Do you remember, remember;

I have no intentions of giving in to Fortune and letting them take me, like you do

"You'll change your tune." He replied like it was a fact. "Give it some decades, and you'll sing differently. Your life has been awfully short so far, for how much you've already struggled against Fortune." A 40-year-old wasn't going to hell him he was weak for giving in. Aleister didn't think of it as losing, wasn't going to start now. If he had any plans on living a few more centuries, he'd come back to see if Io had changed their opinion yet.

But their next words did land. Make use of his memory? Visit old friends? He wasn't hiding, that wasn't what this was. And what did Io know? He had to suddenly sort out memories from centuries ago, all at once, and there was a lot of stuff that didn't make a whole lot of sense now. Maybe for someone who's memory didn't last beyond a day, but that wasn't him anymore. There had been a cult, oh-so-long ago, dedicated to his appearance. It was weird at best.

There were likely consequences for his actions in the past he couldn't begin to grasp at.

His eyes turned to the knife Ioeth summoned, his grin widening. That was better. His own disappeared, as it hadn't existed in the first place, but he did not turn away from Ioeth. No; maybe he genuinely wanted to get stabbed here and now. How much did it matter? He'd never been able to do it himself.
Maybe all he would've had to do was ask.

But Lasair spoke up, and his attention was on her in an instant.

Aleister stood upright again, neck away from Ioeths' knife. Mord had called him selfish, and perhaps he was, but not selfish enough to tap out now when Lasair had better use of him alive. His expression softened as she spoke of needing a tour, some new clothes, and he knew she was right.
And he was a horrible, horrible host right now.

"Not all of this place is as rotten as it looks. I'm sorry- you're right. Let me at least make it up to you." Why the fuck was he even bothering with Ioeth. His hospitality for rude people was running dry, and the dark gaze he threw the shadow-mage was enough proof of it.
"Get out." A nod towards Ioeth, and then towards the 'door', before he would resume ignoring them entirely.

His little living room had a small kitchen connected to it. It didn't have a whole lot in it, since the tall mage obviously didn't eat, but there was something of a small storage connected to it anyway, and a stove that he usually made his tea on. The one thing he still enjoyed doing.
There was a makeshift bathroom connected to it, with a bathtub he promised he would clean out first. It was dusty, and there was a spider that couldn't escape its slippery surface. There was space underneath it for firewood, almost like a giant cooking pan.
Had to keep the fire small.
"I don't have much in the way of clothing, besides perhaps some of my own coats and shirts we could alter. Happy to go to the market for you though, if you'd rather let me do that instead." There would be stares, obviously.