"You noticed you never answer my questions properly?" What he means to say is, that's not what he meant, not really. It was a specific question phrased vaguely, but of course it can't be Angelo's fault that Alastor didn't answer it the way he wanted. He stalks across the room, going from fluffy rug to cold tile, aiming for the ornate black wooden cabinet which holds a vintage brandy in a decanter and a collection of matching glasses, as well as a pack of cigarettes he'd tossed on there when he got in. He sticks a cigarette between his teeth, unlit, and talks around it out of the corner of his mouth as he's pouring them both a drink. "You ever get bored of doin' the same thing with different people over and over?"