"No not like a creepy pageant boy, you'd be like Lady Gaga's Victor Victoria." This is an important distinction, okay. He sips his cocktail and wrinkles his nose at the intensity of it - but it's mostly due to the immediate face full of fumes. Space fumes. He hopes it really is from space; tomorrow he'll wonder what it's doing to his liver. Maybe.

"It looks fine, I wasn't here for whatever happened." People are weird about discussing it, he's noticed, and part of him suspects it's because he looks like a normal human and never bothers to correct anyone who assumes he is. He's still not sure how to handle it, here. "There batty," he says, nodding solemnly. "I have, and he was a fucking jerk." Vampires in general wig Jae out, as they seem to all be a part of some Instant Sociopath Club, no longer real people and now terrifying blood-hungry assholes who equate anyone with a pulse to cows. "I keep hearing there's a bunch in our cohort."