first experiment; 9:53 PM

[originallutece]

For our more vampiric population, I come to you with a solution for your dietary problems.

I've invented artificial blood. A substance you can consume without harming others, but that will sustain you much as food and water. I owe a debt to Elena for helping me test them.

Unfortunately, it cannot yet be used in a medical sense-- for blood transplants, which are, by the by, a very important part of medical knowledge, which makes up the second part of this announcement.

If you do not know your blood type, come see me, and I can at least determine it. Blood types are a vital bit of information in a place where one routinely gets cut to bits. Transfusing blood-- that is, the act of giving one's blood to another-- can save a life in many cases. However, if the wrong sorts of blood interact, the result can be deadly.

Many of you do not know your blood type. This will, inevitably, come back to bite you.

So. I suggest you come by my lab within the next few days and find out, before you nearly die of an injury, manage to make it back to town, and then die of your original blood sensing the invader and killing off the cells that came to theoretically heal you. What a horrible, ironic death that would be.

Comments

[withsadness]

But how can you tell the difference when all blood looks the same?

[We are here to Learn!]

[originallutece]

Why don't you come by? I'll show you on my blood and yours. You can help me deduct your own.

[withsadness]

That's okay, we don't need to do that! But I'll watch you deduct everybody else's!

[Answered way too fast. It's fine!]

[originallutece]

Mary. The likelihood of your getting hurt is unfortunately increased in a place like this. You're too small to survive long without much blood; I assure you, the need for your blood type to be known is vital.

1/2

[withsadness]

[withsadness]

I'll be over soon, okay?

[originallutece]

All right.

[She'll be waiting in her lab, the door jammed open, half off its hinges-- though she turns as she hears footsteps.]

Simply take a seat, Mary.

[withsadness]

[When Mary arrives, sidestepping through the door, she seems to make the conscious decision to keep a little bit of distance between them.]

I don't mind standing.

[originallutece]

You're less likely to faint if you sit.

[A word to the wise, but she won't insist. Instead: she approaches her, kneeling carefully, nodding towards her left arm.]

Roll up your sleeve. This is nothing more than disinfectant-- something that will feel cold, but won't hurt. It will keep you from getting any germs in the area.

[withsadness]

[Mary seems wary, but rolls up her sleeve. There's a large gash on her arm, but it's healed enough to suggest it's at least a month old--maybe healing a bit slower than it should due to the irritation of a fidgeting child.]

[originallutece]

I see you didn't escape unscathed.

[It's gentle, though, as she swipes disinfectant against the crook of her arm.]

And how are you now?

[withsadness]

I'm okay. It doesn't really hurt.

[If it hadn't been for the manner in which she received the injury, she wouldn't even remember she had it anymore.]

Rosi gave me a bandage.

[originallutece]

I'm sure he did.

[She glances up at her, then gets the needle ready. It's easier to do this while they're talking, surely, instead of Rosalind building it up into a terrifying thing. In one swift movement she slips the needle (or intends to, anyway, unless Mary jerks away).]

I've seen him in your company before; is he a good friend of yours?

[withsadness]

[Mary does look, honestly, like she's going to jerk away. Her nerves seem odd. She stares at the needle, but ultimately, seems to resolve something, and lets it happen.]

Yes...I love him very much. He takes care of me.

[Mary's blood doesn't seem to want to come out. It's like the needle is struggling. When a very clearly not-blood looking red substance comes out, well, that would explain why. It's red, but it's much too thick and much too bright.]

[originallutece]

[. . . well. That's. Hm. Rosalind says nothing, but her eyes are torn between that odd substance and Mary's face.]

. . . has your blood always looked like this, Mary?

[withsadness]

[Mary nods slowly, cautiously, studying Rosalind just as intently as Rosalind is studying her.]

It was how my father made me.

[originallutece]

And how did your father make you? Exactly.

[What a question, as she tugs out the needle and presses a bandage to Mary's arm. Will it clot? She's fascinated to find out.]

[withsadness]

I dunno.

[She does, actually, at least in a sense. Still, she doesn't want to say.]

I wasn't alive until after, and then he was gone and never came back.

[originallutece]

Mm. And you lived on your own?

[withsadness]

With my brothers and sisters. They're all older than me.

[originallutece]

Tell me more about them.

[She takes a seat, tugging the gloves off her hands and settling in. There's clear curiosity in her gaze, but it isn't gleaming eagerness, at least, so there's that.]

How many?

[withsadness]

...I don't know.

[The question, in fact, seems to confuse her.]

My father was very famous. He made a lot of us, and we're all very different. None of them are like me, though. They all liked being left all alone, but I always wanted to go outside, where I wasn't allowed.

[originallutece]

And how did he make you?

[It's a very careful question.]

Do you know?

[withsadness]

[Mary stares at Rosalind, quiet, big-eyed, her mouth a neutral line.]

Do you want to guess?

[originallutece]

[And it's interesting, now, how still Rosalind goes, how steadily she stares over at Mary.]

Artificially, I presume.