"He's an idiot," Damien all but snaps, rolling his eyes. A pause, then more calmly, he tells her, "You really need better taste in friends."

He pauses, drumming his fingers absently on the arm of his chair, and the screens click off just as seemingly idly. "But yes, fine. I tried out for his little boys' club. Apparently I didn't make the cut." He flashes her a thin smile, that doesn't meet his eyes -- if anything, in fact, there's an anger there, behind them. "Lucky me.

"But no, I don't know anything about your Croatoan."

That, on the other hand, may or may not be a blatant lie.