Away from prying eyes and ears, Taft has time to consider Takeda. One so thin of blood probably had escaped his courtesies before, so he amends. "I don't know if we have exchanged names... I am Lawrence Taft. Of clan Mekhet. And hailing from a bloodline of knowledge and truth."
Being in close proximity to her rubs against him. That malicious intent doesn't abate as does the struggle between Beasts; it is a constant. He'd do well to keep his wits about him in her presence.
"You mentioned knowledge. And prices. I won't lie to you... the most mundane purposes I serve are easy to grasp. I've accumulated a wealth of what some would call 'arcane' knowledge. For this, generally, a shared purpose is sufficient." Now the corners of his mouth turn upward. Unpleasantly and hungrily. "My true services require a specific price; blood. There is history in the blood." He shakes his head, eyes widening in something akin to passion. Even madness. "No. Blood is history. Every racial memory of Kin and Kine can be accessed through it. And my knowledge only grows stronger in the vicinity of those whose blood I have tasted. It sings to me in a resonance that defies conventional knowing. It is, to put it bluntly, an access to infinite knowledge."
Had he deigned to mimic life on this evening, his breath would likely be ragged. Despite the absence of all the tells of the living, his eyes speak the same level of intensity. Deadly serious and full of intent.