Gus is supposed to laugh here, of course; a hah! you got me! moment, chuckle and shake his head and admire the ink on her arm, and then she'll know that he's from an Earth not that far away from hers, and a point in time not so very far away from something like the 21st Century's beginning —
There's nothing to show that his expression is blankly shocked, befuddled, baffled, bewildered — the mask, after all, isn't a second skin, or it would be just as invisible as the first, just like the stolen greasepaint was — she can't even see the way his mouth has fallen open in sheer overwhelmed confusion, as the flask wilts in his hand until it's fully at risk of being dropped, and all he can think to say is:
"... who?"
(To be fair to the flask, as concerns its contents: this vodka is both cheap and strong enough to cope with the metabolism of a Lyctor with night terrors, which may mean it's only vodka by technicality.)
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There's nothing to show that his expression is blankly shocked, befuddled, baffled, bewildered — the mask, after all, isn't a second skin, or it would be just as invisible as the first, just like the stolen greasepaint was — she can't even see the way his mouth has fallen open in sheer overwhelmed confusion, as the flask wilts in his hand until it's fully at risk of being dropped, and all he can think to say is:
"... who?"
(To be fair to the flask, as concerns its contents: this vodka is both cheap and strong enough to cope with the metabolism of a Lyctor with night terrors, which may mean it's only vodka by technicality.)