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[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.]

[He finishes by pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles and letting go.]

Not singularly. But I will call it out as such so that we may be plain with one another, Madame Lutece. This dance between us confuses me. At times, it feels as though we are listening to entirely different songs. I simply wish to be direct.

[Jonathan looks to the glass of her blood and picks it up to drink. It's all right. Nothing as good as if he were tapping it direct, but it's palatable.]

[And just like that, things are all but back to normal. Rosalind exhales just once, shortly and sharply, her fingers curling again as she takes her hand back.]

You're right there.

[In that they have such a difficult time with one another sometimes. That's putting it nicely. She watches him for a few seconds, her gaze locked on the line of his throat as he swallows.]

Is that enough?

[There's a leading comment.]

Edited Date: 2019-01-10 10:12 pm (UTC)

It will suffice. [It's never enough, but he doesn't want her draining herself even more on her account.] Perhaps you'd like to show me your process for development of this substitute? With your leave, I can speak with some of the other vampires I know to see if it might work for them.

[She gives him a little look that suggests that wasn't the answer she expected, nor is it the answer she knows to be entirely true. But she'll let it go for the moment.]

Naturally. It's gotten shorter these past few weeks, it oughtn't take me too long. Half an hour, perhaps, at the most.

[She moves past him, settling in front of the table. Her hands work quickly, her head bent; she speaks only to clarify on what she's doing or how much of something she's adding. Any comments or suggestions he might have to offer are noted, but this demonstration is to show how she does it-- so while she might incorporate his suggestions later, right now, this is all her.

It's really not too complex, but nothing is once you understand how it's done. It's just a matter of figuring out the trick. Soon enough she has another vial, thick and red, a little too thick to be mistaken for proper blood.

And then she says:]

I was going to ask you to come to bed with me, if you wished to drink a little more.

[Jonathan watches with no small amount of interest, offering a suggestion here or there, but mainly keeping his thoughts to himself. There are some stylistic differences, but overall he can't fault much of her process. It accomplishes what she's set out to do and does it well enough.

He's examining the vial she created when she speaks up again. Jonathan goes momentarily still, thoughts stumbling over her words. That is... extraordinarily direct about it. After what happened on Patara he does know that she can escape him if he loses his control.]

I would request precautions if we were to retire together, madam.

[He finds himself blinking rapidly in embarrassment, but bulls ahead.]

Specifically that I do not feed any further upon you. You have given too much blood as it is.

I know my limits, Jonathan.

[She says it with a slight frown, though she knows she's picking a fight for little reason. But she can't help it, not with him; he sparks something in her when he says things like that. Not quite an order, but asserting his authority-- and oh, she can't stand that.]

You don't have to impose them.

[Jonathan's lips flatten for a moment, some of the awkwardness leaving him.]

Madam, I impose limits on myself as much as I impose them on you. And I can see your blood, the pulse of your veins, the beat of your heart. You are at your limit for my personal comfort as a physician.

[There's a moment where it seems as though she might argue. Certainly she wants to. But she is drained, and arguing with him seems the right way towards the two of them blowing up once more.]

Then say that. Don't try and restrict me.

[But FINE, she won't bleed, I GUESS.]

You would have hated when I was younger. I used to bleed myself to the point of fainting for Robert's sake.

[That does bother him.]

He is a lucky man to have such devotion from you.

And I him.

[A beat. Something seems to occur to her, and she adds:]

If I ask you something, will you give your honest opinion? Not a polite one, but what you truly think.

If you will accept an honest opinion given politely, yes.

[He does try not to be rude.]

Do you regard me as someone who, sooner or later, needs to submit to your good sense and will?

[This is a fun foreplay talk.]

[He gives her the courtesy of pausing to seriously consider her question.]

That is a... complicated question, Madam Lutece. I look at you and I see an intellectual equal. In matters of chemistry and science I consider you a compatriot. I have little use for someone who would simply bend to my will. A clash of ideas and debate leads to some of the most fantastic discoveries. I do not wish for you to be needlessly contrary, but I would never ask you to dim your curiosity and fervor.

In matters of courting... you vex me. I am not a man accustomed to... any of this. I have not been terribly interested in relations for a very long time. There are more fulfilling things I find to do with my time. Since they are a fact of life here, though, and because this place has seen fit to mark me as a lesser, I feel I must make some effort to retain my control. In that way, I would wish you would not press at me or my temper so sometimes.

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Jonathan Reid, MD