[Well, Balthazar's certainly left plenty of clues; the breadcrumb trail of mangled clothes ending with the steam curling from beneath the bathroom door is pretty difficult to miss. A pair of pointy leather shoes, pinstriped trousers, a rawhide trench-coat, waistcoat and braces, arm warmers, fingerless gloves, are all strewn across the floor, haphazardly shed as Balthazar made his way across the apartment. All except his rings. These he's set in a neat row along the sink, ready for him when he steps out from beneath the nearly scalding spray of the shower, keeping them exactly where he can see because, without his ring, a sorcerer is powerless.]
[And speaking of sorcerers...] ~ Behind the bushes until I'm screamin' for more. Down the basement, lock the cellar door ~ [That off-key wailing coming from behind the locked door of the bathroom is indeed Balthazar. Apparently magic can't do anything to fix tone-deafness, no matter how enthusiastic Balthazar's unique rendition of Poison's 'Talk Dirty to Me' is.]
[What should he do? Brandon's got a gun in his bedroom, but Phillip's got no idea what the man on the other side of the bathroom door is like-- what if he has his own weapons?
Instead, he takes one listen to the off-key singing and bolts for the bedroom, intent on calling the cops and barricading himself in the room until the police can handle the whole "intruder" issue. Then again, maybe he should leave the apartment and call the cops from the street. That sounds like an even better plan...]
[Good plan, Phil, excellent. Proactive and simple. There's just one problem. That gust of wind - yes, that peculiar, inexplicable breeze that shouldn't be there at all - has closed the door to the apartment behind him and, even more unfathomably, seems to have wedged it shut. Oops.]
[But on the bright side? The singing - to use the word loosely - has, mercifully enough, come to a stop, along with the continuous hum of the shower. And whoever's in there certainly doesn't intend to stay in there for very much longer if the clatter of something being dropped in the sink and the creak of the floor sinking under someone's weight is any indication. Balthazar is on the move.]
[... So. Plan B?]
Edited 2012-08-24 21:19 (UTC)
((If the crack is too much, just ignore me. ;) Couldn't resist.))
Returning from a grocery shopping trip, Balthazar is doubly dismayed. The doors to the Arcana Cabana were all locked--he never forgets to lock them--plus there's over 100 years of reinforced warding on the damn place. And none of it is reacting to the presence he can clearly hear running water in his bathroom.
What the fuck? No, really, what??
Since he's not sure he wants to stumble across whoever or whatever it is in there while it's naked, he opts for putting his groceries away, shoving things in the fridge carelessly. And then he waits in the hall, ready to defend himself. "Hey. The clean towels are under the sink," he yells, once in position.
[Phillip is terrified to discover that the front door will not open. He pulls at it with all of his strength but try as he may, it won't budge. He almost screams out for help, but stops himself, shooting a horrified look towards the bathroom.
What if he hears him?
For all he knows, the intruder has no idea he's here. The pianist is in no hurry to alert him either. He grabs for the intercom building phone, praying the doorman is there and maybe he can send a message for help to him before the intruder gets out of the bathroom.]
[Balthazar knows he's here. The invisible strands of magic he weaved over the threshold of the apartment, like spider webs, started to vibrate as soon as Phillip disturbed them, humming in Balthazar's ears as soon as he'd made his way inside.]
[But being caught isn't nearly as high on Balthazar's long list of concerns as sloughing away ten years of grime and dust that's collected on his skin. He draws the flat of his palm across the mirror to clear away the steam and looks at his reflection with a sigh, running a hand over the stubble across his jaw. He'd like to shave while he can but he can sense Phillip working himself up into a frazzle on the other side of the door.]
[Well, time to face the music. Long hair dripping into his eyes and a clean towel tied neatly around his waste, Balthazar heads to the bathroom door, the lock sliding open of its own accord. He opens it, steam pooling out ahead of him, and leans his shoulder against the frame, as casual as if he belonged there.] You're aware that that's a terrible idea, aren't you?
*Roi'd only briefly returned to his friend's dorm to gather up a few remaining possessions that he'd left behind in his initial rush to leave. Kath was out on errands, trusting him to lock up behind him.
*...And then the bathroom sounded occupied. The feline frowned, sniffing the air and setting down a shirt into a rolling case of his.
*Who the hell was in his friend's bathroom?!
*Getting up, he headed for the bathroom door and sniffed the air near it. Dirt, grime, a lot of musk, and... something else. Or perhaps a lack of something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, especially with the shower running.
*Bracing himself, he settled to wait at the ready a couple of yards away from the door. If it was someone nasty, then the least of their worries would be a broken nose.*
[Welp. She can't really protest. He's a fellow wizard and he's even more down on his luck than her. Besides, dude has the kicked-puppy eyes and Fozzie, her huge, shaggy black dog, seems to like him.]
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[And speaking of sorcerers...] ~ Behind the bushes until I'm screamin' for more. Down the basement, lock the cellar door ~ [That off-key wailing coming from behind the locked door of the bathroom is indeed Balthazar. Apparently magic can't do anything to fix tone-deafness, no matter how enthusiastic Balthazar's unique rendition of Poison's 'Talk Dirty to Me' is.]
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[What should he do? Brandon's got a gun in his bedroom, but Phillip's got no idea what the man on the other side of the bathroom door is like-- what if he has his own weapons?
Instead, he takes one listen to the off-key singing and bolts for the bedroom, intent on calling the cops and barricading himself in the room until the police can handle the whole "intruder" issue. Then again, maybe he should leave the apartment and call the cops from the street. That sounds like an even better plan...]
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[But on the bright side? The singing - to use the word loosely - has, mercifully enough, come to a stop, along with the continuous hum of the shower. And whoever's in there certainly doesn't intend to stay in there for very much longer if the clatter of something being dropped in the sink and the creak of the floor sinking under someone's weight is any indication. Balthazar is on the move.]
[... So. Plan B?]
((If the crack is too much, just ignore me. ;) Couldn't resist.))
Returning from a grocery shopping trip, Balthazar is doubly dismayed. The doors to the Arcana Cabana were all locked--he never forgets to lock them--plus there's over 100 years of reinforced warding on the damn place. And none of it is reacting to the presence he can clearly hear running water in his bathroom.
What the fuck? No, really, what??
Since he's not sure he wants to stumble across whoever or whatever it is in there while it's naked, he opts for putting his groceries away, shoving things in the fridge carelessly. And then he waits in the hall, ready to defend himself. "Hey. The clean towels are under the sink," he yells, once in position.
I mean, what the hell else do you say?
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What if he hears him?
For all he knows, the intruder has no idea he's here. The pianist is in no hurry to alert him either. He grabs for the
intercombuilding phone, praying the doorman is there and maybe he can send a message for help to him before the intruder gets out of the bathroom.]no subject
[But being caught isn't nearly as high on Balthazar's long list of concerns as sloughing away ten years of grime and dust that's collected on his skin. He draws the flat of his palm across the mirror to clear away the steam and looks at his reflection with a sigh, running a hand over the stubble across his jaw. He'd like to shave while he can but he can sense Phillip working himself up into a frazzle on the other side of the door.]
[Well, time to face the music. Long hair dripping into his eyes and a clean towel tied neatly around his waste, Balthazar heads to the bathroom door, the lock sliding open of its own accord. He opens it, steam pooling out ahead of him, and leans his shoulder against the frame, as casual as if he belonged there.] You're aware that that's a terrible idea, aren't you?
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You're aware that that's a terrible idea, aren't you?
[Phillip gasps in shock and drops the receiver. He saw! He knows!]
W-who are you?!
[Phillip swallows. This intruder looks very dangerous. Why couldn't he have grabbed Brandon's gun?]
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*...And then the bathroom sounded occupied. The feline frowned, sniffing the air and setting down a shirt into a rolling case of his.
*Who the hell was in his friend's bathroom?!
*Getting up, he headed for the bathroom door and sniffed the air near it. Dirt, grime, a lot of musk, and... something else. Or perhaps a lack of something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, especially with the shower running.
*Bracing himself, he settled to wait at the ready a couple of yards away from the door. If it was someone nasty, then the least of their worries would be a broken nose.*
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I'm ordering in, what do you eat?