Roman opens his mouth. No sound comes out. Ron has a chocolate-covered thumb on the doorbell of Roman’s apartment.
(adjusting his bow tie) Alright, team. The client is a Ms. Lilith Dark. She’s a… author . Very big in the "paranormal bodice-ripper" space. Do not use the word "vampire." It’s Kindred . Do not use "werewolf." It’s Lunar-Touched . And for God’s sake, nobody mention garlic bread.
Roman snaps. He climbs onto the dessert table, knocking over a castle made of red velvet cake.
Roman is cornered by a "vampire scholar" who insists Dracula was a metaphor for stock market volatility.
You. You have the eyes of my lost sire, Sebastian. He died in 1842. Of consumption. And ennui.
(Smiling) Blood King.
Roman, still tied to the chair, is being driven home. Ron is humming "Total Eclipse of the Heart."
(To Henry, laughing) He’s not even acting. This is his final form.
