[ At that gesture, Jonathan's eyes light up. He is certainly not so poor a magician that he can't tell when magic is being cast. And that, the vanishing of the glass and liquid, was absolutely magic. After dealing with cars and electricity and 'debit cards,' to see something that makes perfect sense is so reassuring. And magic makes sense. Magic is his life.

So, Jonathan looks over at Stephen with a wide grin on his face and a manic intensity in his eyes. ]

I suspect what you're seeing is magic. I am not as magically sensitive to see magic itself manifest, though I know it can—a dear friend of mine could spot curses and enchantments. He wandered into my dream once, that was how we met after all—

[ It's very obvious that one of the benefits of the modern century that Jonathan Strange should take part in is a Ritalin prescription. He's obviously about to go on a tear about said friend of his, when something reminds him to steer back to the conversation. He looks at Stephen with a wide smile, the smile of someone who is totally oblivious to the fact that the other man can spot the fact that he is remarkably cursed before, ]

Though it is rude to ramble on like this without introducing myself. I am Jonathan Strange.