#ic. asks.

What had been a rather distant, honestly melancholic look bored into the contents of his glass shifted to one of sharp, dry irritation the moment the man addressed him, a sureness of suspicion present. Could it be helped? Perhaps, perhaps not. Lowering his glass audibly, a gilt glare was cast towards the one who’d addressed him. Unfamiliar, but bearing a hellish aura The Darkness distantly bewared. “Th’ hell is this, therapy? Piss off.”