"Huh." Bruno's reply is almost as calm. "I don't... think Casita's ever brought anyone here...."
There's a waving of cupboard doors and a rippling of tiles that manages to convey Nope, pretty clearly.
"Well, there we go, then." He hangs the kettle over a cookfire and busies himself pouring fragrant tea into what looks a lot like a french press. "You're in Colombia, in a village we call the Encanto." A beat. "And the year's 1951," he adds, as though it's a data point that needs brought up on a regular basis.
"You know, I've never met anyone outside the family who has any kind of Magic, but it sure sounds like you teleported," he concludes, just... talking shop. About Magic. Like you do.
no subject
There's a waving of cupboard doors and a rippling of tiles that manages to convey Nope, pretty clearly.
"Well, there we go, then." He hangs the kettle over a cookfire and busies himself pouring fragrant tea into what looks a lot like a french press. "You're in Colombia, in a village we call the Encanto." A beat. "And the year's 1951," he adds, as though it's a data point that needs brought up on a regular basis.
"You know, I've never met anyone outside the family who has any kind of Magic, but it sure sounds like you teleported," he concludes, just... talking shop. About Magic. Like you do.