"The neck has too many 'fiddly bits', as a friend and colleague of mine used to put it: too many tendons, muscles, nerves. I suppose vampires wouldn't care much about injuring their victims and potentially damage their ability to turn their head. But I'd rather not risk it with a donor," he notes.

A flicker of recognition crosses his face as she mentions that name. "I think I met her briefly, at the Hotel, in the winter. We woke up in the same small room that kept growing smaller till we found a way out. I didn't see her after that, but I warned her not to bite me, as there's something in my blood, even then, which she didn't need in her mouth. I'm not sure I'd want to imagine what it could have done to someone like her." He looks away into the fire, wincing a bit.

"We're a lot alike that way, in that wanting to know as much as we can about us. I suppose I go a little deeper, in trying to understand our physical natures," he notes. Looking at her, his weird eyes softened slight, he adds, "Something The Doctor said to me, when his younger-looking face followed me to my world of origin: 'We're all stories in the end: make it a better one'. Perhaps that's why we're here now. To keep bettering ours and each other's stories, however we define that."

The inn keep's interloping comes as a welcome break. "Have it for ye in a few. 'Tis a good night for it," he says, going on his way.