Patrice practically ignores what Des and Presley say, intensely focused on where his blood is dripping down and starting to form... something. He looks up finally, frowning, his jaw tight. One hand still holds the envelope, but he finally drops it to the table after a moment.

"I'm fine. This... hematomancy? Right? Why...?" He trails off. It feels strange and bad, to apparently have to bleed in his mother's memory, and h can't seem to get out anything resembling a sentence. But he doesn't have time to think or worry about that now. He presses his cut finger to the paper, but it doesn't seem to want to take any more of his blood.