[Molly blinks at him, surprised and very worried now. He doesn't know what the hell is going on here, only that he's missing time and he's not wearing his coat and for some reason, everyone's pissed at him. He'd chalk it up to a resurrection spell and anger borne out of worry over his health, but—those don't change your clothes, do they? And this isn't that kind of anger, he can feel it. His friends are furious because of god only fucking knows what.

(Well. He's beginning to have an idea, but—no. No, he won't look at that.)]

Caleb, it's me, it's Mollymauk. Molly to my friends. And we're friends, remember? [There's a note of anxiety in Molly's voice that Lucien would never have allowed into his own, and where Lucien's tail seemed to simply lazily sway all the damn time, Molly's tail is far more reminiscent of an agitated cat, flicking worriedly about.] I know it's been a while since—since I died, and we weren't exactly close, [although Molly did nurse a small crush on him, but then he was attracted to everyone,] but we fought giant spiders in a sewer together, that ought to count for something.

[Right?

Then his eyes catch on the scars on Caleb's arms. Then the red eye. His eyes grow wide, and he looks up to meet Caleb's gaze, confusion and worry written clear across his face.]

Tell me you got that tattoo the normal way.