<i>Cruel irony</i>. Were those two words not the sum of his entire existence? Mavek let out an airy snort, his eyes fluttering as he instinctively avoided the gaze of the man before him. Despite the panic only barely settling in his stomach, a writhing that felt almost palpable under his skin, he also couldn't help but be overtaken by curiosity. There was this man before him, unabashed by his anatomical strangeness, who seemed to know something that he didn't. Despite the man's apparent frustration, mirrored by Mavek's own cocktail of anxiety and irritation, he found his curiosity piqued, tinged by a weight in his chest at the potential for an actual lead. How strange and fantastic and miraculous would it be if the information he needed was held by a mildly belligerent, dark, mysterious man? If this was the chance meeting he had been waiting for? Now<i>that</i>would be some sort of cruel irony.<br/><br/>After a pause, collecting his thoughts with a furrowed brow, Mavek finally lifted his chin to look at his practical assailant in the dimming light, both figures fading into the dark as the sky melted from violet to navy. The world behind him was littered with speckled stars and glimmering lights in the windows of distant homes, a reminder of the world lingering up the rocky shore. He explored the dark curls amassed atop his head as the Englishman fussed with them. As sudden and aggressive as his approach had been, Mavek sunk into the observation that he seemed to pose little threat, aside from one of ongoing panic. The gentleman seemed to concede in his body language, stepping away as Mavek stood, the initial tension they both had built unwinding as they settled into some sort of mutual resignation.<br/><br/>Taking a half-step forward, the scarf loosely wrapped around his shoulders fluttering in the breeze and sliding further down his head, Mavek held his chin low to his chest, leveling his eyes with the stranger's. "<i>No, no, it's quite alright. I believe we've both found ourselves in a rather... peculiar predicament</i>," he reached, then with slight hesitation, continued, "<i>and I... find myself admitting that your... initial assumptions have piqued my curiosity.</i>" Tilting his head, he fidgeted nervously with the fabric between his fingers, picking at a loose thread in the old coat. He considered how best to broach the subject, then finally decided with a long inhale.<br/><br/>"<i>I'm going to... show you a number of things</i>," he started, his voice trailing like a soft echo as he hesitated. His words were almost specter-like, as though he was haunting consciousness itself. "<i>If any of it is familiar to you, I... well. Perhaps I shall request you insist on troubling me further.</i>" Almost annoyed with himself, with his unending hesitation, Mavek forced confidence into his mind. He was tired of feeling like a child when he was beyond a century in age-- sure, he led a life of avoidance and anxiety, but in the rare moments where he was not seen as a spectacle, or monstrosity, or even worse, both, he needed to learn to take advantage of it. Caution could only get him so far in his goals.<br/><br/>Like some sort of illusory parasite, he floated images into the stranger's consciousness, fragments of stone marked by strange symbols and bits of sharp tools made out of dark metal. Jewelry made of strung shells, fish bones, and precious stones. Chipped pottery decorated with odd geometric patterns, wrapped in elaborate bands. Chipped, gold-dipped bangles revealing impossibly black stone underneath. More tiny bits and pieces of a flowing, geometric written language, marked by sharp points and elegant curves. He even slid in a few phrases in the Quelth tongue, a harsh, slithering whisper, marked by hard k's and sharp t's. Mavek didn't know what the words meant, but they haunted his mind, an intangible memory of his mother's arms and her soft, alien cooing.<br/><br/>For a moment Mavek hoped it wasn't too much, too strange, but then he remembered that he didn't quite care if it was. He wouldn't have asked if he did not intend to find answers by any means necessary. This mission was his obsession, his driving force, and he had to consider that his mere presence on earth was an anomaly enough. What was a little more uncanny strangeness?