( Meng Po will slip a bowl of memory forgetting soup his way, should he ever ask—across mythologies. )

Good! Send me a message on a phone or something, I'll leave you with the number. Weird thing still works while these don't.

( He taps the SCA that he frankly doesn't know how to work, and then pats down his pockets (read: his sleeves) to extract a pen and notepad. ALl of them are illusions, too, but 'real' enough for the moment, so he jots down the number to his phone and hands it over with all the fanfare of a guy expecting to run off and fight things sometime real soon, without any of his usual backup crew nearby. )

Here you go. Watch out for yourself! See if anyone else around you remembers, right?

( Before he's nodding to him and turning around, settling into a jog heading off toward the outskirts of the 'city' yet again. )