It’s always interesting to observe people’s reactions to Wrench’s declaration. By far the most amusing are the ones who go right on speaking anyway, like they almost can’t help themselves. The tall man watches mildly from across the table, sitting with his arms crossed and waiting for the moment recognition seems to flash across the stranger’s face.

Of course, he’s hardly sure he’s given the man enough to work with, to pursue a different method altogether. Thinking in someone’s direction feels like a natural instruction, but how that action translates into magic is something he hasn’t managed to untangle. For a moment he holds his own breath, half expecting it won’t work and the newcomer across the table will think the whole thing is some bad practical joke or hazing ritual. But sure enough, the words appear. And when the man opens his eyes, Wrench points a finger to the table before him that bears the script in something like his own handwriting.

Good job, Ed. I’m Wrench.

If you want me to know what you’re saying, that’s how. It’s all about intent, I guess.