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(The puddle of blood has no shoulders, but it still manages to convey a shrug with a surface ripple. Then it goes back to wrapping around the dropped doughnut)

Okay.

[Mitchell's head snaps up and he looks around, blinking]

Who said that--?

[He sees the puddle of... red liquid... engulfing his doughnut and jumps half-a-foot, scrambling backward. One hand fumbles at his belt as if he were reaching for a gun, but he's not wearing one and it comes up empty.]

...what the hell...?

Edited 2014-09-03 07:41 (UTC)

(The blob is briefly doughnut shaped, and then it collapses on itself. It noses around for a moment, searching for crumbs and leaving a trail of clean behind itself)

(And then a mournful whisper)

Sprinkles?

[Mitchell stares.]

[He reaches slowly for his cellphone.... then thinks better of it. Calling Bradbury in here is going to do... what, exactly? Are Bradbury's fists or gun going to be much use against a... a sentient blob? Probably not. And if the blob is hostile, he'd be putting Rick into pointless danger that Rick couldn't do anything to stop.]

[...And if the blob isn't hostile, then Rick Bradbury can probably make it so pretty quickly. Bradbury has a gift, like that.]

[Mitchell licks his lips, and keeps poised on the balls of his feet, ready to run if he needs to.]

... no, I like jelly-filled. Sorry. Uh... hello.

Jelly?

(Oh, look, it has tentacles. Or pseudopods. Or tendrils. Whatever they are, they are out and waving at him with a hopeful air.)

...that's disgusting. [Said with a certain fascination.]

Ah... yeah, uh, hang... on.

[Mitchell reaches for the box of doughnuts his aide brought him that morning and picks one out, keeping an eye on the red blob (he's not going to call it blood, he's not, he refuses to call it blood) as he does so. He edges forward gingerly, sets it down a half-foot from the blob, then retreats to his side of the room.]

You-- what are you? Liquid... nanites, or... how are you making a voice?

Edited 2014-09-03 07:57 (UTC)

You poop.

(The blob stays politely still while he lays the doughnut down. Once he is safely away, it happily pounces, engulfs and devours.)

Vibrate surface. Is hard.

...yes. Okay. Yes. [Is he really being lectured on what's disgusting by a puddle of bl-- red liquid?] --I don't do it in front of people, though.

[Mitchell slowly circles the doughnut-devouring... stuff, his sense of 'holy fuck what is that' warring with his curiosity, as usual.]

... that... yeah, that sounds hard. I-- what ARE you? Alien life form? Some sort of, of, sentient slime mold?

You eat in public, I eat in public.

(The blob scootches around again, looking for crumbs. It appears unconcerned by the circling - but then, it lacks a face, which means it lacks a back, which means it is impossible to get behind it.)

Am me. Only one. Yay!

...touché.

[Mitchell debates with himself for a moment, then grabs the entire box of doughnuts and sets it down. There's only four doughnuts left, anyway. And he wants to see if this thing gets... bigger. Where does the food mass go?]

...only one, huh. I... I know how that is. Did you-- used to be, uh.... human?

(The blood hangs back, politely waiting for him to retreat again.)

Human? Human blood, yes. Many humans, so me, human, too. Body makes camoflauge - I blend in! Except no, body is actually stupid.

(He pulls back a 'safe' distance, though God knows what 'safe' is.)

(...and dammit there's the b-word.)

You're... you're composed of human blood. That's what you're saying?

(It promptly invades the box, spreading out to sink into the doughnuts. He can't see it, but microscopic tendrils twine through the treats, fine as capillaries, spreading like a blush.)

Is my human blood. Did not go look for. Home grown.

Edited 2014-09-03 08:55 (UTC)

(Again there is the watching in morbid fascination.)

...right. So you're... Do you, I guess what I'm asking is, do you have a, a fleshy body somewhere?

...zzzzthp?

(The creature pokes a nub over the edge of the box at his general direction, then flows out and towards him a little. It has definitely gotten bigger.)

Fleshy....for food...? No? Don't eat thinky things. Rat, sk - sk-k-k- tree-rat, raccoon, bird, trash, dirt - no thinks.

(Oh boy it's coming closer. Mitchell keeps a wary eye on it. Six feet of distance is a good distance, right? Yeahhhh it's bigger now.)

Okay, so. You're. A pool of sentient.... blood, but your consciousness is here, it's not in a body elsewhere that's just controlling this? You, uh, how big do you... get?

(And are you telling the truth about not eating thinky things? But that wouldn't be too diplomatic to ask.)

(Not a ton bigger, but big enough that now he can see that, when it talks, there are two little dimples that dance across its surface.)

Here, yes. Where I am, there I think.

(It wraps around the box the doughnuts came in, becoming briefly box-shaped. The edges quickly start to crumble.)

Dunno. Big? Small now.

...not want big. Medium good. Small scary, big scares.

(Mitchell is briefly silent, watching in horror/fascination/that-is-so-cool/that's-got-terrifying-implications as he watches the box itself become consumed.)

Yeah. Yeah, I can see that. A ten-foot high wall of living blood is something most people wouldn't really be sanguine about. Ha, ha. Uh.

...do you... have a name?

(It's got good implications, too! NYC could solve its trash problem and corner the lucrative blood meal fertilizer market, too. Except for the utter lack of cooperation that would meet.)

(His pun is answered by a brief frothing.)

Yes. You?

(Oh, the trash removal thing definitely occurred to him, and then he had to instantly shoot it down because there's already enough people who would love to see him burned at the stake or something.)

--do I-- oh, uh, yes. Sorry. I... it's been a while since I had to introduce myself. Uh. I'm Mitchell.

(He manfully resists the urge to say 'I'm kind of a big deal'. Carnivorous blood probably isn't impressed.)

(The people of New York would probably object to their trash going to feed a ravenous blood monster. But it would do wonders for the recycling program!)

Hello Mit....t...Mish- Mit!chell. Hello!

(Mitchell smiles despite himself at the earnest work on his name.)

If that's a.... difficult noise for you to make, you're welcome to call me something simpler.

And you?

Is new, is all.

(Hole have formed in the sides of the box, laced with a delicate, rippled clear substance - the plastic coating.)

Me? Don't use name. Going to mix me up?

Fair enough.

(Mitchell continues to observe. This makes at least his top-ten of 'weird shit he's seen'. There's some stiff competition.)

...heh. No, guess not. But I thought it'd be polite. If that... doesn't matter to you, then never mind.

Also, is stupid name. Really stupid name. Mom give to piss off dad.

Ruby is nice. Pretty.