Faolan grunted, still with his back to Lucien, [color=a36209]"That's the dog bitin'."[/color] Of course this was in reference to the entire bottle of whiskey the two had shared the night before and the hangover that plagued them both now, but he couldn't help but notice the grim pun.

Once he was dressed, he made for the door, careful not to look directly at the Frenchman. He needed to keep himself focused directly on the task at hand to avoid deviance from his plan. He'd wanted to leave as soon as he reached the door, but he paused as Lucien spoke to him.

His hand hovered against the knob of their door, as his turned an ear toward Lucien. His heart was pulling him one way, back, toward the Frenchman and the bed they had shared that night, but his head pulled him forward and toward a more rational action. He felt as though he might rip in two.

He knew that it would be hard, but that he would have to take away Lucien's hope of discussing the events of the previous night. He steeled himself and said, [color=a36209]"There's nothing to talk about."[/color] he said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. It was hard enough for him with just his thoughts, his memories of the previous night, he did not want to look at it directly for fear that it may make him slip up. The last time this had happened, he had put Lucien in grave danger. He was not about to let this happen again.