Lorcan, predictably, follows the smoke to find his flock. He's all sheep mask and delicate little flowers interwoven to form a silhouette reminiscent of a shepherd.
"May I join you?" he asks of the stranger.
THE TOADSTOOLS: A Young Man Who Smells Like Pipe Smoke & A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
The stranger takes a deep inhale from his pipe, and exhales a showy ring of smoke. His eyes twinkle behind his mask. "Of course. Come, make yourself comfortable." He speaks in a thick, Irish accent, but everything else about him is a bit of a blur. "What is your name tonight?"
THE TOADSTOOLS: A Young Man Who Smells Like Pipe Smoke & A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
Lorcan takes a seat in the soft moss beside him, rummaging for the long clay pipe that had once been his pack of cigarettes before the magic switched them. He snaps his fingers over it and lights it with a spark. A neat little trick of wandless magic.
"Lorcan," he offers cordially, not bothering to keep anonymous. "And yours?"
THE TOADSTOOLS: A Young Man Who Smells Like Pipe Smoke & A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
"May I join you?" he asks of the stranger.
THE TOADSTOOLS: A Young Man Who Smells Like Pipe Smoke & A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
THE TOADSTOOLS: A Young Man Who Smells Like Pipe Smoke & A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
"Lorcan," he offers cordially, not bothering to keep anonymous. "And yours?"