Eric leaned back in his chair, blood wine in his goblet, and suggested, "Blue blood." It was an opening, one he expected to see bested. It was.
"Mmm. Not near so unique, nor so distinguished as the snobs would have it." LaCroix waved it away from consideration. "And virgin wine is, for the most part, a waste. Barely memories to savor. Mere sustenance."
Eric chuckled. "It does depend on the virgin, but even reverend mothers aren't what they were." He sipped his wine. "Why stick to human? Fey."
"Ah, yes. They are
Eric nodded. "Point to you." A fangbanger who'd lingered late staggered out of the back, started to head towards them, and froze, motionless, before 3,000 years of accumulated power. Pam hauled him towards the office by the tatters of his shirt, shaking her head. She'd see him better clothed, or put to sleep in the back room; Eric dismissed the fool from his attention.
Having done them the compliment of assuming they'd handle their own problems, LaCroix sipped again, smiling faintly. "Not human, hmm? Seers, those gods-thrown sparks of power and and obscured vision. Like LSD, only more interesting."
Eric raised an eyebrow. "Where and when did you taste one of those? They've grown more rare.... Maenads." He smiled. "Like moonshine that hasn't aged, liquid lightning, power, and lust."
LaCroix inclined his head, as much respect as Eric had ever had from the old Roman. "A maenad? Rare vintage indeed, whose drinking is perhaps more wise than it would have been in times gone past, but still -- rare and brave." He considered, nodded at last. "Perhaps wise enough. So. Immortals. Champagne cocktails, the good old vintages with the tiny bubbles, laced with even older brandy. Old memories and new floating through you, and sparks against your lips and tongue."
Eric raised an eyebrow. "Well, well. I've heard they're real, but not from anyone who's faced one and lived. I've also heard they're myths."
"Far from it." LaCroix smiled. "And well worth drinking, particularly if you can get a willing taste. The vintage doesn't travel, though. A pity that, or perhaps just as well. They make dangerous opponents."
"Even for us?" Eric asked, intrigued but frowning, too. Not so much that anyone who didn't know him would see it. Pam would. LaCroix... might.
LaCroix only smiled. "Some of them are older and more inclined to the long games than we are. They can be dangerous enemies but sometimes... pleasurable ones. At the right times."
Eric chuckled, but nodded that he'd heard the warning. "And in the right beds, hmmm?" He refilled LaCroix's and his own, then raised his glass. "To properly aged vintages."
"And rare delights."