It wasn't long into the story before Vlad's faced smoothed into an expressionless mask. It remained that way until several long seconds after the story was finished. For Thomas though, the man was a horrible mess of migraine-inducing emotions. Hate and rage were the main themes. But through that, streaks of protectiveness, hurt, and a hint of guilt wove their way.

After that silence, everything Vlad was feeling condensed down into one single, bright point, and he snarled. Mug in hand, he pushed back from the table, stood and turned in one motion, and hurled the cup at the wall. The plaster itself received a dent; the glass shattered, and a puddle of ceramic shards tinkled to the floor.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the place it had hit, his hands clenched tightly into fists. The snarl still lurked on his face, and Vlad's eyes were a little glazed. If anyone had asked - though he probably couldn't speak - he would have told them that he was fighting to stay in that kitchen, and not try and take off into the burning light of day to find the lawyers responsible and kill them very slowly.