Fluidity

In the truck’s bed, they endured the hot Louisiana night. Jules slapped desultorily at mosquitoes.
“Alice, you said blood don't taste like it does for rest of us,” Jules said. “Sooo, what does it taste like?”
Alice shrugged, and simultaneously shook her head. Not a gesture mortals could pull off with her graceful fluidity.
Jules' breath was baited. Alice didn’t breathe at all.
“Tastes like Diet Coke.”
Afterwards, silence stretched like taffy.