It feels prudent to try to fit in; now that Wrench is sure there’s no escaping this place he’s got to find better ways of conducting himself. So far, no one here seems terribly put off my his presence in Solvunn. It’s a relief to think that perhaps he’s managed to outrun his previous reputation, even temporarily. In fact, Wrench is startled to find that he’s invited to most tables. The conversation might be a little bit lacking, but it doesn’t stop the general members of the commune themselves from looking over what he has to trade and inviting him to drink.

Tonight, he’s probably not making the best impression. Sure, Wrench often finds himself staring into space, overwhelmed by the conversations flowing around him and disinterested in interjecting too much to try to keep up. But this expression isn’t one of boredom or detachment; it’s too pointed for that. The man he’s captured under his gaze looks no more than 20 years old. For all intents and purposes, he doesn’t seem the least bit out of place. There’s a small group around him, all of whom seem to be friendly with each other. They’re sharing a laugh over some story that someone’s told, and the man seems neither to be trying to stand out nor hide away.

Wrench glances up when Julia sits down, then double-takes when she raises her hands to sign. Fine, comes his dismissive reply, so casual and immediate that it doesn’t look like he’ll revise it. But after several seconds he takes a long drink and narrows his eyes thoughtfully at the woman across from him.

Is your magic all back?