MacClery had turned away then, leaving Wilde to fend for himself, delirious, face a mess of every feeling under the sun. He had gone quite overboard, hadn't he? But it was important, this was important, a sip wouldn't do, he wanted William to wake up feeling it on his own breath and be taunted by it. He wanted that bloodlust to drive the man to his doorstep. The undead was caught off guard by the sound of glass shattering, Wilde's body having thrust itself against a window. For a moment, he felt a rush of rage, but it never surfaced, stilled the moment he locked eyes on the man. Maybe a touch of the beast, clawing at the back of his mind... It would make sense given the events that night.<br/><br/>A great inconvenience to him, but only that much, a knock at the door and a familiar voice reminded him of just how troublesome the situation had become. He finished wiping off his face with the underside of his jacket's collar, brushing any stray hairs back with his fingers and moving to smoothly set a hand on the door. Instead of appearing as apologetic, or fretful, he kept that dead composure, staring the poor girl in the eyes with that ever so slight, malicious glimmer of his. Despite this, his voice came out as calm, "There's been a small accident, but Mr. Wilde is in good health... You should check up on him tomorrow instead."<br/><br/>It was his gift, though he sometimes wondered if he'd prefer the same madness his sire suffered from if it meant he could sleep easy. But at times like this, being able to impose himself on the minds of others without driving them out of their heads... It was hard to call it anything but that, a gift.<br/><br/>Just like that, he gave an appreciative nod, and shut the door, leaving the poor lass to drone on until all was well but the smallest doubt. If Wilde could get himself together, he might have another visit in the morning, one far kinder than his own.<br/><br/>MacClery made sure to lock the door, moving back to the slumped over form that was William, leaning down to face level and picking his face up with a chin ever so gently. "... This could have been much worse, the night went rather well in my.. unprofessional opinion." A thumb pushed and pulled at the man's bottom lip, he eyed him just for a bit, as if he were a piece of meat. Maybe it was just that look that got to him, and the growing hunger made worse by how much effort he was spending making sure nothing turned into a big, scary show. "You're a nice young man, Mr. Wilde.. You might think I was lying before, and I surely wasn't.. just.. stretching the truth a little." MacClery chimed in a sickeningly sweet whisper, before standing up straight and grooming himself a final time. "Well. You know where to find me..." He leaned over the loveseat to pick up his suitcase, "I know where to find you." He scrunched his nose at his glass of bourbon, still mostly full, "And.. ah, I guess this means we can renegotiate as well. Fun."<br/><br/>At that point, he was mostly just speaking to himself, not entirely sure if William could actually hear him, and if he did, if the man could comprehend any of it. It wasn't long before he left the room completely, making sure the door was shut tight behind him. MacClery didn't speak to anyone on his way out, but kept up the look of a man eager to go home after a long meeting, and what an eventful one it was. He was ready for home...<br/><br/>The same corner of the same street, the hooded Nosferatu who drove the carriage jeered at him as he stepped inside, recognizing the look on that face better than any mortal man could, and the thick smell of vitae that hung in the air that only he could detect from adopt his driver's seat. The ride home felt much too long, and MacClery spent most of it nauseated, as if he was able to get motion sickness again.