"No, it doesn't smell like actual death, it smells like the walls and ceiling are probably going to suddenly grow spikes and close in on me." As if that was any more helpful. "It's...well, a little musky, I guess." A shrug.

"It's kind of hard to explain, it's more the feeling associated with the smell than the smell itself. No, you don't smell rotten. It's just--it's sort of a wrongness, to it? Maybe it's a rival predator thing?"

He rifles through the plastic and paper of the takeaway, taking out containers, before gratefully takes an ice pack. "Thanks, man." He lifts one up before slapping it to his face and gritting his teeth with a hiss of pain. Stupid wolves. What jerks. He's still holding it to his face as he turns towards Flynn with an understanding nod.

"Ah. I gotcha. You thought you were gonna live forever with someone. I mean, if vampires actually do live forever and it's not just a legend."