Per O'Connor's instruction, the chef's assistant brought over a pitcher of beef blood.
"It's for UK'ers, you know how they like their blood puddings," explained the chef.
"Okay, cameras and tapes recording. Good. Now pour the blood into the bowl."
Instantly, the reverb was replaced with an odd almost oriental chanting. Suddenly, the assistant who was closest to the bowl screamed. Everyone stared at him as rivulets of blood flowed from his mouth, eyes, ears, and nose. The sound intensified, or possibly the hearing of everyone in the room became more acute.
O'Connor was in sensory overload. His sense of smell had increased at least twenty fold. He could smell and identify every item in the kitchen. Each man and woman in the room had its own distinct unique scent. He was painfully aware of the hum of the electric current in the wiring in the walls. His hearing was super human. He could feel is own blood trickling down his face. All his joints ached.
He reached for the bowl, and froze as he saw his now hirsute hand with 2 inch claw-like nails. Someone howled. Rampaging werewolves in the White House could create an international incident. He moved to topple the bowl and spill the blood.
It clattered on the kitchen floor, and the blood splattered everywhere.