He stared for a moment before slowly getting up, pulling a rag off the shelf and turning it inside out to wipe away the small trickle of vitae off his wrist. Without making eye contact, he casually retorted with a shallow laugh. "Hmm, I decided to spend the night in, so no, I'm not too busy to talk. It's not easy though. Something that I cannot easily explain to you, who cannot easily understand. Actually..." Folding up the rag, he pulled his sleeves back down, "I thought relating myself to the common conception of a devil would make it more familiar. But do you even believe in those?"<br/><br/>MacClery strolled over smoothly to cork the bottle and pick up the lamp, ushering Lee up the stairs with him. He didn't seem to mind the accent at all, this so called William Wilde was a man of many personas, as much as the man didn't seem to consider that this Kindred knew much more about him than what was revealed thus far. "Of course, you wouldn't mind a few questions from myself, would you? Asking for so much here, unless you'd prefer me to keep calling you William. There are quite a few names attributed to that face of yours, but I don't know which matches my new associate." The hallway was narrow, just as old as the rest of the building. It's wallpaper decades out of fashion, light impressions on the walls where frames were pulled down. MacClery opened the door to his bedroom, the first thing he did was start the record that sat in a corner, hoping the repetition of scratching would help dull the pressure in his head.<br/><br/>"Bed or chair, doesn't matter. Have a seat anywhere... Ah! First question of yours though, why I didn't sleep with you, nor planned to.. Well, it would be better to show you, wouldn't it?" Disappearing in the bathroom, the lamp set on one of the sidetables, he seemed to move with a strange grace in the dark. Mere seconds later he came back with a shaving razor. His robe untied, his tie loosened, he pried open buttons down to the navel, standing before the kine where he sat. Without any hesitation and the barest of winces, he carved a path down and across his chest with the blade, the cut it left was dark, but dry. A strong, cold hand pulled up Wilde's by the wrist, forcing him to feel the wound. "I don't bleed, I don't share the same heat you do. I don't sweat, or cry, or breathe. All of these things require effort, they are conscious actions. But what you see in front of you is nothing but a corpse.... Intercourse.. is much harder, and even if I wanted to so badly, it would never satisfy me." He let go of the kine's hand, buttoning up his shirt and redressing himself. "And if I were to eat, of course... Well, I could barely keep down the drink you poured me. All I consume is ash and fire... Except for-- not to be so malicious but, blood."<br/><br/>Of course, as far as Wilde was concerned, he was without weakness. Perhaps when he.. if he, were embraced, MacClery would be more willing to teach him about the dangers of the world in the eyes of the dead. "I am, as I said, an immigrant. I arrived here as a boy many, many years ago, many decades... a century or more, though after so long the exact date fails me... I did marry, and now I live alone with only the passing of servants to keep me company. They are ghouls, you are not so different."