Johannes hated everything about every Wasteland outpost he had ever visited. The rooms were too hot. The food was too bland. The drink too bitter. The bathwater too cold. The people too crude. 

But most of all, he hated the Miraculum.

They had a special rotten vibe, those sorts of mages. He could never put his finger on what caused it, but it sure as hell was strong with this one. Bast, they called him. Short for bastard, probably. 

Johannes kept his eyes on Bast and his hands on the table at first, observing. The cocky little bastard ignored him like he was a lampshade. Just the way he liked it. He was almost content to watch a moment longer until he approached the young kids.

Not just any bastard, but a sick bastard too.

Johannes leaned over to Ezra and dropped his voice to a barely audible whisper. "Stay here." He ordered, then slid out of his seat.

Unlike before when he had entered, Johannes kept his steps light and impossibly silent as he approached Bast from behind. Getting close enough to speak to the scumbag in a low voice - that damn smell, it was awful this close - he murmured to Bast.

"Best be removin' your hands from that kid now."

His voice was firm, steady, and cold, yet it had a drawl to it. It was an order, not a request.