So that was it, Noss had found his sister and Strel could only assume that the other man was going to leave with her to wherever it was they were from. And that was why the redhead was so carelessly laying on the couch in one of the living rooms, arms thrown over the side of it as he stared at an unopened bottle of rum on the table. He seriously doubted Noss was going to come back to visit him, especially after his thrill of finding his sister and all that happened then. Why would he come back to the redhead? He was of no importance. It almost felt like Rurik this time, but they had both agreed that nothing could be between them since it had not felt right. But this tribesman had stayed with him for over a month. Why would he stay longer?

The bottle was so enticing, filled to the top and still sealed. It was sweet stuff, all thanks to Rurik; this was what remained of the redhead's stash since that Russian left. Rurik left to be with his woman and Strel could not help but forgive him. But it was all on his own head for giving out himself like some twisted party favor. Because the two had been incompatible and Strelein had been under the delusion that they should be together, like some love struck yearling girl. How despicable. How disgusting.

Huffing, the man reached for the bottle, taking it in one hand as he unscrewed the top. The scent of alcohol wafted out, strong and pure. He inhaled it, savoring the smell before shifty lavender eyes scanned the room. It seemed such a waste to drink alone; he was not a solitary drinker. He was a party, friend, drinker. Alone it just seemed so shady, as though he had gone to seed. This would not do. There had to be someone in the goddamn hotel. "If anyone wants to enjoy my company they better do it now while I'm not totally out of my mind!" he cried out, rolling his eyes at his own ridiculousness.

Just as he was about to toss the cap aside and devote himself to drowning himself in alcohol, he heard a voice complain of the noise. He lowered the bottle from his lips and lazily turned his head toward Sylvie. She seemed familiar; surely he'd met her sometime, when she was younger perhaps? Even her accent seemed dreadfully familiar to the redhead. Was that a Spanish accent? No he hadn't heard those before. Maybe French? It seemed like he had, or was his memory already going? Was he already turning into an old man? Oh, heaven forbid that! He raised an eyebrow at her, her imposing figure in the doorway. She demanded answers out of him and the redhead sighed as his first response. "No, I assure you I'm very sane, or relatively speaking here." With drink he could lose his mind and his self within a few large sips. Strel still did not know what kind of shenanigans he had gotten up to when his judgment was clouded and his memory blocked off.

Strel waved the bottle in her direction, careful to keep all the liquid within the bottle. "Take a seat, I don't bite," he assured, moving his limbs from akimbo to relaxed as he leaned forward, propped up on his elbows. "Do I know you? I feel like I know you from somewhere. I swear we met before. Have we?" She seemed so damn familiar that it was driving the man insane. She must have been living in the Hotel or else why would she be here? But she did not really smell as though she belonged. A loner in the kingdom? Why, that seemed familiar.. Ignoring that nasty train of thought, he nudged the drink in her direction. "Care for some? It's good rum. Best I've ever had, that's for sure."

He listened to her explain her lineage and her relations, and he just nodded along, not really even reacting to the fact that she was related to Ruri but had been mothered by Alaine. How did that work out? Should not the two half sisters have grown up together? What happened to cause Ruri's parents to abandon her, and then pretty much abandon Sylvie, since she had been raised by another in the end. What did that say about their mother, or father if that was whose blood she had racing through her veins. Strel was by no means a traditional kind of guy, playing loose, fast, and carelessly, but he hated seeing children raised away from their parents, and he hated seeing bad parents. His had been decent, for all the crap the pack that protected them caused. A parent's job was to raise a child right in their minds. But Strel was not fond of the things parents did. Like beatings, punishments, cruelty, and anything that really went better with vicious criminals than young pups being raised at the teat. Poor girls. How hard had that been, whatever it had been?

"Ah! Then I do know you, of sorts. Alaine spoke of you often, and kindly too. I did not know you left, nor the other kiddo she had with her. I figured you guys just kind of moved somewhere else, since I never hear you. Is that what happened? Why'd you leave here?" he asked, curious to a fault and tactless as a child. And Ruri, Alaine, and Sylvie were all of the same breed of dog, a race, species, whatever, that Strel marveled at for their variety. So many, and plenty he had never seen or heard of, he bet, based on the ingenuity of the humans. They sure loved to see what happened when things bred. "But yes, you do seem alike, more so to Ruri, but I guess that's because you are related by blood," he added, sticking out his tongue at the redundancy of his words.

Rolling his eyes, he gave a sigh, as though he were teaching a child something basic, and easy to grasp. "Rum. Human drink, it's still good." Of course it was still good, this kind of alcohol always kept well, especially if still vacuum sealed decades later. This happened to be a twenty-five year old bottle. The girl took the bottle and a gingerly taken sip. Strel grimaced at her comment, knowing that it was a bad idea to be the one to give Alaine's once-upon-a-time ward the pretty potent stuff. She would surely beat him with her medicine bag if she saw what he was doing and demand he not be the source of poison. But if Sylvie was out and about in the world on her own, she was old enough to make her own choices, and if she wanted to drink, then by the gods, she could drink if she so wanted. Strel was not one to stop a person from doing what they wanted, unless it was clear they were going to pass out with more swigs. "How'd you like it? Good? Bad? Reserving judgment until you take a real sip of it?"