[He might come upon a Sleeper clad in a stolen Cenobite's robe made for a slighter figure, as its textured leather sits awkwardly on his robust frame. He stands over a kneeling neophyte, given how the smaller figure shows fewer mutilations (grommet-style piercings in the upper shell of their ears as well as the lobes), the Sleeper armed with a high-tech injector of some kind, loaded with a phial of green-tinged Blood, holding the needle-tip to the neophyte's forehead.]

[The Sleeper's eyes, burning red with the pupils of a cat or a serpent, tick toward Vash.]

And why should I not?

[He asks this calmly, even with a note of amusement as a flicker of a sadistic smirk flickers across his handsome face.]