[ Rather than visiting dodgy seances, Anders has been making himself at home in the local pubs, and thus is rather unprepared for random fireballs being lobbed his way. It's probably a minor miracle he isn't more than singed, as he steps out onto the street - just the edges of his fancy new coat, fur-lined at the lapels (the only piece of the era appropriate garb he's personally appropriated).
Anders has a bottle in his hand that he, also miraculously, hasn't dropped, as he pats down the lightly smouldering arm curled around his chest, spinning lightly on his heel. He's only prepared to take offense once he's certain he isn't on fire - but then the shock of the moment fades, anyway, and recognition is at least something of a relief. ]
Your technique's improving, I'll give you that. Aim's a tad off, though.
iii
Anders has a bottle in his hand that he, also miraculously, hasn't dropped, as he pats down the lightly smouldering arm curled around his chest, spinning lightly on his heel. He's only prepared to take offense once he's certain he isn't on fire - but then the shock of the moment fades, anyway, and recognition is at least something of a relief. ]
Your technique's improving, I'll give you that. Aim's a tad off, though.