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You've reached Dr. Jonathan Reid. Please leave me a message.

[It's good information, and she makes note of it.]

Dr. Reid--

I'll see you then. Be prompt.

--R. L.

[She does purchase a few live mice, but what she has for his half of dinner ought to sate him regardless. She'd filled a few vials with her own blood, enough to sate him for an evening even if he ends up throwing up. So she's a little pale when she answers the door, but not absurdly so.]

[He eyes that 'be prompt' and considers being late to make a point. Jonathan tamps down on the petty thought, though. Rosalind is a direct woman. Overly-direct at times. She's likely had to be given the age she's grown up in and her chosen field. It simply would not do to come off as demurring with male colleagues. Jonathan tries not to see it as a challenge and arrives precisely on time.

The doctor immediately makes note of her pale complexion.]

Madam Lutece, are you feeling well enough for this evening? My apologies. I should have checked ahead.

Edited Date: 2019-01-09 10:57 pm (UTC)

I'm perfectly all right.

[She takes a step back, letting him in. The scent of blood just reeks from her home, though if his nose is discerning enough, he'll be able to tell it's mostly the false blood, not her own.

Mostly.]

It's been many years since I've been called upon to give away as much blood as I have now. I'm not as used to it as I was. But I'll adapt, as I did then. Would you like dinner first or experimentation?

[He can tell the difference, immediately, but his mouth still waters and the prospect of feeding on her blood is a very tempting one. Jonathan eyes her for a moment too long, gaze intense, before he glances away.]

Experimentation may be more advisable. I would prefer not to waste whatever it is you've prepared in the event I make a poor test subject. But if you would like to eat and rest, please do not let me stop you doing so.

[It would end up with him watching her eat, in any case.]

[OR WILL IT.

She has a dinner prepared, of course: a chicken salad, efficient and yet decent enough to the tongue, but filled with things she needs to eat. She's rather not eat at all, frankly, given the choice, but as she's rendered human again, so it goes.

There's wine for her, too-- and, across the table, a place set for him. No food, but a wine glass filled with something dark and rich and red.]

It seemed more appealing than a vial.

[She murmurs it as she sits.]

A glass, I mean. There's no need to be barbaric.

[Jonathan looks at the glass of blood and his mind immediately turns to the Ascalon Club and their manners. Making murder so very proper, refined. Sanitized. He decides not to mention the associations.]

It's very thoughtful, Madam. You really needn't have gone to the trouble. Do you have iron supplements available to you?

[Jonathan will sit, but refrains from drinking for the moment. The blood is going to be cold and not nearly as appetizing directly from the source, but he does do her the courtesy of not just fidgeting with it. The doctor keeps his hands politely in his lap.]

[Naturally she notices. One eyebrow raises, but she answers him first. Because she's polite.]

I don't, no. But I'll be adapting my diet henceforth, until I can make sure the majority of you are taken care of. Do you find my blood so disagreeable? There's a microwave behind you, you know.

As I said, I don't wish to waste your blood, Madam. I can wait until you finish. Or I can test your product while you enjoy your repast. I simply don't wish to ruin your appetite if the results are not to your expectations.

[A beat, and she wrinkles her nose.]

Jonathan, I drained that for you. For dinner. The only waste will be if you don't end up eating it-- though I suppose I can give it to Alucard. I certainly haven't been putting in my own blood for this experiment.

[He holds up a hand.]

I mean to say I will drink it after I try your substitute blood, Madam. When I may be very much more in need of it to avoid any unfortunate circumstances. It would be good to have that and the mice you've purchased--[he can sense those, their little hearts pounding harshly as they dart about]--near to hand so that I do not turn my sights on... other things.

[Her, specifically.]

I have told you what may happen if I do not have enough blood.

All right.

[Though she feels a little odd, eating here in front of him, but not so much so she'll stop. It's been a long day and she's starved; to put off a meal would be just foolish. But far be it for them to just sit in silence.]

Tell me what you've discovered regarding that serum.

It is a remarkable thing Mr. Tepes has come into the possession of. [He assumes that's what she means.] Even if I cannot use it, I can see the value of it. Some manner of artificial plasma. It seems a marked improvement on Ringer's solution or even the gum-saline solution we used during the war, though I would say it is still primarily composed of various salts with a mixture of added proteins.

[He'll go on at length while she eats. Jonathan is nothing, if not detailed in his research. His findings are very likely similar to hers, if not cast in the particular light of a blood specialist.]

[She's listening intently, no doubt about that. She's eating because she needs the nutrition, not because she really wants to-- and so all her attention is focused on him, him and what he says. She nods occasion, or frowns if she slightly disagrees, but for the most part, their findings seem to align.

Only once he finishes (and her plate is clean) does she speak.]

We're going to have to be careful. My last batch contained an accidental arousing side-effect; I believe I've phased it out, but we'll see. But beyond that . . . it's troublesome that it seems to do nothing for you. It suggests your physiology is essentially different from, say, Alucard-- but given you can consume humans and animals, surely we can tweak it to your satisfaction.

[He stares at her for a long moment.]

Madam Lutece, what have you been using in your tinctures that would cause arousal?

Nothing on purpose.

[For the first time since they've known each other, she flushes. It's light, but it's there, because she's embarrassed twofold. Not just at failing in making this concoction, but in having such a stupid side-effect.]

But I have to get my ingredients from somewhere-- and clearly, this stupid city has laced even their base materials.

[A first and it is, admittedly, incredibly charming. Jonathan struggles for a moment to keep from smirking at her woes. He covers by stroking his beard and humming thoughtfully.]

Something I'll keep in mind in the development of my own serums. If you're finished, though... shall we? I do not know what particular properties of blood it is that makes it palatable to me where the substitute is not.

Truly, my deepest fear is that it is some nonsensical matter such as 'life' to which my biology is beholden. The way I heard my Maker speak of blood, though, it would not surprise me. He was blood, himself. Or so he claimed when I asked if he was truly made of blood as my visions of him showed.

If that's true, we'll have a bit of a complication on our hands, you're right. But let's not settle on that until we're absolutely certain.

[She gets up briskly, striding on ahead, not really all that keen to let him see her embarrassment. It doesn't help that her ears are red, but whatever! It'll fade! Moving on!

The smell of blood grows worse as they approach the counter, but of course it does. She's a few samples labeled, but she hands the one named trial 2 over to him. A bucket is nudged over as well, alongside her cage of mice.]

Right. Is there anything else you need before we begin?

Your patience. Your mixture may well be suitable for other vampires. Mr. Tepes may be the best test subject.

[But they'll have to see. Jonathan eyes the sample he's been handed. No time like the present. He opens the sample and downs the contents. Or... tries to. As with the hot chocolate on Patara, the moment the vampire's throat bobs with a swallow, his whole body lights itself on fire with rejection.

He gags, some of the rest of the mixture spilling out of his mouth. Jonathan sets the container down on the desk as best he can without breaking it, then drops to his knees, ducking his head into the bucket. Rosalind might like to look away or she'll be witness to Jonathan heaving repeatedly into the bucket, the wet splash of blood can be heard, along with the powerful scent of it.

Jonathan empties the contents of his stomach and somehow more than that, he's fairly sure, before it finally begins to abate. His breathing is ragged, and his vision swims, shifting between technicolor, red-tinged, and shades. Blood. He needs blood. Fresh blood.

The doctor looks up at Rosalind, sees her heart, her veins calling. With some effort, though, he redirects his attention to the mice. He rips open the cage door and grabs for them. There's no elegance to the feeding. Jonathan rips into the squirming creatures with vicious intent. One by one, the frightened mice are drained to husks and dropped on the floor. A few make a valiant bid for escape, but fall prey to the vampire all the same.

It's only once they're all dead in a pile that Jonathan finds his senses fully returning. He takes deeper breaths and looks up at Rosalind, suddenly extremely self-conscious.]

My... my apologies for the... interruption, Madam.

[He touches his lips, but they're coated in blood, and Jonathan turns away from her, pulling out a handkerchief to try to wipe himself clean.]

[She glances away when he vomits, more for his sake than her own. But she's always hated being seen as weak, and there's few weaknesses worse than illness, so she'll do him that courtesy. But she glances over when she sees him look at her, and for a moment, everything goes still.

Her expression is lofty. But he'll see her heartrate pick up, her pulse suddenly jumping. Fear, but only a little, because she knows damn well she can escape him if he loses control. She's just on the verge of offering him a wrist when he lunges for the cage, and from there, it takes little time at all. The poor mice are drained one at a time, quickly and efficiently, and soon there's nothing but silence filling the apartment.

It's a gory display, but she thinks little of it. Finds it fascinating, maybe, but even then, she isn't stupid enough to say so.]

Come here.

[She takes a step towards him, one hand touching his arm.]

And turn around. You're going to smear more than you wipe away.

The only thing I require is a moment. [Jonathan snaps as he wipes furiously, embarrassment shifting to some pique. He refuses to turn.] I'm not a child. I can clean myself.

[A pause.]

Madam.

Edited Date: 2019-01-10 06:02 pm (UTC)

[A beat, and then, coldly:]

My mistake.

[She'll wait until he's done, though, giving him ample time, before adding:]

You mistake intimacy for condescension.

[Jonathan realizes the mistake at her follow-up, but finds himself still irritated, even while he regrets being short with her.]

My apologies for the misunderstanding. Your words seemed to indicate the latter. That is my mistake.

[And her general demeanor.

Jonathan finally turns and kneels, using his bloody kerchief to grab up the dead mice and drop them into the bucket he'd thrown up in. It can all be disposed of.]

[To be fair: she probably wouldn't have helped either way. But now she's definitely not going to; instead, the sound of her heels clicking sharply as she heads to the kitchen fills the room. There's the distant sound of a microwave, and then--

Ah. It's the cup of her blood. She sets it on the table just a little too firmly; some of the liquid spills out, dripping down the side and over her hand. She curses quietly, raises her hand automatically to lick the fluid away, realizes just in time that she can't, and instead exhales irritably.]

For crissake--

[Jonathan's finished by the time she returns and is wiping off his hands as best he can. He'll need to lavatory for a more thorough wash, and is about to ask her, but Rosalind comes bearing that glass and Jonathan eyes it, feeling a mix of desire and disgust. The mice hadn't been satisfying at all and their taste had been wretched, even if he'd drunk them down like a man dying of thirst.

He licks his lips, watching the blood drip down the glass, paint her hand. There's a chance to warm the temperature between them here. One that will satisfy Jonathan's need to take some control with this brilliant, but vexing woman.]

This is an act of intimacy.

[The words are spoken as Jonathan catches Rosalind's eye, then takes her hand and lifts it to his lips. He licks the blood from her hand, the brush of his tongue cool over her relatively warm skin.]

[It most certainly is.

It's more intimate than she expected from him-- and, frankly, more intimate than she ought to want from a man from her time. Who is frustrating and stubbornly old-fashioned in some ways and frighteningly forward-thinking in others. Who drives her up a wall sometimes with his arrogance and his pride; who constantly leaves her drawn to him even as she wants nothing more than to put him down.

It's not that she's falling in love with him. Nothing so childish, and she hadn't been lying that day when she'd told him Robert has her heart wholly and completely.

But there's something-- well. Intimate about this, something that leaves her uncharacteristically quiet as he laps the blood from her hand. Her fingers curl, wrapping just slightly around his larger hand.]

You get to define which is which, is that it?

[But it's softly said. And unlike how it might normally be snapped or goaded, it's almost a tease: a joke of an echo of what their conversations might normally be.]

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Jonathan Reid, MD