@cerberice
Lyney would recognize that scent anywhere - a blend of different herbal aromas that only a connoisseur could combine, and which, on many levels, reminded him of home. It seemed to permeate Wriothesley even there, in a place as odd as Isola. Of course, Lyney would never admit aloud that seeing him, among all the people in the world, had made him somewhat nostalgic. But, be that as it may, the magician had no choice but to approach.
So, without ceremony, Lyney sat down in the empty chair opposite to where Wriothesley was, in that sort of café where he seemed to be spending time. “My, my. It seems that even here I can’t escape you. Are you perhaps following me around, Your Grace?” - the title, uttered in Lyney’s voice, lacked the respect it should have. In fact, it sounded more like a provocation than anything else.
