No mirrors. No winds. A sense of dread came over him, and his lips pressed together tightly. No. He wouldn't tell him what he was. He would either figure it out, or he wouldn't. There was a tyrant of storms in his eyes, and he realized that he would guess easily enough. Cersie's gaze went to the door, his hands starting to shake. He needed the drug, or whatever it was. Needed it, because if he didn't, he would get claustrophobic. It was such an unending conundrum of his, that he chose to stay here on the human plane when he belonged in the skies, soaring above the clouds, causing mayhem and madness. He was truly claustrophobic, and he couldn't stop looking at the door.<br/><br/>His breath because erratic. Should he stay? Could he even go? Was this creature playing games with him? Cersie suspected he was a vampire. He knew they existed. He'd just fought so hard to stay away from them. Because he had to kill one to get away from them. His blood was addicting, and powerful. Euphoric, even, to some. The effects varied but the last thing he wanted was to be holed up as a barely existent blood doll. And yet the other wove such kind words. He'd never understood humans, or anything holding human form. They were so complex, and telling lie from truth had remained a mystery for him.<br/><br/>With the shakes came a flagged erection. It died as quickly as it had come, and Cersie sat down almost as soon as he was told to. Because either that or he was going to freak out. One thing was for certain. Cersie always kept his word. If he had brokered a deal, he would follow through with it. And he must have had a hit if his memories were so completely garbled. "Okay. I brokered a deal, yeah. I need a night's worth of opium, and whatever you want in return. Well, with me. I don't carry money around on me." He winced. "Not that you need it."<br/><br/>The other was extremely unnerving, and he sat across from him, reluctant to go any closer. He remembered kissing him, and his heart turned over in his chest. The other was so cold. "No mirrors. No windows. Cold skin. You're a vampire, aren't you?" he whispered. Cersie hoped it wasn't true, because if it was he really wouldn't want to repay him. He swallowed. "If you are, blood's off the menu." Usually it was horrendously painful for him, and Cersie wasn't huge on pain without pleasure. He'd spent five years as another's blood doll, and Cersie wasn't too keen on repeating that instance. However, if Iseulith was a vampire, Cersie had no idea how old he was. And wouldn't that make things all the more difficult?<br/><br/>He shook his head. "That's all well and good, Iseulith, but I'm here for opium, nothing more. If you don't have it, we're wasting each other's time." Yet Cersie didn't move to stand, or leave. He had a feeling leaving wasn't an option, either, so instead Cersie tried to play the careful game. And he hoped he wasn't digging himself a grave in the process. He didn't want to die. He'd been on earth for several hundred years, to bring balance to the weather systems in parts of the world. He left his job for months at a time to do just that. Well, if he could get past his withdrawals.<br/><br/>The truth of it was that Cersie was lonely, and that loneliness had made his drug addiction ten times worse. So he was reluctant to leave without knowing if the other had what he needed. He doubted he could fill the voice within himself, though.