Phantom cocked his head as he watched the latest addition to the group talk with Little Demon Girl and work on his impressive flying machine. He stroked his chin through his mask - because that's just the kind of man he is - and took in the deeper meaning of this. The pilot had amnesia just like the others, but it looked like he still remembered how to operate that device...somewhat. At least enough to not die in a fiery crash.

"Interesting. It seems to me that all of us have retained some measure of our skills from our former lives, be they mental or physical."

Possibly an observation of the obvious. but the shadow warrior guy felt better occasionally keeping everyone's attention on him. That made it easier to be sneaky later.

There was certainly a lot to take in. Aside from the obvious novelty of a plane attempting to land not but a few feet from her, there was the already alarming revelation that the ill-mannered imp could be silenced, if only for a few moments, and even then, her every syllable wasn't positively coated with contempt. Beyond that, there was simply the situation in itself, wherein a towering mass of white demon and hisless than congenial pilot went tromping though a city, as lost and confused as any of them, accompanied by a mysterious assassin-type... Well, it could have easily been a little overwhelming for some.

As fascinating as all that surely was, however, Rhiannon was paying attention to none of it. Rather, when Winn looked to her, he'd find her staring rather unwaveringly and unapologetically right back at him, potentially begging a reevaluation of his "weirdness scale."

At the suggestion to leave, she didn't answer directly, but turned slowly, and began to navigate a path around the enormous Sau. Assuming her company followed, she asked, "Does that help? The writing, I mean. You're always writing things."

Winn thought about the question a second, and in doing so, momentarily forgot what he was doing (that is, trying to subtly ditch people).

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly. "I guess it kind of helps me think with so much completely new stuff going on," he reasoned. "That, and I'm worried we might forget things again, maybe."

Meanwhile, a wave of realization rippled across the pilot's features, his body snapping back up from its bent position. Hurriedly, his head whipped side to side, as if searching hopefully for something of great importance. His eyes fell on the two that were currently navigating around the white giant before passing on, but after a brief second of consideration, they snapped right back to them.

A pointy hat was the one detail that caught the pilot's attention.

"Wait...! Excuse me, miss!" he called to the retreating witch's back. "May I have a word?"

Something in Winn's reply struck a chord with the witch, who paused mid-stride to stare with a strange sort of vacant focus at nothing at all.

"You know, that's quite a valid point," she said at last, the faint crease in her brow ebbing with her resumed stride. Rhiannon had made no more than precisely one and three-quarters of a step, however, when the call of the pilot fell on her ears.

Slowly revolving on the heel of her extended foot, she turned back toward her addresser.

"Sir?"

The pilot was quick with his reply.

"Could you, perhaps, take a look at this device?" he questioned, swinging a hand towards the rune-covered wheel within the aircraft. "It happens to be covered in these strange markings and, well... it glows. That is, when it actually works."

He cleared his throat.

"However — and I apologize for my assumptions — you seem like the kind who may understand how this functions."

Neither engaged, nor identifiably intrigued, nor affronted, Rhiannon merely looked on the mysterious wheel and all its inscriptions as one looks on potatoes when contemplating whether or not one likes potatoes. In other words, she was utterly indifferent to the aviator's evidently malfunctioning whatever-it-was, and in fact, didn't spare it more than a flicker of attention.

When at last something piqued her curiosity, the witch's head inclined subtly to one side as she continued to stare quite piercingly at the pilot in complete and total silence. The stranger would likely be disappointed when she at last responded, airily inquisitive.

"How is it you arrived at that conclusion?"

"Ah... well."

The pilot rested a hand on the hull of the craft, rapidly tapping his fingers in quick succession.

"To be honest, its because of your... hat." He coughed, a slight expression of shame flickering across his features, his voice quickening, layered with an apologetic tone. "Horrible assumption, really. In hindsight, I should have probably never made it."

He looked to his machine once again, frowning ever so slightly.

"It's just that it has been so agitating how this confounded thing can barely perform its most unique use. Perhaps I'm becoming a bit desperate in my attempts to solve the problem."

Winn had stepped up next to Rhiannon while she was talking, and peered suspiciously at the machine. His head slowly tilted to one side, and he looked as though all his focus landed on it, and he was disengaging from the conversation.

Rather suddenly, he turned and interjected, "Witches don't work with infused constructs." He paused awkwardly just as soon as the words had left his mouth, though, and, with hand on his neck, under his chin, lulled his posture and appended his statement with: "Well, I guess they don't... I don't know. I just know that's the mainspring of a LaHardt Torque Defixio."

He gave a tiny shrug and let his arms dangle loose at his sides.

"I certainly don't believe that I do," conceded the expertly identified witch bracingly. She seemed to have little to say pertaining to the young flier's correct assumption, but instead also turned her attention to the craft, taking it in as one appreciates the workmanship of a particularly tall building.

"I can't be entirely sure, but I seem to remember any manner of potion or spell when pertinent, and neither this," Rhiannon waved a delicate hand at both plane and part in succession before dipping her head obligingly at Winn. "nor that curious collection of jargon are striking me as especially familiar."

"What does it mean?"

The imp looked on in cautious fascination, before Rhiannon’s voice appeared to break into her train of thought. She glanced at the witch.

She looked harder.

“Hey,” she said, sharply, “what are you, a hag?"

"It's a—"

Insert the imp calling Rhiannon a hag. Winn bristled once more and inhaled sharply, holding the breath for a few long seconds with chin tucked in, eyelids wide open (well, except for the one), staring at her out of the tops of his eyes.

He slowly exhaled out his nose and relaxed his stare, but maintained his peculiar posturing.

"... Little devil girl, we're having a big people conversation, 'kay? Yeah, mmhmm, okay, now."

He huffed and turned back to the plane, and spoke in a loud voice. "It's a type of symbol-infused perpetual engine. Sometimes it's called an Eternal Wheel. Pretty common defixio in vehicles, generally a good stand-in for a steam or combustion engine." He folded his hands behind the small of his back and rocked on his heels. "It's not really perpetual or eternal or whatever or what have you, but it's pretty close to it as long as you keep all the actual, mechanical gears intact. Th'teeth on those are usually the first things to go. The chain-driven ones are better, but, y'know. Economics."

He sniffed once, glanced around, and looked self-satisfied.

Rhiannon, after a short-lived flicker of something that wasn't quite surprise, merely smiled serenely to the little devil girl, and turned back to the appropriately deigned big people conversation.

"Then," prefaced the enchantress, looking oddly engaged, "What would you have been to know all this? You know, before the... event. It's obviously not common knowledge..."

The imp’s face went slack. She stared at Winn as if the boy had pulled down his pants and revealed a second face.

Her jaw moved up and down like she was trying to eat something that existed on another plane of reality.

“Y—you,” she said, finally. “You, d-d-d—you ugly, filth-f-f-filth-ly little p-p-p—! I—d—how dare you?”

Her fists clenched and unclenched, her entire body shook with barely suppressed rage.

“I j—j—just-I was asking, a, a, a question! Who even—who even asked you, anyway?” she went on, apparently beginning to recover from her stammer, but no less incensed for it.

“Did you think I w-was t-talking to you or did what you say just fall out of y-your g-gigantic slobbery trap when you opened it?! Do you ever think of what you’re saying?”

"I’m s-sick of you!” she went on, “I c-can’t ask you people anything!"

The pilot seemed quite impressed by Winn's observations and general knowledge. However, before he could bother to delve further into the subject, there was other matters to attend to.

He turned to the imp girl.

"If you don't mind, miss, but could you please, perhaps, calm your temper?" he asked with genuine politeness. "It would be much appreciated, really. I have no issues with either you nor this fellow here, but I'd rather to be able to listen to what he has to say."

And as if he fully expected her to follow his suggestion, he turned right back to the witch and machine-knowledgable boy.

"I have noticed that all the gears and such seem to be intact," he said first to the latter. "But there is a section of the wheel itself that seems to have its symbols quite scuffed." He used a pointed finger to show the relatively small portion spoken of. "So I can only conclude this is what's causing the malfunctioning of the engine. I noted that the symbols themselves are quite... well, with the lack of a better word, they seem magical. Which is what brought me to asking you."

He directed this to the witch, suddenly remembering her recent comments.

"And yes, it seems a bit odd we've retained the know-how of our professions." He chuckled. "If we hadn't, though, I'd be but a minor splatter amongst a larger wreck somewhere far from here."