A memory?

Without considering the coat he asked if they had any clues and she produced the note. He read it...then...

For a brief moment the man had a vision. Or was it a memory? He saw himself, or who assumed was himself yet much younger, sitting at a school desk in fine clothes among many other boys. A very old man was teaching the class about something... rocks? "One of the most lustrous sort of strata is the tigers eye...," he said holding up a painted sketch of a stone, stripped like a tiger but deep orange or black with patterns of light woven through.

"Tiger's eye is a kind of rock," and he went on to describe what it looked like.

He caught many blank stares at his comments.

"I must have learned it... somewhere," he said. Then, again as if routine and tied into some sort of cultured upbringing, he approached the female and bowed, taking her hand like one would a lady of the court. "And what may I call you, m'lady?"

(I've been thinking maybe he's like a duke or something, lost at sea, very cultured but no definitive memory. He'll adapt to this life out of a desire for more than the staunch and structured protocol of an existence he lived before.)

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