Kevice didn't quite like the look on the elf's face, humored and all while he himself fumbled over his words and tried to break onto even ground he was soon realizing he never stepped off of to begin with. He gave Vasyli a sharp glance like he figured that it was all on purpose, Vasyli was a manipulative thing after all, wasn't he? "Soft-like." He repeated definitively, scrunching up his nose with a jagged frown and snatching the bottle as kindly as he could for another drink.<br/><br/>The idea that Vasyli would even give his advances the time of day under any other circumstances came as more of a surprise than he expected of himself though, prompting Kevice to raise a brow. "You sure you aren't lying? Something tells me a fancy guy like you would just be uppity about it. I never really.. talked to those types much anyway before I got here, you know? Hated that stuff. Mathis was lucky he wasn't a foot shorter or else I would've ripped his nose off for getting in my face like that. When we met, I mean, before all of this." When he and Vasyli were coworkers, it put them at equality that made Kevice comfortable to try his luck with an elf he was immediately stricken with at the time. But back on the streets most anyone who had so much as a golden button on their coat was 'the other' and only riled up the half-elf.<br/><br/>It was something he got used to the night prior, Vasyli secretly being this secretive evil who conspired against those he hated. Another swig, washed down with some wine, and he let himself fall back on the mattress like he owned it, arms out as he stared at the sloping roof of the tent. "Good thing I'm not on your bad side eh? Really, you're scary Vasyliii...iii.." A broken, sing-song chime of the elf's name and a few pats of the mattress later, he let out a big sigh. His breathe felt hot inside his own mouth, a soft warmth on his face that made the half-elf feel especially lazy.<br/><br/>"Do you even have a type?"<br/><br/>A sudden question, as if he wasn't staring at the ceiling, Kevice gave an inquisitive twist of his head. "If you'd let me take you out or whatever. Is that weird? I just mean, folks love me or hate me, all this." He gave a swing of his hand down the length of himself, coat open and most his tattoos exposed, before his arm thumped against the bed. "Don't get me wrong! I love myself and all, this was hard work you know! But not everyone can dig it." Furrowing his brow, Kevice blinked and looked to question himself next, "maybe it's my face, or the teeth. Hair...?" He muttered quiet, rhetorical questions, as if somewhere underneath that boisterous demeanor there was any hint of insecurity. "Silly rule, don't you think? What, does Mathis not want to ruin that whole poster relationship you have going on? The fake one. Who do you think paints those anyway? Are they getting your permission or does the old man even give a shit about that. No one ever tells me these things.<br/><br/>Kevice pulled himself up too quickly for another drink, feeling as if ever vein in his body shifted with the sudden movement. But Vasyli would get what he wanted, they were gonna get trashed and there was nothing the alarm of a heavy buzz could do about it. He was drinking a little too fast though. Kevice quickly considered trying to stay at the elf's pace.