There's a moment of dawning realisation about who it is that is standing in front of him before he snaps out of it, although not before saying, "You-- I mean. Yeah, Mitchell. Here," and he hands the rota over, its familiarity slipping to the back of his mind while it tries to sort out what the Hell.

An Old One --well, technically Ivan was an Old One, sort of. But an older Old One. Here, in Baedal. The last time they were in touch with him, they were clearing up after his mess, demanding his presence, which had ultimately led to him-- and it wasn't just any Old One, it was Hal Yorke, the vampire who made him look like a child pulling legs off of insects in terms of slaughter and misdeeds. Oh, those misdeeds. And wait, hadn't he gone missing--?

An awkward moment of silence passes before Mitchell snaps back into focus, chin up and keeping a casual indifference. "So. Welcome to the neighbourhood." Because what else can you say, really?