"Meat on a stick." The crone nodded slightly. She knew that the smells were sometimes unpleasant and overwhelming for the Viking, more so now that he was a vampire than before. Before he might have liked the smells of burning pig or cow parts. Her fingers tightened on his as she didn't turn back to the meat in question.
"What happened to meat on the bone. The crunch followed by the sucking of the marrow? They have become so distant from their food, the creatures that must die to feed them. I doubt the City allows for many of the creatures to truly die. It produces food as it is found in their markets. Their super markets. All sliced and diced, neatly packaged, so very hygienic." Her nose wrinkled. "It's too easy, too simple, lacking the complications of knowing just what must happen to have food upon the table." She laughed softly after a quiet moment.
"You know, I feel very old when I talk that way." She squeezed his fingers again, holding his one hand in the two of hers for a moment. "And, to think, depending on how you view my whole story, you could be much older than I." The crone was an ancient figure, older than the Baba Yaga tale; she was an archetype after all.
"You are dealing with either a very old woman, or a very young one. Or both. How lucky are you?" She laughed again. "I believe pretending to fall out will work rather nicely. I suppose we could seem to be seriously injured, but do either of us want to spill our own blood today?"