[Each question is followed by another, and yet another, though if Dorothea had not seen fit to ask him, he most certainly would have done so himself. He is careful as he shifts his weight— her weight?— propping himself up with one hand as the other comes to rest against a chin that is decidedly not his own. Some of the pieces have rapidly come together: they do seem to have swapped, but for the lightning to responsible for something like this... it is, indeed, unprecedented, though he supposes that he'll find many things in this place to be exactly that.]

All excellent questions.

[Just as his own voice sounds strange being used by someone who had not grown up to carry the Flatlands affectations as he has, Dorothea's voice now carries an accent that does not sound native to Adrestia, either.

He clears his throat softly— introductions, yes. Probably a good place to start.]

Professor Cyrus Albright, at your service, though that service does seem to be questionable, at best. I had thought to offer assistance in escaping the storm, but it would seem the storm itself had other things in mind. This problem of ours must have a solution— every problem does, if one is willing to look, and I have yet to encounter a mystery I did not find myself compelled to solve.