who's teaching me to love?
A crease forms between his brows as Oliver sits, aware lf the tactic from how many times he'd escorted traumatized victims away from an assault scene. Having it turned on him is...not great. But he sits obligingly nonetheless, not wanting to offend or seem like he was trying to be a tough guy. His long legs fold into an easy pretzel, leaning casually over his thighs in a deep, flexible stretch. Minutes ago he'd been brawling, and this weird encounter isn't gonna stop him from stretching out.
His tactical mind begins parsing the information immediately. Magic is a whispered, ill-concealed reality in his home. Though he has none himself, he's encountered others who have. And well, this portal thing sure stinks of it. "Let me guess, the portal is magic?" A wry grin, a mix of bitter and amused, pulls at his mouth. "Is there any way to get back to where I was before? How frequently does this occur?" It difficult to restrain himself from slipping into old interrogative techniques, but Oliver had been helpful and readily gifted information so far. He was willing to roll with the punches, but he needed all the information first, no matter how horrible the reality.
