The raven-haired man had consumed his world with that single kiss. The only thing that made any sense whatsoever was that he'd passed the drug from his mouth to Cersie's. Yet, the 'drug' was all consuming and he didn't really want to leave. Usually he gave his payment right here, usually on his knees or all fours. Yet Iseulith wanted to take him from this place. Again, something just felt off, and he hesitated. Another wave of euphoria hit him, and he simply shook his head before he let himself be pulled under his arm. The effects kept him from dwelling on the details, like that was horridly under dressed compared to him. Though he looked over at him. "I wouldn't know," he mumbled, voice slurred. "More like..." He bit his lower lip. "Dancing in a tornado." Still not quite giving sway to what he was, but that was the best hint he'd given so far without outright blurting what he was.<br/><br/>One moment passed to the next. More details escaped him, like the massive black horses that made no sound and cast no shadow. Like the beautiful youth that held the door open for them. One moment he had been in a whore house, and the next thing he knew everything was passing by him. Cersie realized something then, and he frowned. "Where are my glasses?" he asked. "I-I need my glasses." Why wasn't the other freaking out about his eyes, with the way they swirled like the center of a hurricane? Cersie looked over at him, their eyes meeting once more. If Iseulith kept his charm going, Cersie would fall sway far more easily than before.<br/><br/>The pulsing of the 'drug' in him caused him to relax more, and he let his eyes fall closed, riding the rush. He was aroused, because of the effects, but he didn't act upon them. He just let the effects wash over him like a tide. Next thing he knew the door to the mostly silent carriage opened and Iseulith was hurrying him down stairs. Cersie's eyes raised to the vast ceiling. The vast foyer was bigger than his own house, even. It was beautiful, and it stole his breath. Cersie's skin was still damp from the rain that hadn't let up; his pants were drenched and tented slightly from his erection.<br/><br/>He swallowed. The 'drug' was fading in his system, and he frowned. It had been so brief, but then again he hadn't been given a night's supply. That was usually what he paid for, because he had a horridly high metabolism. "No, I'm not," he murmured, perplexed. A frown lit his features once more. "Why am I here? I thought you wanted me to pay you at the whore house." His breath caught and he touched his face. That was right. He didn't have his glasses. He whirled to face the other, seeing his eyes. His eyes. They weren't human. Cersie backed up a bit, his bare feet leaving muddy prints on the shining marble floor.<br/><br/>"What are you?" he demanded, lightning crackling inside his eyes. There were no windows, so conjuring a storm wasn't going to be feasible. He had to pull the air currents in order to create the effect, the high and low pressures. But he could conjure lightning from his fingertips. However, Cersie was reluctant to give away anything else about himself. What did the other already know? Iseulith, that was his name. He remembered bits and pieces but so much was still a blur and the 'drug' was still coasting through his system, but the effects of it were lightning substantially. Making him more cautious and aware.