In a bit of a daze, Anton took the proffered bottle. He didn't ask how Whip had made it appear. Frankly, he didn't think he could handle the answer right now. It was disorienting, to say the least, how quickly Whip could change moods. It was as if he felt every emotion so strongly that he only had room for one at a time. Anton was still shedding the residue of what he had felt in Whip's mind.
"It's always like that, whenever I touch someone," Anton said with a tone of deep resentment towards the fact, "if I don't pay attention. I don't know why it happens. I hate it." He opened his bottle, took a large gulp of beer. Possibly, he shouldn't have. Alcohol never helped. But he couldn't feel much worse than he did now. His head had started to pound already. He was in for a migraine. It was only a question of how long he could stave it off.