Desperate. Left to sip on whatever Ocelot collected from his little interrogations. It'd been so long since Boss brought someone back. He'd tried a rat once but the oily feel of its matted hair made him gag. Now, he was going against his own morals, sneaking into the medical room after hours.

With tense shoulders, he gently opened the glass cabinet that held their blood supply. With a small sigh, he untwisted the cap and sipped on the plastic bag with active shame. As if his crushing guilty conscience wasn't enough, the sound of the rubber blocker scraping against the concrete floor didn't help.

His hand reflexively gripped the bag, spilling the sweet, iron nectar all over the bottom half of his face and chest. He was too shocked by your presence to be annoyed, staring at you like a deer in headlights. No one but Ocelot and Boss knew he was a vampire. It was such a filthy word in his mind he didn't even like to say it. With an empty head, he waited for you to speak first.