Mallory would've blushed, had any blood remained in her body. Technically speaking, she didn't really have a body. No one knew what was underneath the cloak of a Kumakatok -- and that included her. For all she knew, she was made entirely out of swiss cheese. She'd never seen her own face, and instead, could only see the deep, gaping void of darkness. On the bright side, she had knuckles of steel from years of rapping onto doors. She twitched slightly, feeling the familiar itch in her fingers. 

"Sorry, what was that?" Mallory muttered to the kindly stranger. The need to knock on the door of someone fated to die grew stronger and stronger, but it didn't completely distract her. Almost like reading a book, tiny bits of information about the stranger became apparent to her. 

For starters, the stranger had already died, and reeked of vampire. Mallory crinkled her nose inadvertently, feeling repulsed almost by the undead creature. She was a purist at heart -- things that die should stay dead. Fate ruled the universe. Those who believed in free will and being able to advert destiny were simply kidding themselves. 

"Thanks for the drink," Mallory commented, unaware as to whether or not the vampire had responded. She raised the glass to her lips and walked over to the door of the bar, almost trapped within a trance. Rapping lightly on the door frame thrice, she felt the primal need subside and she relaxed her shoulders. 

[i]That's the deadman walking[/i], Mallory realized, glancing at the person fated to die. She walked aimlessly forward, hardly even noticing when she collided with a succubus, spilling the gifted drink everywhere. Of course, none of it got on her. The drops of alcohol fell through her, hitting the floor. 

"Shit. I'm sorry."