They're uneasy- It's one thing for Raziel to be in town, the fixer's presence a flicker of hope and a herald for something terrible all the same for Absinthe, but to see him floating around people he has come to care for- even in the capacity of a simple priest to a flock- makes their stomach do something uncomfortable, tangled in knots and barely soothed by the salve of a bottle of mead between tattooed fingers. And perhaps they're staring, blue eyes scanning the gathered masses for the white of the other's costume. a touch egotistical, if we're being honest, isn't it? They muse- only to snap from their thoughts as someone nearby speaks. "Ah- sorry? What was that?" He turns, the carefully painted visage of a skull over their features contorting with brows. "Sorry, my mind is... Elsewhere."
