a toast, then, to mayhem and worse;

“My permission?” Lasair had the innate ability to keep surprising even the illusionist, and he laughed as if she’d made the most perfect joke. “Have you ever in your life asked for permission? Don’t start now. Whatever your mind has settled on I’d be honoured to humour you.” He replied with a bow of his masked face, following her example of taking one last puff of smoke.
Aleister took her hand as it was offered, though had no mind to pull himself up on her weight. Getting up seemingly took forever, the length of his legs never stopping as he rose above Lasair and anyone else in the bar. A little adventure with Lasair, how exciting!

He walked next to her, hands behind his back, taking one step where she took two. “I agree, our magic and methods are very similar. Far beyond the understanding of many more brutish illusionists.” Obviously, the pair of them was Hot Shit.
Her suggestion earned her an amused scoff from Al as he pictured the situation, knowing Divos already had a tough enough time with Al’s illusions as-is. “I’m very up for it. Though keep in mind the privileges that might come with disguising like me. He might think it’s an invitation for a menage a trois.”  Which, you know, Lasair might not be up for.

“We should come up with a storyline.” Aleister mused as they arrived at the store. “Do I meet him first and you, as me, come in and accuse me of being your, well mine, evil clone? If you pretend you did your taxes for four hundred years, he might kill me instead.” Al waffled on, distracted by a particular shiny blue fabric. “Or we come at him from two sides and threaten to uhm, hm, mess up his paperwork.” What had he been accused of so far? Surely that, amongst other things.

“What did you have in mind?”