[ He hadn't even drank that much, but even now, he can feel it makes his blood hotter- ironic, considering how cold he still is, the only heat in the room radiating from Mishka's skin. His temper has always been questionable, for a man in his line of work...this was simply making it worse.

All thoughts of whatever he's being kept from knowing go out in the window in favor whatever this...argument? Confrontation? Is. That smile makes his chest twist in irritation and more, especially as fingers reach up and press against the cool of his neck.

He tenses- a natural reaction, warning signals going off in his head, but he doesn't move even as the fingers tighten. If anything, his own do in turn, the crackle of pink sparks around his hands warning enough. ]

Do you think, [ It's a hiss, eyes narrowing further. ] that I can't tell when you're full of shite?

[ Perhaps if he were younger, more naive, some part of him would have believed it. But putting the pieces together from before his descent and up to the retrieval of his body, it's such a crock of shit, he'd have thought Mishka had lost his mind. ]

If you were going to kill me, you'd have offered me some sad, pathetic excuse before you tried to put me to the blade. [ Out of obligation, perhaps- he would do it all with that smile on his face, too. ] Do you really think I'd forget something like that? I'd have taken my pound of flesh in turn, no matter the outcome.

[ Despite the grip on his neck, he still pushes himself up a bit farther, to diminish the height difference as he lets his nails scrape the other man's nape. ]

And the only strange one of us right now is you, you fucking drunkard.