"You're pretty charmin' yourself," she tells him, and grins as she turns to the fridge in question. "Let's see what we got."

Her glance skates over the bottles in the fridge and lands on a row of short, squat ones filled with a viscous red liquid. Zinda pulls one out and puzzles over the label for a second, then looks back over at him.

"Vampire, huh?"

It doesn't seem to bother her. (She's seen stranger.) "There's a few kinds in here; you got a particular type you like?"