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[This is the expression of a child who just got what he wanted for Christmas, set on a face that would have been suitably boyish if his eyes had not been quite so unnerving. One was a dark grey marble and the other, unnaturally pale with a tiny pinhole pupil. An indistinct feeling of discomfort generally accompanies those who stare at him too long.]

A new scrying stone in my pocket and a new sword? I do hope that everybody's Hogswatch was as happy as mine.

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Yeah, that it is. I guess everyone needs some
solidarity sometime, huh? Anyway, my name's
Kunsel. What's yours?

My name is Teatime. [He pronounces it Teh-ah-tim-eh with the practiced tone of someone who frequently gets their name mispronounced.]

Are you a spirit, Kunsel? You don't have a face. [He chirps this amiably, as if it never crossed his mind that he might offend the text-using spirit.]

Right. I might need to get you to spell that one.
It's not exactly a common name where I'm from.
Or... you know, at all.

[At the question, Kunsel laughs to himself. He's never been mistaken for a spirit before, but he has often had people comment about his habit of hiding his face.]

I'm using the text feature on this little
journal. So, no... not a spirit. And I have
a face. I'm sorry if that's a little on the
disappointing side.

A text feature. A scrying stone with a text feature. [He contemplates this for a second before tracing the letters of his name with one fingertip.]

Teatime.

It seems very inconvenient. Are you sure you have a face?

[Teatime? Okay, Kunsel thinks the name is even stranger now that he can see how it's spelled versus how it's pronounced. Still, it seems to fit hand-in-hand with the style of Wonderland, doesn't it?]

It might be more inconvenient if I weren't so used
to it. Back home, I spent more time tapping out
letters than I did speaking words, or it sure did
seem that way most of the time.
Anyway, to answer your other question, yeah, I'm
sure. Last I checked, my face was right where I left
it!
Uh...my using text isn't making you uncomfortable or
anything, is it?

[Teatime laughs, and it is the strangely deliberate sound of someone who doesn't quite get what laughter is, even though he understands that it's appropriate for the situation.]

Not uncomfortable. I often find myself in contact with the faceless and the nameless. [They never remained that way for long.] It's almost... homey.

[Awkward. Just a bit.]

That so. Is the reason why related to the kind
of work that you do where you come from? Because
mine is more or less all about that.

Yours is more or less all about hiding your face? Or where you're from? Or what you do?

A little of all of the above. Convenience, too.
But mostly it's work-related. Text messages are
a lot more discrete, you know?
So, what about you?

[Teatime seems to deliberate on Kunsel's answer before providing his own.]

My work requires discretion. Can't say I much mind...

I guess we have that in common, then.

[ Teatime smiles his distant, unnerving smile.]

I suppose we do.

I'm not sure my work can actually follow me
here, though... not without the presence of
certain people. Old habits die hard and all
that, though. So, here I am.
Anyway, uh... mind if I ask what's up with the
eyes?

[Teatime blinks a few times in rapid succession. The rest of his face isn't honest enough to follow up with any indication of shock.

Kunsel seems to be talking without saying anything all the while probing for new information. This isn't altogether shocking-- the use of text lacks the silver-tongued elegance of a face-to-face meeting. What Teatime can't wrap his head around is that Kunsel is choosing to continue to talk to him. His presence made most people so squeamish that they tried to squirm away before he was done conducting business.

Either Kunsel lacked the instinctive fear (which was unlikely, as he made even the Granddaughter of Death nervous) or the little scrying stone he was communicating through was not passing his presence along. Because no one has ever dared ask him, he doesn't have any witty retorts lined up.]

It's glass. [He rolls his head to one side.] Is there something odd about the other one?

Huh? Not really, it's just not something I see a
whole lot of, you know? I've heard tell of grafting
procedures, but I don't know anybody whose actually
gone and had one done. And other prosthetics are
equally rare, probably because where I'm from, being
able to afford that kind of replacement is almost
always out of the question. A bit sad if you ask me.
People deserve to have a chance at a normal life.
Oh, but... well, my eyes are different, too. Comes
with the job. Just noting other similarities, you
know?

[It isn't that Kunsel isn't afraid or unsure of Teatime, because he is definitely the latter. As for the former? Nothing about the other man's behavior so far exhibits cause for fear.]

[Either way, Kunsel will ask what Kunsel will ask. He likes knowledge and acquiring it is about as necessary to him as breathing happens to be. It's a compulsion.]

[Does he think he might be prying too far? Yes, without a doubt. But that comes with the territory of prying at all. It's one of the reasons he comes with so many excuses at the ready, not to mention a disarming personality. Which may not be as effective on some as it is with others...but he tends to cross that bridge with people when he gets to it.]

Huh.

[ He reads the word out loud with his head cocked. For someone unused to written communications outside of Very Official Letters, it strikes him as very odd that someone would write out a shocked interjection before continuing with an explanation. Odd and dishonest. Which is par for the course when dealing with the faceless and the nameless.]

I suppose there's a tavern somewhere around here where our lot frequent. [ There was always a tavern, right?]

[It's as much of a shocked interjection as it is a question, Teatime. Like saying 'What?' or something along those lines. Which doesn't mean Kunsel is being honest with his reasoning, because...well, he isn't. But it is an honest reason in itself. His own eyes are strange, even if they're not nearly so unusual as Teatime's own.]

There's a bar on the fifth floor of the mansion,
and if by 'lot' you mean anyone that has been
brought here to Wonderland, then yeah. A lot of
people frequent it.

Good.

[ With a final, reptilian blink, the feed cuts out. Teatime doesn't quite understand mundane interactions so 'good bye' isn't in his vocabulary.]

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sorry for all the slow!