After a quiet night in his room, Balthazar wakes in a labyrinth of clutter and dust, sprawled across a threadbare red velvet divan. The smell of the place, and the feel, is so utterly familiar he sits bolt upright. Home? Home! Delight and relief are immediately replaced by a vague sense of regret. He can't quite remember where he thought he
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Well, some of them get cranky, you know?
Balthazar is at first oblivious to the other presence, missing even the soft steps down the staircase. It's her voice saying his name that makes him jump and turn, power leaping to his hand in a blue-white crackle, ready to shield or create a bolt of plasma. Except she doesn't look like she's about to attack, and she does look familiar. In fact, he has a distinct feeling she's someone he should recognize, someone he has met and thought well of ( ... )
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"Might you know where we are, by the by?" Not that she particularly minded, considering that the hotel didn't give her books and, well, this place had more than just many. Hermione turned to look over to Balthazar, wondering why he was so quiet. She raised an eyebrow- did he really not remember her? Brows furrowed together as she crossed her arms. "Hermione?" Saying her name as if maybe that would trigger some recognition. "You actually helped me find my wand at the hotel..?"
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"Damn this place. I apologize; I was disoriented. Of course, the hotel." He sighs, standing down completely. "This is a very close replica of my home. For a minute I thought I was there. But my wards would have noticed you, and usually the outside isn't like that." He nods at the pitch-black windows.
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Pitch black windows or not, Arabelle honestly had no goddamn clue how the fuck she got here, or how the effing hell to get out. It didn't entirely seem to make logical sense in its spaciousness.
God, she hated magic, sometimes.
The first thing most people tended to notice about Ms. Kintotech wasn't her height, nor was it her green eyes and blonde hair, but the massive wings on her back tended to be an obvious identifier.
And at the moment, she was lost in his library. Trying to find a way out. Arabelle also showed up as a mystical ping.
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By sheer chance, he steps into the aisle behind her, sword ready but not held at an aggressive angle. Even that drops to slack-armed (and slack-jawed) surprise at the sight of the stranger. For one thing, she's more or less his height. For another, there's the wings. He makes a faint, rasping sound of confusion, then clears his throat, trying to recover his dignity. "Evening. Are you here for me?"
He's too worldly and cynical to assume an angel would visit him, but she's definitely not human.
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That said, she didn't ping very high on the holy scale. Between the cargo pants, the sandals, and the backless shirt, and the utility belt she was wearing. Arabelle blinked, wings flicking uncomfortably in the semi-cramped space between a couple of shelves, and glanced over her shoulder.
"Uh. Hi. Guess I am? I dunno, Y'know a gal named Mary Mystica or anything? It was her spell that sent me here, onna those whole 'where you needed ta be' type things." Arabelle shrugged slightly as she turned to face him a bit better, tense, but only largely due to the cramped quarters she was keeping at the moment, not in any sort of way directed at Balthazar.
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"Mary Mystica? Not unless that's a professional name this person has recently adopted. Did she, er, happen to say why you need to be here?" That'd probably be too much to ask. "I ask because there's some strangeness outside the place, as well."
((Since the quarters are so cramped, you mind if I do some gradual strange shifting of the scenery such that the space expands around them?))
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He's not an idiot, and his experience in magic tells him there are ways to get through doors that do not involve opening them. He was just hoping whatever portal she used was still open and accessible to him, as well.
Maybe it's better it isn't.
He turns back to her and answers belatedly, "No, nor I. Unless you're here to cause me trouble specifically, I wonder if you'd be good enough to tell me what's outside? Normally it's a street in Manhattan, but that wouldn't explain the darkness or the fact that I can't get out."
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Backing away from the door, he leans against a glass counter containing multiple pieces of jewelry and small sculpture. "That's assuming there's some sentience behind it rather than chance. Time will tell, I suppose. Are you expected anywhere?" No one's likely to come looking for him. Maybe she'll be missed and sought.
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