#gale being asked point blank of hea a mere mortal man has him so unspeakably humored and charmed

[recitedemise]

Everything's gone topsy turvy. Suddenly, the skies are the oceans and the seas are the stars, and mortals, mere men, can fashion spells. Still, Gale would bandy nonchalantly, the whole rocking of one's world like butter on toast. He must manage this often, rendering minds into whirlwinds and gone-rogue carousels, but any shock from his colleague goes entirely unnoticed. Instead, this whisper of...something has more his mind. Very much so. Peculating, there's some brew — decadent! — drip-drip-dripping off a farther way in. Sure, he can wick fires with a word and keeps his chest full with his nasty rotting, but that whisper of magic is a feeling he knows. Wendell, in contrast, boasts something different.

Very different... It's odd. It almost feels a bit like he's bathed in stars.

"Both," Gale answers, reasoning it but a consequence of his very late night. He needs a potent ristretto and preferably, perhaps with a buttery, flakey bread, now. "Though Baldur's Gate may not quite hold the prestige like that enjoyed by her more lauded peers, entry through her doors is still an immeasurable honor. That said, unfortunately, it isn't exactly enough to have the 'magic touch.'" Oh, Gale. Is twinkling your fingers really necessary? "To stand in her halls, one must do a great deal more than acknowledge one's abilities. Those who would come here to learn have earned their right to be here. Her instructors will endeavor to see them through."

"That said, I may have enlightened many in my time, but to be asked whether I'm mortal or not is admittedly a new one. If you don't mind my saying so, you will find no great objections should you seek to acclimate me. Please. By all means." Smiling, he wears half-bashful and half-cocky like a three piece suit. With Wendell back at his side, at the very least, they trot once more to the waiting café. "I don't know if I could ever show you something you could convincingly play oblivious to, but I may yet have ample tricks up my sleeve to render you speechless," he says. Fixing his cup at a self-serve station, he charms a cold croissant to a delectable freshness. "Try it. I'll save my show stoppers for later. As for now, I'm admittedly wrangling my words myself. Reading your work, I must say, your knowledge on the Folk is surprisingly...intimate." Stirring the brew, its bitter fragrance wafts in the air. "Had the Fey a penchant for tailored trousers, I might've thought you among their ranks."

Wendell does truly appreciate the enthusiasm exuding from Dr. Dekarios and would be returning it tenfold, had he not found reason to question his entire worldview. Mortals with magic? No, that cannot be possible. That goes against everything he's ever believed in the thirty (plus or minus) years of his existence. Is he so sure that Gale isn't Folk? Well, no, seeing as he can tell these things and there's not a single drop of faerie blood in him. At least, unlike the other professor, his emotions are highly veiled. Internally he's completing all sort of mental acrobatics to try to come to some scientific reason behind mortals having magic, yet outwardly the only sign may be a raised brow and an uncharacteristic quiet.

He's developed a list of about a dozen questions to ask Gale once he's complete with his theatrical introduction to the campus, most of which are more personal than relating to the school itself. Perhaps it's for the best that he saves them for after the tour. "Is admission into Baldur's Gate by invite only?" he asks, suddenly appearing completely at ease with it all. "Or do your students already know they possess abilities prior to application?" Wendell's gaze travels from hearth to ceiling, taking in every detail of the entry - at least, every detail remotely magical. Thank God for the café. He's going to need at least two cups of coffee in the next hour to be able to process all of this.

"Were you expecting me to notice this quickly, Gale?" he asks, a hint of mischief sparkling in his dark green eyes. "I've found those who have never been around inexplicable things will remain oblivious as long as possible." He strolls over to a large velvet chair by the fire and sits down with a plop, delighted to find it to be as comfortable as it appears. "I've seen plenty of enchantments when dealing with the Folk, but never any strung together by..." Dr. Bambleby trails off, his gaze snapping back to Gale. "You are mortal, aren't you?" He stands back up again, only to take two large strides over to the hearth and squat before the fire, staring into the flames themselves as he attempts to discern their magic. Once he's satisfied in his appraisal, he returns to Gale's side, eager for the next part of the tour. "I've simply never encountered magic outside of what the Folk are capable of."