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Quinlan, who stood out brilliantly with his wild hair and bright colors, as well as his very loud scarf trailing around his shoulders as he whirled around in the darkness, beaming from ear to ear. "I'm READY!" He anounced, loudly, to her question when they entered the kitchen, almost jumping onto her in an exhuberant familiarity that made Nihls, who in the subtle colors and warmth of the small house looked even more devoid of color, flinch at the breech in manners.
"Quin, if you knock her over it will be considerably harder for her to do -anything-." He noted, putting an wrapped, icy bottle on the nearest surface that looked available and unlikely to be knocked into.
"She doesn't mind, does she? Do you?" Quinlan insisted, arms around the witch, as Nihls unwrapped his long scarf. Deep red, it was the brightest clothing he was wearing.
"Weather or not thats the case it's not entirely polite, and probably not very helpful." He noted, drawing in a deep breath to enjoy the scent of the cooking components. He was particurly aware of the smell of meat, though he did his best to use long practice to keep the look of predation from his expression. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Lord" Is unessisary, I have no such title." He noted, offering a slight smile. It also made him feel slightly as though he were 'in court'. Though in truth, his behavior didn't nessisarily change much from one location to the other. He smiled slightly as Quinlan watched her example intently, stepping over to examine the books on the shelf as he folded his scarf into a coat pocket. "You have an interesting collection. I half expect to see the book of Nod." He joked.

"Is that a Bed time story?" Quinlan asked, taking the Pestal and making a vigorous attempt to imitate Bella's crushing of the spices. This seemed easy enough, and she'd said it would make the stew taste 'really good'. "It's not is it?" He corrected himself after a moment. "Erik only reads boring stuff."

"There are all levels of madness, so it doesn't surprise me that some of them have quite normal taste in reading." He admitted, fingering some of the spines in delicate curiosity. "I may be part of their society, but I am not a vampire..." He let the other thought hang. 'not yet'. The potential was there. Would he become Malkavian? Would he be one of the clanless? Or would time have the chance to deside. There was always a risky chance someone might deside to 'ensure' his loyalty by embrasing him. What would he do with Quinlan if that happened? He certainly couldn't raise him like that. "...There's an certain quality that you only find in the handmade isn't there?" He noted, almost at random, turning to look around the room more. Although he hadn't lived there long, it reminded him slightly of his mothers home, which had admittedly been larger, but she'd been fond of such things. Rag rugs and rafters hung with herbs and dried apples. And Cinnamon. Everything always smelled like cinamon. Once his talent had been discovered he'd been whisked almost imediately to the courts, and spent most of his time surrounded by dead things and austere surroundings, playing violin until he thought he'd go mad. "It's easy to forget sometimes."

"Thats why they go out of their way to put themselves above humans you know." He noted, thoughtfuly, letting his hand drop from the book. "Because they loose something. Call it the soul, call it the spark of inspiration that the Toreador always chase if you will, but there's something that's gone after the embrase. It holds us back, that touch of the grave." He shifted gears slightly as she described the cooking. "It smells spectacular. And fresh." SInce she wasn't minsing around her awareness of the blood in him, he saw no reason to mince around how aware he was of the blood either.

Quinlan made an exadurated face at Nihls comment and kept working. "He doesn't bite people. I'd know it if he did. He just tries to sound meaner than he is."

"Ooh!" Quinlan was instantly distracted by the peices of candied fruit and didn't automaticly reply. "Candy! Thank you!"

"Shy's one way to put it." Nihls answered, embarassed. "I call it cautious." He wandered closer as Quinlan stuffed a peice of candied fruit in his mouth, defiant of the fact they hadn't had stew yet. "Much as I'm sure you are. But in all honestly, I'm no less 'shy' around vampires. They're much stronger and much more dangerous. Perhaps not all of them are 'evil', but I think you'd be hard pressed to find one that was actually on the side of the 'angels', so to speak."

"I think that sounds like a lovely idea." Nihls smiled again, letting himself relax as Quinlan yeeped in surprise and moved around the cabin in a whirl, spinning ribbons as he caught on to the game. All games, to him, were things of wonder. He lived for them. He uncorked the ice wine, still bitterly cold to the touch, and tilted the neck slightly in offering to Bella, noting the neck ruffling metalic undertone to the deep red wine she'd uncorked herself. If his two halves had been as separate as he somtimes made them out to be, he would have argued that the human in him was disgusted, and the vampire arroused, but there was no neat divided line. Just an subtle 'purr' of thrill at the smell. The anticipation of the taste. It bordered on being intimate, that particular taste.
"Bloodwine...I assume." He noted, letting out an slight sigh from a breath he hadn't caught himself holding.

Ice wine was strong and very sweet, technicly a desert wine, but it seemed like something she would enjoy, and some masterful art of the winery had left it with a 'bouquet' reminicent of the fruit it had come from, and he put the bottle back down with a twitch of a smile, noting to perhaps have some before he left. Or maybe another night.
"I confess that I haven't the palate to tell you the origin of most blood, only to say if it was man or beast."He admitted, feeling as though he were blasting an hole, guiltily, in a long established mythos, but then he couldn't speak for the palates of the full blooded, and some of them were notorious as to what they would and wouldn't dine upon. These days though, he had to feel rather sorry for anyone who refused to feed on anyone but virgins.
He took another breath of it's heady smell again before cautiously taking a sip.

Quinlan: laughing moved to pick up the orb if it would allow it, so he could carry it around in the chase. It was hard to tell really how much it might actually bother him to have a cat hanging from his swirling ribbons, but if it troubled him, Nihls would be damned if he could see it on the boys face.