Probably not. Lucius' bouts of spontaneous loneliness are usually kept private. Simmered in.

"There has been some local myth, of late," Lucius goes on to say, words of a smalltalk kind of make, but his voice quiet, thoughtful. He gives a nod of thanks for both the drink and the easy agreement to supply him with potion-like necessities without judgement or question. A quality he had appreciated in the older incarnation on his better days. "Traders who embark south of the city encountering mere remains of the entities they hunt."

Vodka. It's not his favourite, but he tends to drink without tasting, and does so now. Modest sips. A blunt thumbnail scrapes an itch down the silver-whiskered slope of his jaw. He does a lot of talking without making eye contact, a habitual thing. "Given the nature of the Fog, the only thing one can say of it behaving strangely is less the prospect of monsters savaging one another, and more the consistency of any rumour.

"Suffice to say it had merit, I discovered."