If he was honest, Wes hadn’t expected the man to move at all, and when he did, the stiff movements were completely and utterly fascinating to the young student. The diet he was kept on was purposefully designed to keep him alive and pliable for their needs, nothing more and nothing less. On paper it made sense, a test subject that was docile ( even if unwillingly ) made for easier studies, but something about it felt wrong for a moment. He’d spent over a year slaving over this mans blood, and other samples, and up until this evening, he’d been a concept, just like everything else he’d read about in his textbooks, but seeing him right there, a living, breathing, and talking man, it was something he couldn’t quite explain. Something about it felt wrong, but he pushed that aside. People who followed the rules rarely made scientific discoveries, and if hurting one helped hundreds, didn’t he have the moral obligation to do so? While he was having a minor moral debate amongst himself while he looked over the man, the vampire spoke up, and the scientist was visibly shocked. He glanced down at his suit, wondering if he’d somehow attached his lab badge onto his outfit for the evening before running out. How else could the man know his name? Then, and only then, did it occur to the young man that his name was being passed around as freely as the glasses of champagne were. Looking up from his jacket, and trying to keep a cool demeanor despite his utter excitement, he nodded “It’s a lovely night.” And it was. Out of habit, and temporarily forgetting any common sense he had due to the fact that he was utterly awestruck, he found himself asking “And yourself, 62547?”
Enzo was in no hurry. His perceived patience held no real nor human value as he watched the gears turn behind the others blue eyes. There were no expectations -- the bar did not exist. But he would find himself a little disappointed if this one turned out like the rest. Among the many traits the organization coveted, it was the dull crowd that the vampire found himself despising the most, as the years passed. They were all so boring in their ideals, their goals. He had heard and seen it all. Watching the young man search for a name tag amused him, but no such expression followed to out the emotion. “I haven’t been paying attention,” came his cool answer, letting his eyes scan the room for the first time that night -- idly and lacking any kind of conviction. It was for show, clearly. The apathy coming off him in waves. Then, refocused on the other, he took the address as naturally as if he had been given it at birth. There were eyes on them. Enzo cared very little for that fact, as it was to be expected. He was giving Mr. Maxfield special attention. Envious stares were to be expected. “It’s just a night.” The routine. The cog falling into place; hard, cold, and in tempo. The same song and dance.
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