To an outside observer, of which there are thankfully none, the whole thing must seem a bit of a slapstick ballet -- Lambert reels back one way, only for the intruder to yank him another in his haste to step back, his hands tangled into the front of his shirt pulling him forward with the magician's momentum falling back into shadow.

The world tilts in a shadowy, watery blur as he makes the transition from steamy shower to comparatively freezing lake. The change in temperature has Lambert shouting -- or trying to -- but all it gets him is an explosive stream of bubbles up his mouth and water up his nose. Forcing his eyes open, he keeps one hand fisted into the fabric under his hand and kicks to the surface, pulling sodden magician along with him. Because of course it's got to be a magician.

He breaks the lake's surface, coughing and spluttering, hair in his eyes and water dripping off shoulders and horns as he fights to tread water with a hand still gripping hard into cloth; his tail swishes frantically, doing its best to help. Like fuck he's letting him go: he knows how this shit works, and if he tries to make another swift exit, well he's fucking wrong.

"Strange!" Lambert thunders once he gets his breath back, although he's still sounding a little choked. "What the fuck?!"

Who else would be as reckless as the man who's literally mad?