Her blood is up--that much is clear when the door opens and Adhemar confronts the roil of feeling emanating from her. Should she go for his throat, his options are limited... though she saves him the trouble of taking a thorough inventory of them, and instead steps back to invite him in.

"You may as well come in. I hope you were not eager to sit."

"Not overly eager, no," he replies, and steps into her home.

It is a wreck, of course, and reeks of alcohol, but beyond a slight watering at the corners of his eyes it doesn't trouble him much and is easily adjusted to. He surveys the damage before turning his peculiarly pale eyes back towards her; there is no point in mincing words, and so he doesn't bother.

"If, instead of me, a Shepherd had passed by your house," he begins, "you would be in shackles right now."