His emerald irises stared at the back of the man who had saved his life as Alistair tried to put together the pieces of the evening before. His silent contemplation persisted, however, as he watched Adrien flick off the overhead fan on and toss a spatula in the sink with little acknowledgment that he knew of Alistair's presence. The loud clamor of the wooden spoon hitting the metal surface caused a small frown to mar the artist's lips, as if the sound was somehow louder then it should have been. Tentatively, Alistair cleared his throat. The singular word that left his lips was far more hoarse than he was accustomed to and yet, he had immediately ensnared the attention of the stranger in the kitchen. Alistair was, admittedly, almost overwhelmed by the plethora of information he was immediately provided, the Dark Hunter hardly even leaving room for him to sneak in but a word! Still, at least he had a name now for his savior. Adrien. Thank God the fellow hadn't run at the idea of a vampire. It was that very notion that prompted an almost vague flash of recollection within him. He remembered daggers as dark as shadows. He remembered Adrien kneeling over him - offering him a choice. It was a choice offered him the promise of life or a dismal death should he deny it. It was only natural, the eagerness with which Alistair had agreed without much consideration of the consequences and yet, now, they were all he thought of. Dark Hunter. That's what Adrien was. That's what Adrien meant he would become. A Dark Hunter. How was such a thing even possible? Him?! There was no way he'd become one of them. Sure, he felt....a little weird but, surely that couldn't mean anything could it?

His lips pressed firmly together as an altogether rare hint of anxiety began to clutch at his heart with an almost icicle grip. Suddenly, the insistence that they had a lot to talk about seemed more akin to a death sentence. Adrien's movement from the kitchen, combined with the delectable scent of food all but tore the Artist from those considerations that had already begun to feel far too overwhelming - things like what he knew of the supernatural species and what it meant for him and the life he'd once had. His world suddenly felt so shaky and now, Alistair found himself almost...hesitant to move from his spot, despite the way his emerald eyes seemed to linger upon the piled plate of food. His stomach grumbled in want, his throat seeming dryer at the very mention of water. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt nearly as starving. It seemed what had only been a day was more akin to a week, as far as his stomach was concerned. Slowly, Alistair's gaze rose from the plate Adrien set upon that small black table, only for the green hue of his irises to meet the dark purple of his savior's own in an unnerving moment of silence. That comment that Adrien didn't bite prompted a snort from Alistair's nose, his hand rose once again to brush against the bandage around his neck. God, he remembered how much that had hurt. Anything was almost better than the jagged edges of that vampire's teeth. They'd sliced through his skin as if he was little more than a piece of meat, though, he supposed to the cowboy, maybe he had been. Alistair shook that thought from his head as the Artist stepped forward, closing the distance between the two only to take a seat at the chair opposite of Adrien.

"It's Alistair." He answered, that jest seemingly enough to break the ice of awkwardness between the pair. It was that question of how he felt, however, that seemed to prompt a crinkle in his brow and a glimpse of consideration upon his features as he reached for that bottle of Gatorade. His fingers enclosed around the lid, the seal quickly popping off. "I feel...kind of sore I guess. And I have a headache." He paused, bringing that bottle to his lips before another thought crossed his mind. "Everything just...feels more intense...I know it sounds crazy." Alistair shook his head, entirely oblivious of just how accurate his own observations were. Those Dark Hunter senses were so much more than those mortal ones he was used to - the lights somehow brighter, his hearing somehow sharper. Hell, even that Gateroade somehow tasted better as it hit his tongue. The drink was notoriously one Alistair was not particularly fond of and yet somehow he'd near drank half the bottle before he'd quite realized just how. A small glimpse of surprise crossed his features as he pulled that drink from his lips, the artist was notoriously brought up to mind his manners and here he was, near chugging a Gatorade of all things. "Um....thank you...for this." He commented, attempting to bring back some of that civility that was demanded of him within his childhood home.