[Linhardt is, initially, annoyed. The other man woke him up. It’s rude. But he cannot find it in himself to stay annoyed, because the dark haired stranger indicates that he is responsible for Linhardt’s odd (and mildly erotic) dream. Linhardt yawns and rubs the sleep from his eyes, accepting that he is going to remain in the waking world for at least the next 10 minutes.]

Did you give me that dream?

Who is George Washington? Is he more attractive than Barbie?

[If someone is going to do dream magic on him and give him such…interesting dreams, Linhardt would like to ensure that he receives the best version possible. Sleeping is Linhardt’s happy place. The healer isn’t bothered by the spell; it hadn’t hurt him. That is the important thing: Honestly, if he had dream magic he would use it on people. Especially Caspar. His eyes follow Eliot’s movements with curiosity and interest, an open expression on his face.]

I have recently found that parties can be tolerable if I am permitted to drink alcohol but most parties are boring and dangerous. I would rather spend my time here - learning about magic is more fun than having yet another vacuous conversation about politics.

[His name? Is the other man approaching him? Linhardt gives him a confused look.]

My name is Linhardt.