[ Strange is making note. Tomorrow, he’s going to search the paperwork, reach out to the alienage, and ask to examine their receipts for that lodging. (And even afterward, somehow his mind will rationalise it, will justify: that squiggle of a signature might not say Ennaris Tavane. It might say anything.)
He’s already running through the possibilities. The demonic imposters had known some details; enough to successfully pass for a while. Blood magic? Arlathan had stolen memories, had deposited them in each others’ minds. He had seen Dickerson’s past, and Gwenaëlle had seen his. There’s ways they could have learned this information. Magic is unpredictable. His mouth purses.
Why is nothing reliable for proving your goddamn brain is working the way it ought — ]
Ennaris Tavane, you said?
Tell me more. Who are you, who’s your group, and what were you up to?
no subject
He’s already running through the possibilities. The demonic imposters had known some details; enough to successfully pass for a while. Blood magic? Arlathan had stolen memories, had deposited them in each others’ minds. He had seen Dickerson’s past, and Gwenaëlle had seen his. There’s ways they could have learned this information. Magic is unpredictable. His mouth purses.
Why is nothing reliable for proving your goddamn brain is working the way it ought — ]
Ennaris Tavane, you said?
Tell me more. Who are you, who’s your group, and what were you up to?