Lee had decided on taking a seat on the bed; it seemed the most practical if they were going to be in close proximity again. He watched the other move with a strange grace through the room and it was really the first time he had settled long enough to really, really look at the man. Since he was no longer flirting, or trying to close a deal, or running his mouth off, or even trying to hide his identity so much, Lee watched Andrew closely. "I suppose you're entitled to a question or two. Maybe. I mean, I think you're still way ahead in the little white lie race, but the more I'm finding out, the less I'm likely to have much choice in anything."<br/><br/>His eyes widened like saucers when Andrew drew the razor down his own chest. Instinctively Lee bolted forward to stop him but soon realized it was a futile gesture. The man didn't bleed; at least not from his flesh which separated with a dry leather like quality that Lee was well accustomed too. He blinked. It was all to way out there for him to even be reviled by it. He almost chuckled because it was the kind of situation that required a chuckle lest you crack under the sundering of your own reality. "I...I never thought I'd ever hear myself say this but I'm really really glad you didn't sleep with me." His eyes drifted up but despite the edge of humor to his voice there was a thick underlay of horror. "You really are a corpse." he paused. He had to say it again. "You're a corpse. You're dead. Maybe. Mostly. I...I don't know how that even can be, but..." Strangely, he reached up and ran his fingers down the cut in Andrew's chest feeling it thoroughly, almost clinically. His eyes followed his movements with a macabre fascination. "I know. I know." He said softly. "I should be trembling and feinting with the vapors." He looked to meet Andrew's gaze. "But I've spent the last ten years digging up, dismembering, and selling corpses, you know?" His eyes went back to the wound and his hand moved to push the shirt further open. "You're most definitely cold as a corpse but you bleed. But then again, you don't bleed like any living man. You bleed like...like strange treacle. I can't explain how that tastes of why I keep wanting to revisit that taste. You're dead but utterly alive in so many ways." He was rambling again, though instead of being on the fringe of angry hysterics, he was mesmerizingly analytical. Each question and conclusion moved seamlessly to the next taking precedence over any fears or misgiving may have had or should have had.<br/><br/>He looked back to Andrew with a small sigh. "It's a shame you couldn't enjoy the bourbon; it was really top shelf stuff; but Andrew, you're not a devil, you're a cussin' miracle. How does a dead man walk, talk, and live a life? You can't ask me any questions now, because there's nothing about me that could be even remotely interesting now in the light of this."