Joscelin brushes blood off his own cheek, having been caught by the arterial spray of some hapless underling who'd tried to get between him and Jean-Claude. There is blood all over the club, really, drying stickily to the walls and floor. He doesn't envy the cleaners their jobs.

The boy vampire steps over a particularly large smear of blood--Raymond's--to get closer to Jean-Claude and be heard over the chaos.

"God's wounds, Jean-Claude! I didn't think you had it in you. Masterfully done, old friend."