#ic:open

No you didn't.

The angel prods at it's laptop, difficult to make out if you have human eyes, as they are currently using illusion to conceal any presence they may have in this cafe at all.

      he’s sitting alone at a table crowded with books and files and paperwork and         pens (and somewhere in there, breakfast). you’d think he was at a library or an office         and not at the very corner table of a coffee shop. he’s hung his undoubtedly bespoke         suit jacket on the back of his chair and rolled up his sleeves; now he sits with his chin         pressing against his hands, as if perplexed.

    “the wilds of skyrim take kindly to no one. there are no exceptions.      your status, your history, your skill -- the wilds will eat you alive, and        with pleasure.”