Still unused to walking around without his Wit-sense, and distracted by the glittering crowds, Fitz takes a moment to notice he's being addressed. He blinks and turns his attention to the old man in front of him. His eyes keep drifting down to the chirruping bird in Merlyn's beard. It's a whole other kind of strange to the flashing lights and unnatural colours surrounding him. The question of whether he's addressing Old Blood presents itself, and he wishes dearly that he knew whether this old man was also Witted, and, if so, whether his Wit has abandoned him as totally in this soulless city.

He realises he is gaping like an idiot again, and forces himself to focus.

"Oh. Yes. This morning, I suppose, though it's been a long day."