[ kaveh looks. for one, he's asking a favour of midnight. for another, it's merely a scarf. at the last, it's a singular piece of cloth that acts as a symbolic barrier. but midnight is the one asking. ]

I ought to ask, really. What is a sense of smell like to a vampire? I suppose you can't tell me whether you're better or worse at smelling things.

[ kaveh unravels the scarf from his neck. it's a burning, sunset orange in his hands, all scars and chipped, red-painted nails. he hands it over to midnight. its dearth reveals the still-healing bruise from his neck, above where midnight once bit him. alhaitham had been less gentle. ]

For example, can you smell it? What's in my lipbalm.

[ kaveh can't. it had been an accident, really. it had been his mother's recipe. beeswax and coconut oil, more or less scentless because it got in the way of properly tasting food. but kaveh has spilt a little jasmine extract, and it had infused. ]