Simon doesn't know this guy from Maferath, and it's hard not to interpret that sharklike smile as pride that comes from experience, making him wonder just whose day might have been ruined by a massive flaming grease explosion. He remembers the rebel mages out in the Ferelden boonies, raiding villages, destroying crops and livestock, slaughtering any civilian unfortunate or foolhardy enough to come within miles--thinks too, then, about the ex-templars doing exactly the same, and opts to keep his mouth shut just a little while longer and see where this discussion goes.

It's fascinating; he can't pretend it isn't. He's always liked to know how things work, even if this particular explanation is going largely over his head--the mechanical is his realm, the strictly physical, the real, and while that particular focus makes it difficult to grasp the more arcane theory Myr's putting forth, he recognizes that that's actually part of the point of it. He can understand that second theory, when all he needs to do is grasp the perfect counterpoint of what he already knows. It all fits together like well-oiled gears in a clock, and he does love it when an explanation comes together so neatly.

"Can't they both be true?" he asks. "The theories? The second one you brought up--the idea of that you can make what could have been come true, if we don't stop you--that explains plenty that I've seen, but it doesn't seem to have much to do with conjuring grease, it's true. The way you explained that to begin with made far more sense."