( he tips his head to one side. considering, as he mulls over his soup, stirring it soundlessly, without the metallic ting of the knife against the side of his bowl. it is still slightly too hot for his preference. )

I was the son of a king. Pain was necessary. I learned fighting, broke bones, took injury. And I have many tattoos, tests of said tolerance.

( he lifts the spoon. the soup is now about the temperature of blood. he supposes it is a holdover. )

Then, I was a slave to a vampire master. He did not put stock in kindness.

( trevor is a compassionate sort. an odd thing in a vampire hunter, to bleed so for a creature he is sworn to hate. yet godric finds he does not mind it overmuch. this rough-around-the-edges boy puts him very much in a mind of eric when he least expects the comparison to arise. he gestures a bit with his spoon. )

And I suppose I will, yes. I trust you will come to dinner often, that I may see to it you are fed.