straniul liked my whining for fluff & is therefore forced to do bro things.

At this moment, it was an even score. Between
a nearly-alcoholic Spirit-user and, well, a six foot
seven Russian, they had emptied several bottles
of suspiciously strong alcohol. Dimitri was not
sure how it had come to this, but his muddled
mind was far from concerned with the situation.
It couldn’t focus enough to be terribly concerned
with anything, really. “I have to say I’m impressed,”
he said, although the sentence was more of a jumble
of words than anything else – words covered in
Russian accent from head to toe, no less. “You do
vell – for a moroi. An American, at zat.”