"I did!"

“That’s good. Was she nice? Or he, or they - shouldn’t assume.”

"—oh!" He laughs. "I wasn't spending the night with someone, I got arrested. I did meet some lovely people, though! And then they let me go because they'd lost all my paperwork and had no idea who I was or why they'd arrested me."

“Oh! Well, all’s well that ends well, I suppose.” She completes a flower on the pillowcase she’s stitching, and holds it up critically.

"That's lovely!"

"Thank you, love." She begins on another.

Right, okay, what next? He should probably retrieve Edward at some point—oh, right, and he's got a note to deliver to the Provocateuse. Well, retrieving Edward seems simpler. He can start there.

The Sardonic Music-Hall Singer opens her door. "Well, that wasn't very long at all. You had me all worried."

"I didn't know how long it was going to be!"

"Well, I hope you got what you wanted out of it." She lets him in and points to Edward, curled up in a repurposed cat basket. "Your mandrake sings now, as well as I can teach him. Did you want to stay and have that honey-dream I promised? Or were you planning to go a-hunting right away?"

"I'll stay for the honey-dream. I did say I would, and it sounds interesting."

"Good lad," the Singer says. She retrieves her honey-jar and two long-handled spoons, measuring out a thick bead of honey for him and a brimming spoonful for herself.

Om... nom? Probably while sitting down or something, right, because it makes you dream?

The Singer has a pair of chaises-longue prepared!

The honey tastes... well, like honey. It's sweet, intensely so, with a floral undercurrent as it... evaporates? Evaporates. Less typical honey behavior.

His limbs feel heavy, and so do his eyelids. As he closes his eyes, he smells jungle flowers.

Ooh, new smells! That is interesting! He happily lets the honey take him.

His eyes open on a thick rainforest. The Singer is there already, looking vibrant, leaning against a tree with a smile on her face. She nods to him as he... awakens? "Welcome to the place behind the mirrors, where isn't is." She arches her neck and sings a few notes, harmonizing with the songbirds.

...he feels... weird. Like, really weird. Much weirder than he expected.

He tries to smile back at her, but he isn't sure he succeeds. He can't seem to operate his face correctly. All the parts of his body are - wrong? Right? Different - and moving is a whole situation. He is just gonna. Sit quietly. Sitting quietly is not usually his thing but he has a slight concern that if he tries to get up he will break something.

She frowns, and walks over towards him. She offers him a hand.

"—sorry," he says, "I feel very strange and I'm not sure why..."

Oh, wait. This is—the other him, isn't it. The one that's been hinted at in mirrors and alluded to by that nice lady who hired him to do espionage. He still looks like he's human, here, but he isn't, he's the other thing.

Recontextualizing helps. He... settles into himself, somehow. The shape of his body begins to feel more familiar. Unfortunately there is still the matter of the Singer's hand, into which he probably should not place a tentacle. Awkward smile?

"Well, I'm in no rush," she says, withdrawing her hand after a few awkward seconds. She goes over to examine a flowering bush.

"It's very pretty here," he says, hoping to cover for his awkwardness.

"It is! It's why I drop by so often - have to check up, you know, make sure everything's doing well."

"...d'you sometimes find that it isn't?" he says curiously.

"Not yet," she says, amused. "But who knows what tomorrow holds?"

Her smile droops a bit. "- that's all a joke. I'm actually just a honey-addict. It's - hard not to be, with London the way it is."

"Sorry to hear that," he says. "I guess I don't... remember London ever being any other way."