The kindred scowled, scrunching up his nose disagreeably after letting Wilde indulge in exploring the wound and the frozen reaches of his flesh. Almost insecurely, he pulled his robe close, tying it at the waist. "Well. I can't bleed but I can certainly be offended." Though he kept his distance, MacClery did eventually sit down beside the man, allowing quite a few inches between them. He wanted some room to breathe-- if that made any sense within this context. A stretch of silence took over him, filled only with the idle crackling of the blank record. "... Miracle isn't how I'd put it. It's a life, that is true, and it's very different but both.. They have their weaknesses. There are a lot of men and women like myself, though we vary in our ideologies, faces and demeanor, they too follow those laws I listed. Some of these concepts are beyond you, but..."<br/><br/>He pulled his eyes off the lamp to shoot Wilde a glance in the dim light, "Your place will not change, you'll be able to leave here and continue your work, our work. The blood I asked for, you could guess what I need it for now.. But not for me specifically, I'd have it transported to a colleague of mine to feed his people. They are.. much less fortunate than I. In ways you'll see for yourself one day.. Perhaps." MacClery neglected to mention the madness, or the stigma around their clan, a reputation that would soon haunt this young kine as well, for many years if he proved useful. But he had high hopes for the man, years spent waiting to raise a childe of his own, though Wilde was barely a ghoul, maybe it was that Malkavian clairvoyance that MacClery refused decades ago, but there was a great optimism that had manifested in that cold heart of his.<br/><br/>"You're thirsty though, I can see it in your eyes. All of you carry the same look, like you're starved." No matter how his ghouls acted in the past, whether they loved him, hated him, or revered him as a god, they all hungered and clawed at him if he ever so much as exposed his wrists. Dogs trained to a food bell. "Tell me, since I've decided to spoil you a little, what would be most comfortable for you.. Of course you have no need to lie and refuse me, I'm certainly not going to let you anyway. But a glass? My wrist? My mouth? The first is too impersonal for most, the latter too intimate, most ghouls suckle at the arm." That they were close now, he pulled up that same sleeve, showing the spot he opened just recently, already starting to close up, and the faint scar from hours ago, beginning to fade away.<br/><br/>In some ways, this young man was special, chosen for a different purpose than most. Unlike with Loretta and the boy, MacClery felt a paternal pang in his bones. The others were left to learn about the unlives of the dead on their own time.. But here, he was a teacher, a guardian, still an owner but there were factors beyond that.