Kell enters the pub still smiling for Sirius' carrying on, but he pauses as the sights and scents of the place overwhelm him. No matter what world he travels to, all pubs feel the same, their wooden floors and tables worn slick with thousands of feet and hands, their lights dim, the air warm and smoky. Kell thinks of his room above The Setting Sun with longing and grief unmuted by the passage of time since it burned, taking all his treasures with it. Even so, he's grateful to have been brought here.

Following Sirius to the far wall, Kell sits, trying not to sigh as his tired body folds into the booth. "My city is called London. In my world, it sits as the capital of Arnes at the edge of the Arnesian Empire. In the magicless world, it is the capital of England. It is the same in location and name, but that is all."