While she is distracted on the task of fixing the thing she broke on his shoulder, Lucius steals that time to study her as opposed to figure out how best to hex away the illusion that she must be -- but isn't, he doesn't think, as ridiculous the notion of her being anything but that happens to be. There are Feelings to be had, but tonight they are dull and disconnected and don't show in anything but his hesitation.

By the time she is finishing magicing glass pieces, he is putting his walking stick back together with customary slide and click. There is a sense of kicked dog balefulness in his silence, studying the rings on his hand he hadn't suffered to sell before robbing someone. Or trying to.