Echo couldn't help the mellow chuckle that escaped him, laced by a throaty rumble that could only be described as a purr. 'Jurists of the Greater Good,' he mused, shaking his head. 'It is<span style="font-style: italic"> uskumatu</span>how civic miss truths corrupt even the best of intentions.' But she was quite right; Echo didn't care for her coven's actions, nor her father's fate. He'd killed more humans than he could count - and he wasn't so unintelligent that he was incapable of counting adequately – and he'd taken down more than his fair share of Ghouls and less preeminent Vampires. Out of necessity rather than desire, but he was a killer all the same.<br/><br/>He couldn't say there wasn't a part of him that enjoyed taking lives, though. There was a primitive rush, a sense of unmitigated superiority in watching the life leaving his victim's eyes. It was not something he had never relished in, but he was not a sentimental being, and he'd never striven to suppress such impressions.<br/><br/>The duster looked rather a miserable sight where it was draped, hoisted off the ground by the wooden chair, it's inner lining soaked and heavy with blood, it's leather exterior tattered and patched poorly. Echo thought perhaps she was right, however naked he felt without it. After forty six years, it was one of the few things he'd allowed himself to grow attached to. Now it served as but a gentle reminder as to why he did not permit himself such pleasures.<br/><br/>'I would hardly conciser my father family, and Grete loved me as any mother would a son in spite of how I came to be,' he said, bracing his hands against the kitchen counter top. Even buckled at the waist and with his head bowed, he still looked down on Seria's slight little form. 'But Diomedes did teach me one thing; if you are wanted enough, they will find you. And when you have had enough... What will you do then,<span style="font-style: italic">proua nõid</span>?  Do you think your actions will be any more<span style="font-style: italic">õigustatud</span>than theirs? When you grow tired of being the hunted, will you give in?' He smiled then, a rather dazzling vision even in spite of the fangs diverting the soft embankment of his lower lip, and the dried blood crusting his face. He began thrumming his fingers against the marble surface concomitant to the steady thud of her heartbeat. 'Or will you become the hunter?'<br/><br/>'That is a shame<span style="font-style: italic">mu kallis väike nõid</span>, for if I bathe now, what will I wear until my clothes dry?' he asked, feigning the utmost innocence. 'I would hardy conciser my –<span style="font-style: italic">mis see on ameeriklased ütlevad</span>? - my<span style="font-style: italic"> Birthday Suit</span>appropriate attire for the evening.' Of course, if Seria was perfectly capable of grilling him well-done, he was sure she'd have no difficulty speed drying his jeans in no time. Of course, having now spared a moment to think on it ,he did hope his teasing would not provoke her into attempting such while he was still wearing them.