Lucius follows, because that's what he is doing -- no pretense at maybe they had decided to go for a nice evening stroll, what with the direct opposite being the truth, and besides, it is easier to sneak looks when she is ahead of him, her eyes forward on their journey. Surreal is a good word for it. There are other choice words to apply here, ones of vehemence and harder consonants and more senselessly expressive, but-- Lucius had gotten some of that out of his system when he'd first arrived.

He's probably fairly burned his bridges at the Valhalla Inn, although one dare not suggest they aren't a little used to it by now.

His stare narrows at word of Bellatrix and Rodolphus, opening his mouth to say something and then immediately unsure of what to say when mention of a second Narcissa is repeated. Not his Narcissa, then, although that hadn't been his assumption -- an afterthought only, dully noted, and he isn't sure if he is supposed to feel something about that. Like longing or relief or. Whatever it might be, it's pulled back from before it can come to fruition.

Rather than ask what era they are all from, Lucius decides he's probably going to find out anyway. "And the other," he says, and the next word comes out with the emphasis of effort to force it out of his mouth, "me." His cane is held to walk with, putting zero weight on it but allowing it to swing and click against the ground in time with his tread. "What of him?"