[The dagger sits against his breast, tucked in close beneath loose cloth and a slanted sense of awareness; something that grows increasingly lopsided the more he drinks from that gleaming assortment of poured paint-thinners that all taste like—

Oh, like ambrosia, really.

He'd drink it out of a boot if it meant tasting more than ash and congealed misery whilst imbibing. And the best part is— like the figure hunched around mottled wood barely an arms' length away (and pleasantly blurry)— won't be going anywhere he can't fully follow.]

Oh, I don't know, darling— everthing??

[A puff of air that's both a scoff and a laugh, residually rife with scorching disbelief. Don't mind him as he snares a glass of something amber. And strong. And that absolutely reeks with fumes when it's held up in mutual salute....and downed.

(His swallow doesn't struggle, but it is audible, if one listens close.)]

Religion, history, genocide, slavery, culture, politesse. Your entire continental map looks like a dropped steak and honestly my darling I'm almost positive it's something to do with the fact that you lot had humans at the helm for centuries upon centuries— completely and utterly unchecked. Then there's the Circles, blood magic, abominations, phylacteries, chevaliers, templars, Q– uh. Qun....ah- qunahree. Or whatever. Old gods. Blights.

And now Corypheus? His spies. His dogged hunters. The fact that I can't order a drink without being forced to 'wait my turn'?

Gods and devils both have mercy, I've no idea how you even managed to snag this room.