He has Frost's interest, in a science project kind of way, attention halved between Mitchell and burning down his cigarette and otherwise watching pale ash gather, burn, drop. A wider awareness of his territory, too, not exactly a sense that can qualify as 'sixth' but he is, in his own way, watching Hasibe's progression to get her drink without actually looking, more out of an interest to see what the predators in the room will be doing. That she is with people is a help, but there are always some idiots out there.

But as for Mitchell, sentiments fall alien on Deacon's ears, but not all of them. "I'm still figuring Baedal out," he admits. "I'm not sure what the fucking end game is meant to be, what the point of it is, but I left nothing behind I miss."

So he's willing to play it out. He breathes in more smoke.

"We were secret in the world I came from too. Hiding. Not exactly how I'd run things, but I don't really dig on being model citizens when it's humans or--" Eye roll. "Whatever writing the rules. True Blood, blood bags, and then a slap on the wrist and a little sabotage when we start getting too many. Fuck feeding legally, I mean, just listen to that. I don't even trust vampire laws half the time."

He snorts out a draconic puff of smoke. "But listen to me, talking big, like it means anything. You're the one with the fucking problem. Self-control issues? Are you kidding me?" His criticism is somewhat jovial, as far as it goes, lacking hostility in backhanded disdain.