"You're a helpful sort, aren't you, Vasquez?" he says more to remember the name than anything else. At least it's distinctive enough that he might remember anyway. John doesn't hesitate to lean in, taking a long and in his opinion well-deserved puff of pure cancer-inducing tobacco-flavored smoke. God, that has no right to be that good.

No one here seemed all that down with the mystic arts, not like he's judging. Okay, he's judging a little, but mostly just confused on how one warlock ended up in a pack full of normies unless it's all set up specifically to fuck with him. That could easily be the case, there are enough people and creatures who despise him enough to set this up, after all.

He shrugs and takes another puff, crossing his leg across his lap so that their thighs press together. There's no harm in taking what's offered, John's always found. Though even when he's wrong it doesn't stop him from trying anew. "The proper incantation has everything to do with good spell technique, mate. I would show you if I could, but this place has gone and handicapped me, it would seem."