Aarindarius was slightly perplexed.

It wasn't the only emotion he felt, of course. After all, he had just come back from a meeting of the most important and androgynous wizards in the Elven Homelands to find his young student sprawled on the baker-in-training he (or she, he never quite could tell) courted during the little spare time he had, who herself (or himself, he wasn't so sure) was slouched on his couch with one leg on the low table in front of the couch and one leg under it.

His tower was completely upside down with burns on the walls and all over the furniture, dancing lights a little bit everywhere and the demon roaches he kept for study playing Parcheesi on a knocked down cupboard and making crass jokes about the boys (or the girls, he didn't know).

What mystified him however was the presence of a lampshade on his student's head. Nobody in the Elven Homelands used electric lamps, preferring candles and magical illumination. As a matter of fact, the only reason he knew it existed was because he was once invited to a mage's symposium where a gnome wizard had tried to mix technology and magic together to mount a lamp, which ended with a Chain Lightning wounding and stunning everyone in the room, himself included.

Good times, good times.

He picked up the lampshade and threw it over his shoulder without caring at all where it landed. They were still fully clothed and there was no trace of lipstick on their faces or any underwear hanging on the hallstand, so they'd been wiser than his friend Lirian and he at the same age.

He should be boiling with rage, but he wasn't bitter. This gave him the opportunity to finally do something he'd wanted to do for centuries; awake someone with Bugsby's Slapping Hand.

While reading a book and looking disinterested of course.