Secondo had long since retired and traveled the world, but his father, remembering his oldest child, decided to put him to work. Under threats, not of his own free will, the bald old vampire nevertheless visited, after many centuries, the territories under his control. Clubs for the converted. A disgusting place, worse than a cheap bar and a seedy club for people. He ran his glove along the table. Disgust was reflected on his face. "dirty, vile, anti-aesthetic. to the rabble's liking, however" the old vampire rubbed his finger against his finger with disgust, wiping blood from his glove. He knew that here they turned on blood sprayers and other wild things, because, unlike real ones, the converted found something funny in it. For Secondo, and for many real vampires, blood is just food. So taking blood showers and baths is still as pointless as for people bathing in burgers. The old bald vampire took off his glove and scratched the back of his head with his claws. "Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting..." he muttered under his breath in a grandfatherly, condemning tone, sighing lazily.