"You're no witcher," is Lambert's automatic answer to that, frowning at Cole as his nostrils flare slightly. With as much ambient magic as there is around the place, his medallion's good as useless for figuring out if this is some kind of spell fucking with him (but then, he already knows some spell's fucking with him; he can't get his head clear no matter how hard he tries).

Still, at least he doesn't seem as ready to punch Cole as he did a few moments earlier. He doesn't know how he got here, he said that already, and if he's neither the Prince's nor the Ringmaster's ...

He pauses to rub at his forehead, exhaling. "Whatever you are, don't do that again."