Trixy turned and gave the doctor a friendly wave before heading out the door that David had kindly held for her. “Rouland?” she asked with a little shock when he gave her his surname. “C'est un nom français, Parlez-vous français?” she asked in fluent modern-day French. 

Trixy knew it was probably a long shot and his French ancestors were most likely long since dead, taking their language with them, but she longed to speak her native language with someone. Constantly speaking English was like wearing shoes that didn’t quite fit – an uncomfortable hindrance, yet most men adored her accent as she struggled through foreign words.

She watched as he swiftly took off his jacket, revealing his weaponry. Trixy’s eyes found the glock first and she smiled a little, they shared a favored weapon. Her own two firearms were concealed against each of her hip bones, the cool metal was pressed to her bare skin in a comforting and almost romantic way – a girl’s got to love her weapon of choice. “It is nice to walk alongside another of my kind, it has been quite a long time since I have done so.” She said, recalling the last progeny that she had sired.