"I know what I smell...I am over 1000 years old...Iknow what I smell." She stepped up to Ivan, looking up at him. Aina herself was closer to the height of Dice than she was to Ivan's height, causing her to crane her neck to look at the Russian. "I can hear your blood pumping, your lymphocytes pulsing...your testosterone throbbing in your body. I can see the every crack in your lips, every pore and minor hair you have attempted to shave away."
She suddenly pressed her hand on his stomach, firmly pushing it up his torso to his chest where she removed it.
"I can feel every string of muscle, every bone that has been repaired, and your heart convulse with sudden anxiousness." She grinned that blackened grin again. "If I say I smell a Fleur Du Sang...there has been a Fleur Du Sang. I am never wrong."
With that, she turned to Dice, leaning forward again, looking him in the eyes.
"Have you ever met a Ramanga before? We are far less common around her, so I would doubt it. But I am far more dangerous than some French immortal. What powers do they have, hm? Intoxication? Thought perception? Teleportation?" She tilted her head. "Such cowards, are they not? Needing their victims to be enchanted with a childlike expression on their faces...other than that? All they do is run and hide."
"You give me your darkest rum. I have no need to feed on blood out of a bottle - I am not a desperate creature in need of a sleazy inn to provide my nectar. I am strong enough to last months without a feed. But even then...I am not like the others. I do not pick countless victims to drain dry...I, am Andoniaina from the Betsileo tribe. They are my followers; they offer me their blood willingly, their nail clippings, hair, gold, life. Everything I do has purpose, and drinking stale blood from a bottle is not one of them..."