<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">By the time Quinlan's eyes drifted back to the stranger, the scarf had reappeared atop his head, concealing the bulk of the previously exposed tentacles. But why? He supposed one had to blend in, of course, but the way the figure had hastily rewrapped his head and even gathered the longer, hip-length tendrils beneath his arms, didn't speak to him of one simply trying to escape notice. It reminded him more of shame, which by no means fit his expectations of the creatures he had known in years past.<br/>
<br/>
Every detail he had recognized, each trait he had anticipated, began meaning less and less, leaving him to contend with the very real possibility that all the stranger shared in common with <i>them</i> was a vague similarity. As a man far too familiar with the unknowable beings that skulked about the earth, the realization left him cold. And even colder still when, of all things, the man expressed a lack of knowledge regarding those of his own kind. None like him? Did he not <i>know</i>? Impatient and frustrated as he was, Quinlan was of little mind to educate him.<br/>
<br/>
"I realize how it must look," he conceded, his tone low, defeated. "The bookstore, and now here. Though I can assure you, our paths crossing here was little more than coincidence. I came to the beach to clear my head of these things. I believe you might call this result a cruel sort of irony."<br/>
<br/>
Exhaling, Quinlan took a moment to size up the other figure, whose imposing stature commanded his attention. But though the stranger was tall, he gathered that the exposure of his inhuman nature had left him anxious enough to run, despite the advantages of his build. He was certainly not what the Englishman had expected, and perhaps that was best. Charging up to such beings demanding explanations was definitely not on his shortlist of good ideas - what had he been thinking, even?<br/>
<br/>
Once he had taken a moment to shake off the feeling of utter foolishness, Quinlan took a step back, not in a show of intimidation but rather an unwitting display of respect for the stranger's personal space. Space he had invaded by marching over and blindly accusing him of what he now regarded as utter nonsense. It wasn't often that anger controlled his actions, though when it did, it all but discarded his common sense.<br/>
<br/>
"Well. Now that I've made a fool of myself," he muttered, his words bogged down with self-deprecation. "Strange though the coincidence is, you have my apologies. If you worry that I will trouble you further, you have no need. I would imagine the village to have room enough for both of us."</span>