[His attention is dragged towards that voice — not quite familiar enough to be wholly familiar, but just surprising enough to widen his eyes. Stephen flicks his gaze up, spotting Natasha approaching with amusement barely hidden behind a hand. The sorcerer’s mind whirs a mile a minute, seeking a clever reply as he straightens with a frown, rolling his shoulders back.]

I was told I wasn’t a true rider until I started walking bowlegged.

[You know, like something out of a western, despite their very medieval fantasy setting.]

Rogers told me you were here.

[He would be a lot more surprised, otherwise, probably left gawking for a few seconds, slower to recover. Stephen’s glad he was spared that embarrassment, too, since it’s not like her first impression of him here in Abraxas was particularly eloquent as he complained about a sore backside.

Stephen walks forward to close the space in between them, willing (unsuccessfully) the stiffness in his gait away.]

I was going to go looking for you, but it seems like you found me first. Taking in the sights?