With a snooty sniff, Disaché stands up and resettles his tunic with a few quick brushes, saving himself from wrinkles and invisible dirt. Then he plants himself firmly in the doorway, as if his small build could block Axel from entering if he wanted.

"Axel," he repeats, along with a light tap of his left index finger against his thumb. His cochlear implant snaps a quick picture of Axel, tagging it with his name and storing it in his contacts list so he doesn't actually have to remember it.

"Right, portals..." His expression finally slips from irritation into clinical curiosity. "What was that?"