"For god's sake, could you stop whining for two seconds?!" Jason snapped, turning to face his soldier. He grunted, his voice roughening. "We'll get your damn blood."

Apart from legends and fictional interpretations, he didn't know much about vampires. In fact, this was the very first time he'd ever had to deal with one. Nevertheless, he couldn't afford to ignore the nature of his soldier. he needed the latter in his ranks.

The vampire was shown to be a talented pawn in his troops, the best even—which could be due to the latter's obscure nature. Jason calmed down a little. There was no point getting angry at the rare ally he could blindly count on. If he wanted to get revenge on the Bat, he needed to be surrounded by talent—no matter how demanding they were.

"You really are getting on my nerves. I can't believe how picky you are," The Arkham Knight grumbled. He removed his helmet, dropping it to the ground. He let his body sink into the chair. "Is every one of your kind this annoying, or are you just the lucky one?" His tone dripped with sarcasm. 

The Arkham Knight removed a part of his armor, leaving the flesh of his arm exposed, showing off his scarred skin. Blood trickled down his forearm, leaving a metallic smell permeating the damp air. It was a nice flavor that could tease even the most controlled vampire. He rummaged through the bandages, starting to roughly wrap the fabric around his wounds.

"Just tell me what kind of blood d'you want," his tone softened, but kept an edge of his characterized gruffness and impatience. "A? B? O? Or is that a particular flavor you need? Scent? From a fat, greasy man or a sweet, soft lady?"