How Tetradore abhorred that copper taste that still lingered upon the very back of his tongue. The entirety of his life since his youth had been near bathed in that very substance that gifted his mistress such life - blood. That drink was, admittedly, a crutch for the Were-King. It promised him a chance to forget, for one night, the atrocious crimes he had committed in the blatant murder of another soul. It allowed him to wash clean those now dull teeth that had once torn flesh and shrews as if they were mere paper. In the very depths of his own hell, Tetradore was far more inclined to take every chance of reprieve he might momentarily gain, even though he knew well she would cut him off from that liquor before he might truly find himself under the blissful sway of his favored poison. As it was, for now, it would help to take the bite off of things. The crowd, after all, pressed too vehemently against his senses, the beat of that music too loud for his ears, his nose assaulted with far too many smells. Syn had always been a sort of sensory overload for the man and yet, his constant forced presence had prompted within him a simple ability to tune out the very world that surrounded him - at least until that tumbler was placed before him. Thank God.

Tetradore reached for the drink he'd requested, sipping on the smooth contents with a soft sigh of satisfaction. His elbow rested on the granite countertop, his cheek nestled in the palm of his hand as he shifted the glass, letting the liquid within rotate in a slow fashion around the edges of it. He was largely unattentive to the very world he turned his back on, his senses too hard pressed by the crowd to pick up on any one singular individual. The last thing he expected, however, was to find his inner contemplations interrupted by the sudden face of an old nightmare. The sound of his name upon the man's lips drew his emerald eyes towards the vampire, a small frown tugged at the corners of his lips and yet, his features largely remained indifferent all the same. He made no effort to respond, his gaze merely turned apathetically back to the glass in front of him, as if Cobain's presence hardly mattered to him in the slightest. It had, admittedly, been years since Tetradore had last seen Risque's other child. Since their last encounter Tetradore had led Isolt to her death, rescued her, burned down the previous reincarnation of Syn, released Risque's captive cats, lived in freedom for two years, attempted to murder the vampire, nearly died and, in turn, had wound up back in captivity all the same. How far he had come and yet how little he had to show for it.

Tetradore watched in silence as Cobain waved off the bartender, his disinterest in liquor as poignant as the Were-King remembered it to be. The almost blase statement upon the man's lips prompted a small shrug from his shoulders, the Hispanic man truly uncertain as to what his companion had hoped to gain from such an announcement. It was, after all, fact, even if Tetradore had tried time and time again to make it anything but. The boy had always been particularly rebellious, those escape attempts had once occurred on a nearly monthly basis in his teenage years, even if every single one had ended in failure - his last effort just as so. It was, however, the fashion in which the vampire continued that slowly drew Tetradore's deep emerald eyes towards the fellow in an almost inhospitable fashion.

"Frankly, Cobain, I'm surprised you keep coming back for how much you claim to hate her." Tetradore's baritone voice rumbled, altogether content to return the man's words with a barbed tongue of his own. Truly, he knew little of the bond that existed between maker and child and yet, if Isolt could manage to not only keep her distance and her soul intact, he found himself suddenly doubting the animosity that ran so thickly through the vampire's veins. For all his hatred and wickedness, the poor boy was drawn to the vile viciousness of Risque. He was, as far as Tetradore was concerned, such a pathetically weak soul. "What do you want." It was, after all, decidedly rare for Tetradore to make an effort to hold any sort of conversation or comradeship with any of the captured creatures within his mistress' grasp. Quite on the contrary, Tetradore was far more inclined to fall into his own solitary silence - the very sort that Cobain was presently ruining, though he doubted it was without reason. Had Risque truly sent her other pet to see to fetch him or did Cobain have reasons all of his own?