[ He'd familiarized himself with the nature and landscapes of the Sky Realm as much as possible, if only because the Astrals planned to usurp the whole system. (Had to know how something was wired to dismantle it.) There'd been nothing quite like this place in any of his studies, so it's easy to conclude that he's been displaced by a considerable margin.

Maybe this person was his alternate in another dimension. Or perhaps his addled mind was conjuring Lucifer's image, grasping for familiarity where there is none. Either way, he doesn't like this bozo and his strange half-answers—it just meant he understood his question and chose to ignore it. Lucilius is stony-faced in return, a beat of silence passing between them before he responds coolly. ]

Why, so you might steal my name like you've stolen my face?

[ He watches him as he exposes his own catch: he grips a mosquito's tiny wings between his fingers, no longer caring if it torques itself apart in its struggle to get free. A moment later it's tossed aside, as are any further pleasantries. ]

If you're here to help, tell me what you know of these mites. [ And maybe in the process, Lucilius could puzzle out something about him. ]