Well, the ones today mostly had the chips, in his experience. He blamed the media and the idea that vampires were supposed to be beautiful. When one got turned who wasn't...he tended to take it personally.

"What's wrong with minions? Someone has to do the dirty work." He shrugged. "They could, but they usually don't want to have to. They're vampires. Girls should be falling all over them for having a set of fangs." The disdain was clear. "But, honestly--it doesn't happen often. We're sensual creatures, drawn to beauty, to extraordinary people. We turn those we like." And they liked pretty people, usually. Shallow? Likely, but they only occasionally turned pretty, stupid people. "If you just need soldiers...you're not so picky. But foot soldiers have never had a high survival rate in any army, any war."

It wasn't said coldly, not even completely callously. It was soft and a little wry and understanding of how the world worked. You sent in the poor boys who were the rank and file first, before the boys from good homes who bought commissions. Everyone grieved over how many died that day...but who got mentioned by name until they were a leader? Their friends and family mourned them specifically....to the nations they died for, they were faceless masses. It was sad and undignified and horrific....but it was war.