She looked blank at his response, quiet and careful and controlled. Self-control was a useful quality to have, in their world, and if she could keep this demeanour up in other circumstances, Ishmael supposed he'd be impressed. (Well - she'd see for herself, meeting the rest of the vampires who lurked about these caverns. They were a mismatched bunch. Ragtag. Incongruous. Volatile. She'd understand soon enough.)
It was unlikely that she had used the official blood banks before herself, if she had been living off her hospital in America and had only just arrived here, but Ishmael couldn't be bothered to point out the hypocrisy in her plans and the high-and-mighty question she put to him. If she had any faith at all in the Ministry blood banks, that was already too much faith, and perhaps he could dissuade her now, and save her struggle.
He shook his head again. "What, and truss myself up to the Being division and the Minister's whims?" Ishmael asked in answer, his mouth twitching up in an incredulous smirk. "Jot my name down for them on a nice little register, and come a-calling every week so they can keep an eye on me? No, thanks. I'll be just fine." How anyone could think that was a good idea, he truly didn't know. What you saw when you looked at the Ministry from far enough off, a safely removed distance of geography and time, was a writhing mass of instability: it would be one thing in one year, and then swallow itself whole and be reborn as something entirely different, and anyone who wanted to be subject to that unknown could go ahead and be swallowed up too.
"You won't be the first, of course," he added with an offhand shrug, so that she didn't take it personally, or think she was the only fool around. "There are always a few who do."
It was unlikely that she had used the official blood banks before herself, if she had been living off her hospital in America and had only just arrived here, but Ishmael couldn't be bothered to point out the hypocrisy in her plans and the high-and-mighty question she put to him. If she had any faith at all in the Ministry blood banks, that was already too much faith, and perhaps he could dissuade her now, and save her struggle.
He shook his head again. "What, and truss myself up to the Being division and the Minister's whims?" Ishmael asked in answer, his mouth twitching up in an incredulous smirk. "Jot my name down for them on a nice little register, and come a-calling every week so they can keep an eye on me? No, thanks. I'll be just fine." How anyone could think that was a good idea, he truly didn't know. What you saw when you looked at the Ministry from far enough off, a safely removed distance of geography and time, was a writhing mass of instability: it would be one thing in one year, and then swallow itself whole and be reborn as something entirely different, and anyone who wanted to be subject to that unknown could go ahead and be swallowed up too.
"You won't be the first, of course," he added with an offhand shrug, so that she didn't take it personally, or think she was the only fool around. "There are always a few who do."
