<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Quinlan fully expected the man to run. Confronted like this, even more boldly than the Englishman had expected, any other man might have turned tail and fled. In hindsight, he supposed he could have been less akin to a bull in a china shop, for if the subject of his curiosity got away, Quinlan would not have any answers to show for his efforts. For the briefest moment, he entertained a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, one that feared he might very well have chased away what was, in fact, a very tangible link to that which he had sought for some ages.<br/>
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Mercifully, that seemed not to be the case. Perhaps too shocked to flee, the man made no move to leave.<br/>
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But was he even a man? Men didn't have tentacles like those of cephalopods, nor did they have webbed hands or... gills. Yet his face bore the typical traits of a human; two eyes, a nose, a mouth. Though he didn't seem to make use of the latter, for when he "spoke," it was with a disembodied voice in the forefront of Quinlan's head. Like a thought he had conjured all on his own, yet the sound was intrusive. Foreign. Not of his own imagining, but from the focused projection of another.<br/>
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The sheer familiarity of it left him with a chill cold enough to rival any winter he had ever experienced. He remembered. <i>They</i> had "spoken" like that, too. With thoughts, transmitted from consciousness to consciousness. <i>They</i> had used far fewer words, but the nigh imperceptible vibration at the back of his head, a byproduct of receiving those thoughts, was much the same. Quinlan knew then without doubt that the stranger before him, whoever or whatever he was, did indeed possess a connection, however tenuous, to the beings he sought.<br/>
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But to his utter shock, the man seemed not to understand the accusation. That was not like <i>them</i> at all. <i>They</i> had no reason to lie, no inkling of fear. And in hindsight, he supposed <i>they</i> wouldn't have expressed surprise at his presence or his candor. <i>They</i> would have expected him.<br/>
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The stranger's "voice" grew curious, and then utterly perplexed when he took note of Quinlan's lack of fear. "Terrified?" he echoed, incredulous. After all he had seen in his many years of life, after all that he had done, he was expected to be afraid? It dawned on him then that in spite of all the stranger's similarities to those Quinlan sought, the man had no direct connection with <i>them</i>. He looked like <i>them</i>, communicated like <i>them</i>, but that was where the similarities ended. The wave of disappointment that followed was palpable, rendering the Englishman the slightest bit bitter as he replied at length, "Terrified, no. Confused, yes. But terrified... no."<br/>
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Turning halfway, Quinlan glimpsed over the horizon, training his eyes on the dimming orange bulb as it dipped lower and lower beneath the water. Darkness would soon claim the beach and Quinlan had a great need for rest, but he saw little in the way of hope for a good night's sleep. Not after this. Everything in him wanted to express his frustration, to explain to the man why he was at such a loss, but for the longest time, he could find no words. Visibly wrestling to regain full control of his faculties, he reached up to run a hand through the raven curls atop his head, exhaling deeply.<br/>
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"Your kind hold no horror for me," he muttered at last. "Perhaps once in my youth, but no longer." Agitation gripped him and he withheld a curse, knowing full well he would soon have need to contend with the grief of his predicament. "I suppose it was... foolish to have assumed each of your lot knew every other. I thought for certain after seeing you in the bookstore, but..."</span>