[center][color=c2b280][h3]Fleo Plector – Phoenix Wing Hotel[/h3][/color] [@Leslie Hall][/center] The feeling that flooded Fleo was one she hadn't felt in a long while: nostalgia. Her love of traveling and finding new things to discover and explore had barred her from visiting this particular place in a long time, but it felt good to be back. An adage she'd seen posted on the far wall for the years she'd been bedridden summarized it best: [i]There is a kind of magicness about going far away and then coming back all changed[/i]. At the time she'd hated that saying, staring at it with resentment and longing, but now that she saw the old, familiar houses and walked the old, familiar streets again, that adage rang with truth. With one foot in front of the other, over and over, she retraced the steps of her childhood. This was the path she used to come home from the school and the store, both of which she'd passed already and would have delighted in if only it hadn't been a little bit foggy. Nostalgia beat within her, a rising force gripping her heart and making her walk too rigidly, as she turned the corner and beheld halfway down the street that silly, two-chimney house. Her dusty, bandaged foot remembered the lightning bolt-shaped cracks in the sidewalk and stepped over it just like it used to: a quick hop on tip-toes in the middle of the crack. Fleo struggled with joy and melancholy, walking slower and slower, right up until she tentatively knocked on that dark green door. Her blood pumped when she heard footsteps on tile floor, softening just for a moment as they passed over the parlor's rug. Then there was the click of a doorknob, the complaining creak of forgotten hinges, and two faces, bright despite the best efforts of time and misfortune, looked down on her. [i]”Honey!”[/i] her father and mother exclaimed, and rushed to embrace her. [i]”It's been so long...”[/i] Fleo's eyes opened. She stared at the ceiling above her, trying to remember. Only moments ago, she felt, she'd been having the most wonderful dream, but now it had all faded away. She burbled groggily, [color=C2B280]”No...good dream...come back. Please?”[/color] For some reason she wanted to cry. Had it been a sad dream after all? Her thoughts drifted to Annalise, the girl who'd fallen into a ceaseless dream of the real world, whose body had died and left her stranded in the waking world. She hauled herself up, scattering dust over her bed. With a wave of her hand the dust returned to her arms and legs as if it had never been shed. Next, she opened her satchel of clean bandages and sent dust in to snag the cloth and manipulate it, bringing it out and covering her prostheses completely. After that, she took a look at her clothes. Yesterday's dark blue, zip-up dress and peaked cap had been thrown onto a chair by some tired, tipsy woman. [color=C2B280]”Man, last night's party stunk. Why c'n I remem'er I'm a sad drunk...”[/color] She grabbed a burgundy sleeveless hoodie emblazoned with large, light red flowers, opting for coolness's sake to not put a t-shirt on beneath, and a black longskirt with the same design in a gray-white gradient. Her collection of hats yielded a light red beret—perfect! After splashing some water on her face with a cup to wake up, she headed downstairs to the main foyer to see who else was up. Instead, she nearly jumped out of her skin when Isabella and Bullet burst in. It took a few seconds for her to calm her racing heart. [color=C2B280]”Whew, what an entrance! Good thing I'm not old enough to have heart attacks, eh?”[/color] Even taking into account her morning stupor, she could not place these wizards' faced. [color=C2B280]”Um...sorry, but I guess I've either never met you or totally forgotten you. Sorry! I'm Fleo Plector, got here about two and a half months ago.”[/color] With her bandaged left hand she offered a little wave. [center][color=d8bfd8][h3]Nero the Genie – Riverside Greenbelt[/h3][/color][/center] Yawning, the Genie rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. Try as he might, he could not slumber any longer, for the rays of the morning sun would not be denied by his eyelids. Nero rummaged through his pouch and produced a bar of soap, then shuffled over from his makeshift bed in the greenbelt toward the closest street and the first building on it. Once he'd pushed his way through the front door, nearly falling in the process, he made his way to the bathroom and locked himself in. A snap of his fingers summoned the Law of Embodiment, and his clothes turned to water. A thorough scrubbing later, he used the Law of Raiment to bring into existence new, similar clothes on the sink counter, and without further ado he put them on. When he quickly exited the building, he left behind a big mess on the bathroom floor, but whistled innocently all the same. A few moments later he was back at the spot where he'd slept, turning the cloth mattress and the blanket back into grass and a hand-towel, respectively. All he had fit easily into his pouch or on his back, and before long he sat on a bench by the riverside, watching geese bother one another. He wondered what to do today. Perhaps he ought to visit the arena again, offering wishes to those who wanted for something. Though he would have liked to spend more time with Eve and Ayame, he did not want to drench them with his presence. Now that he'd achieved some sort of special status with the Necromancer, he felt as if he tried too hard, he could ruin it easily. [i]Plus, absence makes the heart grow fonder.[/i] He contented himself with an imagined scene of him and his friends having fun in the river, and almost caused himself to blush at the idea of Eve in a swimsuit. [color=d8bfd8]”What an issue of Sorcerer's Weekly that would make, hah!”[/color] he said out loud.