At that answer, Vandren measures him up and down again from under the hood of his brow, looking for a moment even older than he is. Goes hand in hand with a particularly jaded flavor of suspicion re: the other.

“The Fade.”

Ugh.

He needs a moment for confirmation to steep. Not a long one. Time enough to wet his quill again. To find his focal length without a lense, and then down the list of questions to the remaining blank.

“You do look like a human,” sounds as though it’s intended to be congratulatory, something in the lift of his tone as he resumes writing: burn me. “A bit long in the face.”