"No, it's jus' bein' honest. Some people out there jus' don't take 'piss off' seriously enough."

"Depends. What's yer opinion on the masterpiece of film that is Shutter Island?"

Nods towards the blood bag. "I'll have what yer havin'."

"Aye, it definitely exists." He frowns. "Good enough. But yer on thin fuckin' ice." They'll work on her taste in films later.

The only reason he feels warm to the touch is because he has every drug in existence mixing together in his veins. He's one giant witches cauldron.

Scoffs, tearing the bag slightly before taking a sip. "Actin' like yer a dealer in blood? Yeh realise I can jus' raid the local hospital yeah?"

He produces a small crumpled cigarette, flipping it between fingers. "Fair, Blade Runner ain't a bad one. Bit confusin' that first one, though. Did like tha' interview yer ones had for the sequel."

"Probably a tie between Terminator and — Thanks —" He takes the cigarette, placing it between his lips. — and The Muppets movie." Cass pats himself down, searching for his nonexistent lighter. "Yerself?"

Do NOT get him started on moisturiser.

"Mixture of 'hair of the dog', breathin' exercises, an' a whole lotta technique."

"Christ, she's a blast from the bloody past. Remember tryin' to scare her neighbour."

"Somethin' like that, yeah. I'm what you might call Irish. I know, I know, we're as rare as unicorns, but there yeh have it." He steps away from the approaching light, resting his head against the wall. "Best if yeh didn't look too deep into it, mate."

The vampire leans in, hovering the end of his cigarette over the flame. "Ah, come on now. Don't be sayin' stuff like that." Satisfied, he leans back against the chair. "I can't promise to not laugh at yeh, but I can promise to wait until yer back is turned."

"Join us for a drink?"