There's a moment's pause, as the howling wind stops, and the wailing is replaced by the hub-bub of muffled, distant gathering of people, all chatting to one another. The screeching clouds condense into the shape of a man with a hop of curly red hair, dressed in shirt, waistcoat, and slacks, his shoes just a little short of perfectly polished. In place of his face is an animate, painted porcelain mask; it moves as he speaks, for all accounts functioning just like a face, but it's not his face. The features aren't quite human, temples sharply sloped and brows strangely angled.

"Tiny umbrellas, you say?" he asks with a grin.