Robin watched Quentin watching him, and only smiled. He was well aware that there were things about him that probably seemed pretty incredible. He seemed to have endless money. Quentin had probably at some point heard him speak a half dozen different languages. And he could drink and drink and drink and only seem tipsy.

But humans wouldn't assign more meaning to those things than what they understood. A rich, well-educated man with a high alcohol tolerance. So Robin in general made little effort to hide what he was. All he had to remember, really, was not to remember not to tell stories that made him seem so much older than he should be.

The food arrived then, and Robin had to commend the quick service. The waiter laid out bowls and plates in front of them, and Robin grinned at Quentin. "Dig in. I hope you have a healthy appetite."