"Guess you'll just have to get your kicks some other way," Zinda tells him, a little amused.

"Y'know, I don't think I've met a real, actual vampire before?" She nocks her hip against the bartop and studies him with interest. He's a tall drink of water and no mistake, but graveyard-pale.

Which makes sense, she supposes. "Anythin' I oughta know before I go puttin' my foot in my mouth?"

Hell, even vampires have feelings... or so she guesses. The last thing she wants to do as bartender tonight is accidentally offend somebody, even if that somebody happens to be a night-walking, fanged predator.

At least he's a polite one.