Far be it for Mobius to blame anyone for feeling bored between life-changing, earthshattering events. Even he feels it, sometimes, distantly, in his very blood. Something nice about charging into a battle or having to think on his feet.

Would he still prefer to be a quiet librarian at the end of the day? Honestly, probably so. Knowing Stephen as he does, though, he's aware that being an everyday healer isn't near enough mental stimulation. Not enough for him to take pride in. (Maker, has he ever tangled with a pride demon?)

Mobius glances around to double check that there really isn't anyone else hanging around, and then flops into a seat with a roll of his eyes. "Really, you're really gonna go through the motions like that?" To make this little charade actually official, maybe. "You know exactly what to mark down," he adds, perhaps petulantly, as he starts to tug off his gloves, tossing them on the desk. The shard is there, a slash in his right hand, unnatural against his flesh.