"You're interesting," Seth says, casually, as if there's no other justification needed to stare at a near-stranger. If Anna knew the labyrinthine spirals of Seth's mind she'd know how much of a compliment that was, though: Seth felt he had seen the majority of what humanity had to offer and found it largely boring. He sips his orange juice again and flexes the hollow space of his wounded (gone) finger, interested by the pain in much the same way as he's interested in Anna and her images of dying boys.
"And correction, I bribed someone in the hallway. My brother was less than helpful in my plans." Seth would lift a finger to emphasize his point if he were slightly more expressive, but instead his face has to carry those nuances for him. He is more relaxed than he usually is, and in a clinical way he suspects that has something to do with endorphins as much as alcohol, despite his mounting sense of severance that has nothing and everything to do with what he just did to himself.
He did it out of spite, at least halfway. But the other half was harder to quantify. It was the way he'd asked Jonah not to leave and that it'd been promised; he'd trusted that, and then already Jonah was pulling away again. Seth has his rituals and superstitions, even if he doesn't call them that, and there was something overwhelming compelling about the idea of making them whole again. To eradicate difference and restore unity to the world. And it hadn't worked. Jonah had left him again, instead of staying, and as bitter as he had tried to make his public recriminations the truth was that Seth had been afraid that all of the things he was saying were true, and he couldn't feel the luminosity of his brother's mind anywhere.
"You did bring orange juice. That might help. Here. Let me give it a shot." It's not an intentional pun, because of course Seth finds such simplicity beneath him, but he holds his glass towards Anna expectantly.