"Agreed," Dorian says. He reaches into his pocket to pull out a pair of leather driving gloves—he's not going to get his fingerprints more in the room than they already are.
"I'll search the corpses for a wallet, license, anything of the sort."
"I'll check the luggage and the rest of the room," because hopefully he can uses his senses to see places where they would have been poking about, whether there's blood in other places, whether there's something hidden somewhere.
Dorian nods. And, very carefully, he starts to examine the corpses. It's dispassionate, like he's done this plenty of times before (because he has). The skal doesn't have much of anything on him, unfortunately. But the victim...
"Found the victim's wallet," he sighs, as he pulls out the wallet. Opening it, he continues with, "And his driver's license. I'm standing over the corpse of one Taylor Smith."
"I don't know what they did for a living," he says mildly, but he'll turn the bag that he happened to be looking through and inside? Is a number of bundles of cash, straight from the bank, still strapped around. "but it appears that they were here for some manner of transaction."
"Drugs, perhaps?" Dorian reaches down to carefully unbutton his corpse's sleeve. He starts to gingerly roll it up, looking for trackmarks. "I can't think of any other reason why one might go to a hotel like this—aside from monster hunting, of course.
There don't seem to be trackmarks. But a little more examination finds him what the sinking spot in his stomach had made him suspect. He shakes his head as he finds another bag, one closer to the door. It has... well, it has a few bags of donation blood.
Dorian gets up, pokes his head around Reid, and looks down at the bag full of blood.
"What, and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck," he muses, before squatting down to lightly poke one of the bags, as if confirming that yep, this is blood. "Is an illegal blood drive a thing that your lot often do?"
"I've heard of such things," he admits quietly, "but that operation is a bit more thoughtful about their storage; a bag like that isn't made to keep such samples fresh or unspoiled."
He pauses.
"But it might make sense if-" he glances over at the dead body, the skal. He goes to examine it further. He breathes in deep and slow and breathes out low.
"If you thought you were making an ekon," he says mildly, "and it turns out, you can only make skals."
Reid winces, because the likelihood is small, in his experience. It's not a problem he's ever had, given is origins, but he'd seen the way that 'Lord Redgrave' had behaved when his blood potency was challenged.
Thankfully, a few decades had softened some of his... difficulties with such talks so he can give a proper metaphor.
"How often have you found a man to admit to 'limitations' in his virility?"
He shakes his head. Anyone who'd been this convinced he'd make an Ekon could very well be convinced it was something wrong with the object of his change, something wrong with the process.
Dorian lets out a small, bitter laugh at that. Too true. "Usually dick-waving contests are less murderous," he dryly responds.
He puts the corpse's wallet back in his pocket as he stands back up and makes the thing look like...well, like a corpse. Not like a corpse that's been rummaged through.
"I can't help but wonder. If we can sort out the type of man this vampire goes for, perhaps we could at least have an idea of where to look next. If they're all picked up at a club or work for a certain business, for example."
"I'd guess, from choosing this hotel, at least, it's someone with money." He winces a little as he thinks back. "I've seen it before, to be fair: the rich who cannot fathom the idea of anything their money cannot buy them, including immortality."
"Fortunately, I'm also rich," Dorian points out, as he gets to his feet. "I can ask around to see if anybody I know has heard of something like this—discreetly, of course. The last thing I want is our perp to try and take me out for getting in his way."
Though hold on a minute. As Dorian says that, his expression shifts to a small frown. That's not entirely the worst idea.
"I don't like the expression you're making," he says honestly, because... he really really doesn't. It seems like someone's considering foolish things.
"Oh, I'd be fucked," Dorian says, with a gleeful little smile. "But I'm good at holding my own. And the thing with this is that you always forget just what short attention spans people have. I'll be yesterday's news eventually."
"I think you underestimate the value of what you represent to the kind of people who'd see you as an endless font of blood instead of a person," he says, but he gets the feeling convincing Dorian of anything safer is a lost cause. He wonders if this is how Elizabeth felt with him at times.
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"I'll search the corpses for a wallet, license, anything of the sort."
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"Found the victim's wallet," he sighs, as he pulls out the wallet. Opening it, he continues with, "And his driver's license. I'm standing over the corpse of one Taylor Smith."
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"I think not, actually."
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"What, and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck," he muses, before squatting down to lightly poke one of the bags, as if confirming that yep, this is blood. "Is an illegal blood drive a thing that your lot often do?"
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He pauses.
"But it might make sense if-" he glances over at the dead body, the skal. He goes to examine it further. He breathes in deep and slow and breathes out low.
"If you thought you were making an ekon," he says mildly, "and it turns out, you can only make skals."
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"I wonder when our man will realize his limitations—if he realizes his limitations in the first place."
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Thankfully, a few decades had softened some of his... difficulties with such talks so he can give a proper metaphor.
"How often have you found a man to admit to 'limitations' in his virility?"
He shakes his head. Anyone who'd been this convinced he'd make an Ekon could very well be convinced it was something wrong with the object of his change, something wrong with the process.
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He puts the corpse's wallet back in his pocket as he stands back up and makes the thing look like...well, like a corpse. Not like a corpse that's been rummaged through.
"I can't help but wonder. If we can sort out the type of man this vampire goes for, perhaps we could at least have an idea of where to look next. If they're all picked up at a club or work for a certain business, for example."
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Though hold on a minute. As Dorian says that, his expression shifts to a small frown. That's not entirely the worst idea.
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"What are you thinking?"
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Someone is considering aggressively foolish things.
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"Have you considered the danger you might be in should those involved realize you cannot die?"
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SORRY FOR BEING TERRIBLE