Ah! To return to the great white North!

[That declaration is quite jubilant, and full of relief because Ithaqua? Ithaqua hates the heat. He's stretching his arms in the middle of the street, enjoying the cold. The abominable snowman is no longer in danger of melting. For now.

Though he's ignoring the looks the residents give him, as if they want to come up to him and... ask for a few things. Nope! No thank you, he's already here to work, no need to bribe him.]

[So. Ithaqua has been here already so he can try not to be so surprised about a lot of their wares on sale (maybe try and fail because they're not quite helpful with his desire to go at Urianger's pace, no matter what they have already done). But he is a bit overwhelmed so he distracts himself with learning wizard culture instead, because these people? These people are more open than all the other wizards.

He has to wonder why.]

Aah~ [That sound is one of Ithaqua thinking. Really, deeply thinking. He has a chest of jewels in his room that has not been used, and they might as well do something rather than sit there.] So gifting gemstones in the colour of one's lover's eyes is considered a romantic gesture, is it? Unusual, most would simply gift rings and offer a mutual roof to reside in.

[To which the native wizard laughs, and puts a hand on Ithaqua's arm... and then the smile on his face, visible due to him wearing a half-mask, turns icy. Someone might want to rescue this poor guy before the creature bites.]

Do not, under any circumstances, allow Solomon in here. I've seen what he can do, and while his experiments are fine, accidentally poisoning us with whatever he cooks is not acceptable.

[That's said with a furtive murmur as he begins to mince meat with a heavy cleaver. He has a lot of ingredients around him, but no obvious recipe or final dish around. There are vegetables, cheese, meat and even some baguettes proofing on some cotton cloth nearby.]

I did not live this long only to be poisoned by an idiot at a meal.

[Ithaqua, over his time here, has learned the fine art of twirling pens around his fingers as he thinks of what to write.

Which means that he twirls a pen and it goes flying... and he just picks up another one close by. Sorry if that previous pen narrowly missed you. Sorry if that new pen was the one you wanted! Even if one were to complain, Ithaqua would just give an absentminded apology.]

Mm, apologies.