[A faceless woman is not among the oddest things Ebalon has seen in his exponentially long lifespan, so do forgive him if he doesn't react with much horror at the sight of Friday. If people around him are gasping or crying or otherwise expressing abject shock, he's the odd man out, standing there politely with a slight, soft smile on his delicate features. He hardly even reacts when the lei is placed around his neck other than to quizzically run his fingers over the rooster feathers, briefly wondering what kind of fashion statement this is supposed to be before seeming to move on.

...the compulsion that brought him here was a touch annoying, though, he'll admit that much.

Unfortunately, Ebalon can't quite find it in himself to care much about the surroundings. There's work to be done, yes, but by his measure he can simply do it here. Whatever spacetime anomaly that brought him here can be researched and picked apart piece by piece until he has either a workable solution to exiting, or more knowledge than he entered with; at which point, the latter of which should give him enough information to loop back around to workable solution. If he's baffled about the situation at all (and he is — as evidenced by approximately one (1) half-second where his brow creases and he frowns just after Friday bumbles off to go lei someone else), he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

He doesn't speak, but rather makes unflinching eye contact with you as soon as Friday loops the rooster feather lei around your neck, offering a thin smile as polite formality. If you're concerned about the situation, that's your problem, clearly.]

[When the back-to-back compulsion spells finally end, Ebalon only looks mildly more cross than he was when they began initially — though, if you look in his direction, he's swift to correct his frown into something far more amicable. It wouldn't do to get mad over such a minor spell anyhow, would it?

He'll make his way to the library on deck 3 first in search of answers of any kind, though he finds on the walk there that his magic seems to be working fine. A little supernatural movement in the shadows here, a tiny ball of moonlight in his hand there... everything seems to be in order by Ebalon's measure. If you catch him playing with magic at some point between his journey and the library proper, he'll offer you a smile, like he knows you've been looking. It's all smiles with this man, clearly.

In the library itself, however, he seems perturbed. There's not a single non-fiction book here, and that makes his research rather frustrating. Supposed research, anyway. In most cases, anything would help, except for the fact that colourful children's books and novella for teenagers don't offer much except life advice.

Ebalon doesn't care for life advice.

He'll stay in the library for several hours regardless of that fact, pouring over books in case there's something hidden within the pages. There's a precarious stack of YA novels building next to his right elbow that threatens to topple at any moment, but he's hardly paying it any mind. From where he's seated at the table, facing away from you, he says aloud in a quiet voice,]

I personally wouldn't bother with that section, unless you fancy books for older children.

[...it's like he has eyes in the back of his head. He hasn't looked up from his current choice novel.]

[Today, Ebalon thinks he might as well be living in his shield magic for how much flying objects have caused him to toss them up. By Henir, this is almost more annoying than anything else he's ever dealt with in his life. Almost.

It's fine, he thinks to himself; he'll just gently delete the existence of whoever or whatever has been hurling things in his direction while he's trying to exist in this spacetime anomaly. It'll be quick, no one will know, and he'll be able to get on with his list of things to do.

From where he's seated near the buffet table picking at lunch, a spoon comes flying out of nowhere and thunks uselessly off of a translucent, white-glowing magic shield. Unfortunately, that spoon happens to come at him from an angle awfully close to where you're standing, which means—]

Ah, do you have a moment? I just want to talk.

[—that he thinks you're the cause of the hellishly annoying day he's been having. The hostility in his voice, while not obvious, is certainly present.]

[Feel free to toss anything at me or poke me at wolfchan to discuss!]