[The suffering expression returns, just as it had that day at the beach.] Shylock-san, you really are a meddling old man, aren't you? Rest assured, I took plenty of advantage of my position with those tittering Celestials. [Well, whatever. Matoba supposes that he doesn't mind, as long as Natori has to suffer too. So there.]

[He sips at his tea, watching as the wizard bustles himself towards the back to obtain this special drink that he's so eager to show him. Speaking of what he had learned from the Celestials, he thinks back to the subject of the conversation they'd had that night, the spirits of the wizards' world. Perhaps Shylock would be interested to know, as well- the suspicions and hushed fears that those gods had shared.]

[As Matoba ponders this, he realizes that the sounds of Shylock rummaging through the back closets has faded, and that the silence has extended just a little too long. With a small frown, he sits in the stillness of the otherwise empty bar, listening to only the muffled sounds of the city outside, and wonders just what is taking him so long.]

[Draining his teacup, he slides off of the stool and meanders towards the back, noting the scent of smoke that begins to get stronger as he goes. Shylock's pipe, he supposes, thinking with a scoff that he had scurried off for a smokebreak. Well. Fool on Matoba for falling for his tricks, then--]

[He rounds a corner into the back room, and that's where he finds the sight. The soft glow emanating from Shylock's core was unmistakable right away, illuminating his face uncharacteristically contorted in pain. For a moment, Matoba can only stare at the bizarre sight, like kitsunebi over a lake in the summertime, but the magical and cursed nature of that flame was unmistakable. He could smell it, acrid, mixed with the scent of burning flesh and clothes.]

Isn't that just something, Shylock-san? [He says after a moment of watching,] It seems we have more in common than we'd like.