things, and the comfort was something he could hide in for a little while before she let go. When he stepped back he was not shaking so badly, and he even managed a small smile for her, a quiet one against the pallor of his face. "I have been better," he said in English, amused by the formality of her question.
French again. Daniel liked French, it was good for swearing and for conversation about awkward things, since it never sounded awkward. "What is this place like?" He stepped away, rotated in place, and then moved to the windows, closing blinds with awkward turns, finding curtains, checking locks. He barely glanced at the kitchen, but he stopped to look at a sweepingly impressionistic painting that hung over the villa couch.