"I really can't be much clearer." Not without going for the man's throat, and he really doesn't want to start his train venture in such an utterly morbid fashion, it'd be rude. Besides which, he did tell that much smaller, much more temperamental vampire he wasn't going to bite anyone. Not that he'd bite Feanor, there's better ways to drink blood..

But it does seem to be effective one way or another; Feanor's no longer pummeling the barrier as if by sheer force of will alone he'd crumble it. "I'd offer a handkerchief, but they didn't see fit to provide me one." He gestures to the smears of blood, his own eyebrows rising. "But I do have a clean sock, if you would like to make use of it." Which is in fact in his pocket, it's not his sock so taking it is a dubious invitation to germ city, population: Feanor, but the offer's there.