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"I didn't know that old kook had died."

Othien turned to watch the ensuing chaos, but he wasn't too concerned with it. His attention was definitely more on Ferris. There had been a lot more to catch up on than he had realized.

"Why did Romulus become emperor?" he asked. "Didn't Fletcher have some mutt kids?"

"It's been that long, has it?" Othien said to himself, before putting out his cigarette as well and taking a long swig from the flask. It was a bit much for him - he hadn't had a drink of anything that wasn't ceremonial wine in a good while. He coughed and sputtered, but managed to say, "Thanks."

He said quietly after a moment: "I heard she was murdered."

((Seeya, pal. c: ))

"People thought it was the son," said Othien. "Could you imagine a son killing his own mother?"

He took another big drink from the flask - he forgot how much he liked booze. He also forgot how easily it could get to him. He was starting to get this god-awful headache. With his usual mental defenses weakened, two voices in the back of his head started competing for space again, but Khayathwe's won out. It told him, very clearly, that what he was doing was a terrible idea and that he should change the subject.

Othien pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his remaining eye closed real tight. With his other hand, he rubbed the side of his head and muttered under his breath, "Look, I've got the idea, alright."

"Yeah, thanks. I'm just a little-. I'm just a bit of a lightweight. Thanks."

Othien buried his face in his hands and was quiet for a moment. He shook his head, as if trying to shake off his headache, before crossing his arms and sitting down. He was trying to keep calm, but there was a reason he had kept himself from going back to the outside world for so long. And there was a really good reason that he lived in a cabin in the woods all by himself; people don't really respond too well when you start having a mental breakdown in the middle of a conversation.

Trying to change the subject, and trying to regain his composure, Othien asked, "You ever been married?"

((I didn't know aliens had mullets.))

"That's rough, friend," said Othien, shaking his head. What surprised him was that he actually meant it. For the first time since the conversation began, he enjoyed connecting with another sapient.

"My lady and I have an open relationship, but - uh - she tends to take advantage of it more often than me. If you can imagine, the eye thing puts folks off."

That's one way of looking at it, Othien thought. It was nice to consider, but sometimes he figured maybe he shouldn't have survived. He chuckled to himself sadly, and nodded. "Guess you're right. Wish people back home saw it that way."

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a town guard warily inspecting his magically electrified tent, and he thought that it was perhaps time to be on his way.

"Ah, s**t, I've gotta get going soon. The kids're probably waiting on dad for dinner," he said suddenly. "Thank you, honestly. Keep fighting the good fight. Yiá sou, friend."

He stood up and held out a hand for Ferris to shake.

Frankly, it was a matter of time before the eye-catching display the dirdelks had set up caught the eye of the inquisitor. It was remarkable the markets were expansive enough to hide it for this long, but now, a very bitter man approached the uncouth caravan.

Eldridge was at a disadvantage, however, as he was not a quarter as familiar with xenos as he was with demons. Nonetheless, he addressed them as best he could: "Gentlemen, clarify what services you offer." It was a transparent request---although from afar, it would seem asked of curiosity, the interrogative tone the inquisitor adopted for daily conversation was as scathing as whatever happened to his face god-only-knows how long ago.

"I assume when you offer guns, you do not mean you are an arms dealer. Feh, it's a moot point, neither scenario is intrinsically heretical," the inquisitor coughed, disposing of his drag. Between the fumes coming from the dirdelks' smokes, the truck, and the ever-present smell of 'effort' that comes whenever enough people are in one place outside during summer, there were more than enough anyhow.

He eyed the truck carefully, assessing the likelihood there would be anything of interest to a man of his profession. It was a wretched sight for certain, plastered with all manner of unfriendly-looking logos and a 'DIE ******** DIE' mantra to top it off, but ultimately that was its saving grace. Anyone that audacious and brazen about their unscrupulous loyalties (or lack thereof) would have surer signs of apostasy about them, Eldridge reasoned.

Having decided not to inspect further, he addressed the dirdelks neutrally. "Well I'm certain I don't need to ask to expect you to carry on about your business."