"It's not very sporting to hire someone to do your killing for you, don't you think?" Orla replied. She was a hands on sort of lady, and she wasn't squeamish for anything. Beisdes werewolves, that was. "If I needed someone dead I'd put the arrow through their heart m'self. I need you to follow me."
Her purple robes swished as she turned around. She held up a hand, beckoning for Dennis to follow her through the kitchen as she led the way to the large pantry which, in turn, led down into her basement. "I've been working on something that I think you'll like. Synthetic blood, much better than the Honeydukes mess I gave you when we talked last. This lot isn't loaded down with sugar for one, and it's really not meant for making into lollies. It's for use up at the Shack when we've a patient who's lost a deal of blood."
Orla looked at Dennis over her shoulder as she pulled open the thick door between her pantry and her basement steps. The smells that assaulted their noses once the door was even just cracked showed as to why it was so thick to begin with. It smelled as if three or four people had been slaughtered in her basement and she'd not yet cleaned up the blood. It wasn't a pleasant smell, but Orla had taken that it smelled so realistic to be a good sign.
"I've tasted it," she said to him. "Tasted all coppery and right to me, but then... I'm not an expert. I was hoping you'd care for a try."