The man addressed him. Him. With his name, as though he knew him. The redhead paused, no froze. Froze was more appropriate as his eyes widened in surprise. shock evident. Rarely did he encounter a soul who knew him when he himself did not recognize the speaker. Strel gripped the straps of his bags tight, feeling the supple leather digging into the pads of his hands. The man's appearance struck so many chords in him that he knew he had to have known him. But when? Who was this man who knew him? Who knew his name and still knew his appearance? Strel had not changed much over the years, had he?
Eying the stranger, Strelein cocked his head slightly to the side, one eye peering at Vincent. Those features were coming back into his memory, from the back of his mind. Whoever this man was, his identity was buried so deep in the recesses of his mind that he was having such a hard time even figuring out where it had had happened. If it had even happened. Maybe he was dreaming. Frowning, the redhead furrowed his brows, shallow lines forming. "Do.. I know you?" He thought he would, or else the man had heard of him elsewhere. But he was so damn familiar. Who was he?
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