[ Adelis tries to occupy himself, he really does, with both his company and the drink in his hands. While he is far from getting anywhere near letting loose, the alcohol that slips down his throat at least offers the smallest sense of Ostoyan comfort, and he'll take whatever he can get right now.

He needs it, more than ever, with the emptiness settling in his stomach and the stillness of his chest.

Attempting to focus on other things means he doesn't really notice anything that isn't too close- he has slightly learned to turn his guard down, if only slightly- but it's the abrupt presence that makes itself known that has his grip on the glass tightening as he tenses in reflex.

Ah.

Adelis doesn't turn, for a moment, opting to peer into the dark of his wine glass for a moment, before he finally shifts in his chair at the call of his name.

There's a range of emotions to pick from that one word, and the look on his own face is probably difficult to parse to- but it settles into familiar things Mishka is no doubt used to.

Anger. Betrayal. A cold, frustrated bitterness that goes well with the lack of warmth the rest of him suffers from. ]

Mishka. [ His eyes narrow. ] Don't you have a date to be attending.

[ It's mild, for him- but his grip clenches tighter, and it's obvious there is far, far more on his tongue, ready to spill over and overflow at a moment's notice. This is not how Adelis planned to confront him, with all the emotions swirling through his brain and newfound knowledge, but apparently fate is always a frigid bitch. ]

[ He despises the rising whirlpool of emotions he finds surging in his chest- both from the auction, from his drunken venting, and then the seething wave that accompanied his recent awakening. He wants to feel nothing but irritation, the anger, because it's always the easiest to deal with.

Instead, there's the betrayal. The confusion. Something deep and twisting in his stomach. And most infuriating, the relief.

But he would sooner bite his tongue in twain than admit that now, especially as his hackles raise as Mishka comes closer, body tensing as his wrist is grabbed and he finds a warm thumb pressing to his pulse. Or what would be his pulse, had he one anymore. It's the words, however, that make his face twist.

How dare he act like this, after everything he'd said to his fucking face.

Adelis whips his hand free, pulling it closer to himself as his eyes narrow. ]

It happened after I bloody woke up. [ He will not say when, because he thinks that's rather obvious- Mishka can put it together himself, smart man that he is.

And as for the second part, he stares straight at the older man's face. ]

And I fail to see how that concerns you. If I remember correctly, we aren't as close as I apparently thought.

[ And perhaps that's what's bothering him the most- all that bravado, the denial, the bruising grip on his chin. Just for him to get hit with that sickening image of Mishka's flesh warping, splitting, and changing all for-

Ugh. There's a flash of teeth in his grimace. ]

[ He just had to come along now, when he was still trying to pull the fragile weave of himself together- after a few sleepless nights that make the circles under his eyes ever darker, after too much time ruminating alone in his thoughts. In his memories.

There is a primal urge to wrap his hand 'round his throat, much as he did before, when he had threatened him- but instead it curls taught. The leather is the only thing preventing his nails from cutting deep into his hands. ]

So it is only your concern now, that I am a danger to everyone around me?

[ Part of Adelis knows that probably, probably isn't true, but just the idea is...painful. In some way. He did not scrape and make himself bleed in desperation in the face of the unrelenting emptiness just to hear this.

His gaze snaps, something else hot boiling in his chest. His head hurts. ]

I am fine. I did not subsist for- [ hoursdaysweeks? He can't remember it clearly anymore. ] that long just to become the thing you know I bloody detest! I know damn well better than that!

[ But it doesn't stop there, as he reaches a hand out, coiling it in Mishka's shirt as he opens his mouth with nothing but raw, muffled emotion shoved into his voice- ]

But you would know all about giving in, wouldn't you?

[ Adelis is not the one who threw it all away. He almost had, feet stuttering, the sensations that had wracked his chest almost enough to freeze him to the floor, but the adrenaline kept him going.

And that's why he's the only one who left, hand in hand with familiar faces. ]

[ An afterthought. The dismissive iciness in that glance turns the boiling heat of his own blood cold, and it comes out more of a curse than anything else- congratulations. For managing to scurry like a rat from his shackles, only with help from another, help from him. There is something in that tone that he can't place, but he finds the words cutting anyway, something akin to disbelief flittering to his features. ]

...Worth it? Are you fucking kidding me-?

[ What part of that was worth it? Does he really think that's what he wanted? For all his self-proclaimed heartlessness, for all the people he's sold out for the sake of his own survival, this was a choice made without his say. He had no part, nothing but the twisting of his chest to accompany the sight.

Adelis lets him walk. He has so much else he wants to say, but he chokes it all down like a bitter pill, once again feeling like he did on that auction stage- furious and cold and empty.

Syrlya sits, but Adelis stares a few moments more, many things roiling beneath the surface before he turns and grabs his drink, promptly tilting the whole thing back without even a second's hesitation. The wine slides down, but he can't even appreciate the taste, not when he doesn't even have to stop to breathe.

When he places the empty glass down, it's only to slide it back over to the other side of the bar and speak over a heavy tongue. ]

Another one.

[ Fuck it. ]

[ It's only after the glass is taken away that he bothers to take his own seat, sinking into it while his mind runs. If he thinks about it more, it will just make him more miserable-

Adelis eyes the plate for a moment, but doesn't reach just yet, as tempting as it is. instead driving his glare into the hardwood of the bar. ]

I shouldn't have expected anything less.

[ He cannot keep the bitterness from his voice, but he hardly makes an attempt to, anyway. ]

Hah. Fate is a frigid bitch, as they say.

[ There is no humor in his laugh, just something icy and dull.

The question drags him into quiet, emotions swirling viciously as he churns that sentence over and over in his head for a few moments. This was not something he had wanted to share, but apparently, it has come up anyway. ]

...He got me out. [ Of the basement, he means- although he neglects to mention what Mishka was doing there in the first place. ] I didn't know why, but he did all the same. But we only made it so far before he showed up again, and I was hardly in any state to do something about it.

[ The glass is placed in front of him again, freshly filled, and he tugs it closer to peer into it again. ]

So he did. Shanked him to a wall, despite how much his people worship that bloody creature. [ He finds his face pinching again, grip tightening as the memory surfaces, ever-fresh. ] Those born of Koshevek territory are mired in poison their whole lives, the very land from the water to the soil turning them vile and monstrous from the inside out. Some lose themselves, and others can hold themselves together, if but barely. He is the latter.

[ A pause. ]

But he let go. It is nothing short of a death sentence of the self, as both your mind and body are gone to become something else. That is what he did, and that is what he means. [ The thought sparks his fury and the sharp pinpricks in his chest, teeth grinding. ] Despite having no say in the matter, it is apparently my fault he made that decision.

[ What a way to look at it. He can hardly say he thinks the same now, all the vitriol and dismissal tossed his way tainting the memory of it. Perhaps that's for the better, in some way, but it doesn't make it any less bitter to the tongue.

He doesn't answer the question for a moment, opting to take another sip of wine ( that does nothing, he finds on a sour note. it isn't particularly strong, and it's ever harder for him to feel it now ). When he puts it down, it's with a quiet, deathly look on his face. ]

I never craved his death. Not strongly. [ An avoidance, in a way, but not untrue- they can come to blades before, and as Mishka has surely thought the same of him, he'd also contemplated the need to kill the other before. For himself, for what they were doing.

There was a sort of grim acceptance, but he would rather not have, if given the opportunity. Bastard as he was, Adelis owed him more than he'd like to admit, and somehow...it had never settled quite right. Not quite as easy as the rest. ]

But that hardly matters. It happened, all for his spite, and now I get to carry that blame for him. [ It doesn't occur to him, not quite, that Mishka's words weren't in the sarcastic, mocking sense. And why would they, when he seemed so damn sincere. ] How magnimous, to bear the weight of something you never asked for in the bloody first place.