His throat was burning with the echo of Beck's particular style of getting even, but he didn't care -- he'd gotten used to it, and besides, it was a small price to pay for getting what he needed for his people. Bast would let that little ghostly fucker string him up every damn day if it meant actually doing something half-right, and besides, he'd deserved it. Beck was correct in claiming they'd leveled the field, now -- Bast had gone for him and Beck had come right back, and now they were even. Allies. It was almost funny, thinking about it.

Except that he couldn't feel anything, the apathy finally having settled in, and he was... at odds with it, almost. Not certain that he wanted it. He showed up at Rad's door without notice, without knocking, knowing damned well she'd want to hear about his latest perils, anyway. He pushed the door open with a yawn, his throat tight and rough with the motion, and drawled, "I hope whatever shit you have to try this time is more of an upper, because this week is shit."

[ [member=344]radeken[/member] ]

Bastille wasn't at all surprised to see that she'd already started prepping -- he supposed he was pretty predictable, and tended to show up at her door like clockwork these days. Dependency was a bitch, wasn't it? He settled back as she worked, eyeing the cauldron of hell as he liked to think of it as, and found himself smirking in dull amusement at her inquiry. Of course she did. "I don't really care what you do to me as long as you keep the uppers in circulation," he drawled, idle, because he frankly didn't care if she wanted to fuck around with trying to kill him. It didn't seem like Grimm was willing to release him, even if Bastille wanted to be released, so what was the point in throwing a fit over her experiments? He probably wouldn't have cared even if he could feel.

Of course Rad knew the truth, if only because she was the one plugging him full of drugs. Of course he hadn't fucking overdosed again; even he could admit that the excuse was a weak one, with the state he arrived in, but it was all he had. He could only be relieved Rad hadn't suddenly decided to care and expose him. He had little to no issue with her knowing what really happened, if only because he knew the information was unlikely to go any where.

He rolled his eyes as she held the drink hostage, and paused as he forced himself to think back. Everything was hazy in those 90 seconds, the faintest of impressions leaking through the cracks, but Bast hadn't been able to hold onto it for long. "I remember right before -- Beck strung me up so that I'd suffocate, not break my neck. He wanted it to be slow. Like drowning," he said, even, lacking any heat about the situation as he considered what he could recall, "Burned. Mostly just my throat and lungs, but then everything else burned before it went numb. I... think I passed out before my heart stopped. There was... something. Like I wasn't really dead yet. Mist. I think my souls were there."

He'd explained his souls, briefly, to Rad before -- a way of explanation for some of the odd reactions he had to her experiments, for how it might affect him differently when there were other factors at play. It's not like his past lives were a secret, anyway, so he'd never seen a problem with it. "I don't know. Vanilla. It all smelled like vanilla, but I haven't been able to remember much of what they said or what happened in the darkness. And then I was awake, and it all burned again."

Bastille leveled her with an even look, but didn't bother to question her immediate response. Of course she knew that he had very few limits when it came to her damned experiments -- she knew damned well that he was addicted, and he might have cared that she was enabling him if not for the fact that it was his own fault. What was the point in blaming Rad? If she'd turned him down, he would have gone to someone else, and they probably wouldn't bother keeping him alive through it all. He was content in knowing that she was using him because he was using her, too. Life was like that sometimes.

Bast offered a lazy shrug in response to her commentary on Beck, drawling idly, "After Luna, I tracked him down and forced him to relive his worst fear -- his death -- a few times. I'd call him vengeful, really." A humorless grin. "At least we're even now, though, yeah?" He saw no issue with telling Rad the truth, because again, who would she care to tell? He had never told anyone about what he'd done, and in a way it felt a little liberating, giving up the secret. He tended to give his worsts to Rad. He made a humming noise in response to her confirmation that he passed out, and shrugged.

He rolled his eyes at her "apology", and snorted. "I like vanilla," he provided, unperturbed by her lack of empathy. He didn't expect any, and besides -- it's not like he had much to offer himself. He eyed her concoction and obediently took a sip, adding in between two more, "If this one kills me again, I'll try to remember more of it this time." A hint of a smirk.