[center][h1][color=#B4C1C9]Fyodor Strelnikov[/color][/h1][/center]

Fyodor gave no reply to Zaraknvyr's words, simply moving his hands away from his implements of vampire murder once the fanged Mercykiller had shown he wasn't about to cause trouble and turning back to his wine once the Jailer had finished speaking. Fyodor didn't need to look at his compatriots to know that he had cared a lot more about what had just happened than they did. Unsurprising considering the fact that they were Bleakers. Being a Bleaker himself, Fyodor shouldn't have cared so much either. But fangs had been a weak point in the apathy he had been cultivating within himself as a part of the Bleak Cabal from the very beginning. Nothing in the multiverse mattered, Fyodor knew this. Yet no amount of focusing on this truth could change his reaction to reminders of where he came from.

Especially when that reminder was fangs.

Fyodor took another sip of wine, drinking slow and savoring every drop. Partially because he wanted to enjoy the taste of the wine and the pleasant memories it conjured, but mainly because he wanted to wait until some time after Zaraknvyr had left before going to the portal. If they were to be traveling in the same direction, Fyodor wanted as wide a gap between the two of them as possible.