"We go back. About eighty years or so." Give or take. It's not like they're counting.

His attention is momentarily drawn away from the conversation by Hasibe's gaze and suddenly all thoughts of political intrigue are gone from Mitchell's mind. Something in him distinctly tenses as he watches the feeding but, unlike Hasibe, consent isn't what's concerning him.

He thinks he should feel a little more disgusted with himself when he snaps out of it with a deep swallow of nothing. "...no. I wouldn't either." It's probably the distraction that gets him to admit, "And I know bullshit."