Desmond stalked the pair who'd caused the ruckus like a predator. He didn't know what he'd just seen, but there had been a sort of resonance in the deep blue that he didn't understand. It shouldn't have been possible to manipulate the deep blue without being hooked in, but he'd sensed it just as clearly as he'd been able to sense other people hooking in back home. He wasn't aware of the predatory grin that came over his face as he shadowed them into a pub.

The hunter's itch in his fingertips had grown stronger and stronger, to the point it became a fierce, sharp pain, but he forced down his awareness of that, and focused on his quarry. Perhaps he was not the only person to come here from another world? Experimentally, he began to hum and Spiked the stranger's strength, looking for a reaction.

"Um, excuse me," a voice came from his side.

It was a barmaid of some sort. Desmond ignored it.

"Excuse me, sir," the barmaid insisted, "Are you OK? You're bleeding."

Desmond looked down at his hands, dropping his Song in shock. His fingers were, indeed, bleeding. Emerging from each of his fingertips was a small, but unmistakeable, claw.

It couldn't be. Unless...perhaps the surgery performed on him as an infant made use of Nexus's orange world pulse, and it wasn't functioning in this alien land?

Desmond's instincts were good. He'd never learned how to manage his feral side, but instinctively he knew how to retract his yet pitiful claws. The pain receded, and he grinned even wider.

To the barmaid, he said "Yes, I'm OK. I'm better than OK. I'm better than I've ever been!"

Desmond threw back his head and laughed a harsh, rasping laugh.

It was a sign. He was free of the old societal bonds that had held him. He was free to embrace both sides of his heritage. Perhaps...perhaps he'd even use his other, unspoken name. Not today, but here, he needn't be an outcast because of his grandmother's bloodlines. Here, he could be his true self.