[Octavian watches Root and Hiram stares at Octavian, getting angrier and angrier but still mercifully not speaking. For a moment Octavian merely appreciates the sight and Root's willingness to do this thing for him, very touching. He lifts a hand to his chin, faux-thoughtful.]

Need? From Hiram? Nothing in particular.

[That's for Hiram to fume over, which he does, but even as a dream figure he has the sense to hold still. Octavian holds up a finger, like, aha.]

I do always need blood. As you know. Here.

[He turns and there is conveniently an oversized beaker in his hands, which he holds up with a faint smile.]

You are the professional. As you like.