Unsure what else to do, thoroughly unused to a gesture like this, he takes the mug she hands to him and stares down at it, tilting it a little to watch the thick slide of blood against the ceramic. It's strange to see it like this, still warm but not body-warm, not a body in sight in fact. It's almost as though blood for breakfast is as ordinary as the eggs she's ignoring in favor of waiting on him.
After a few moments the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smile and he pulls out the chair opposite her and sits, wrapping both hands around the mug to mirror her position. "I wouldn't know," he says with a one-shouldered shrug, suddenly more at ease now that he's seeing she can relax enough to feel a little uncertain herself. "Never tried it like that. I can't imagine I'd enjoy it much though, you're right. Very thoughtful."
He lifts the mug in a little toast, still half-smiling, and if he could linger over it, he would, but that isn't how the thirst works. He's been feeling the craving, a low-key dry scratch in his throat, ever since that first little tang had come to him on the wind, and now that it's on his tongue, he can't help but drain the mug in a few long swallows.
"We've never done it this way," he says when he's finally finished, idly sweeping a finger through the leftover blood clinging to the inside of the mug and licking it off, "a little taste a day just to keep the thirst down. Hunting expeditions were always that, family excursions. High in the mountains to make sure carrion birds got our kills before anyone else stumbled on them. There's an...instinct, to our hunting. More than just feeding. We're predators. A rabbit a day...it's enough, I'd figure, but not exactly as satisfying as bringing down an elk, or a cougar."
But if he's meant to be sharing quarters with a human, however resourceful she might be, it's probably for the best he doesn't let himself get thirsty, he decides as he sets the empty mug down and swipes a little fleck of blood from the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, ma'am. That was very thoughtful."
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After a few moments the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smile and he pulls out the chair opposite her and sits, wrapping both hands around the mug to mirror her position. "I wouldn't know," he says with a one-shouldered shrug, suddenly more at ease now that he's seeing she can relax enough to feel a little uncertain herself. "Never tried it like that. I can't imagine I'd enjoy it much though, you're right. Very thoughtful."
He lifts the mug in a little toast, still half-smiling, and if he could linger over it, he would, but that isn't how the thirst works. He's been feeling the craving, a low-key dry scratch in his throat, ever since that first little tang had come to him on the wind, and now that it's on his tongue, he can't help but drain the mug in a few long swallows.
"We've never done it this way," he says when he's finally finished, idly sweeping a finger through the leftover blood clinging to the inside of the mug and licking it off, "a little taste a day just to keep the thirst down. Hunting expeditions were always that, family excursions. High in the mountains to make sure carrion birds got our kills before anyone else stumbled on them. There's an...instinct, to our hunting. More than just feeding. We're predators. A rabbit a day...it's enough, I'd figure, but not exactly as satisfying as bringing down an elk, or a cougar."
But if he's meant to be sharing quarters with a human, however resourceful she might be, it's probably for the best he doesn't let himself get thirsty, he decides as he sets the empty mug down and swipes a little fleck of blood from the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, ma'am. That was very thoughtful."