Volgin fed off this irritation, forever certain to have that shit-eating grin of his at this rate. The attempt at an insult bounced off him; he was very aware of his age, if his creeping joint pains fluctuating at the whim of the weather were any indication.

"I know."

... he said as he skimmed his eye about the room for other things of interest, bringing himself to the contents atop a dresser. The junk on the floor caught the eye of his strict adherence to base protocol. The brightly colored things on the dresser, well.

He pinched the end of a string of anal beads and held them up to Ivan with a short chuff of a grunt.