[center][color=navy][h1]Magnus Wagner/ BAMF[/h1][/color]
[u]Location:[/u] Bedroom/Bathroom
[u]Interactions:[/u]Possibly [@SheriffLlama]'s Anna.
[/center]
It was [url=http://www.timeanddate.com/sun/usa/new-york?month=10&year=2020]7:22 AM[/url] and someone had to be messing with him, he had actually requested a window facing a brick wall but somehow he got an eastward window. He liked having a room on the top floor because it meant he had easy access to the roof. This also meant the earliest light of the morning came streaming through off the wall length mirror and Magnus dove for cover.
[color=black]"[b]Dulac[/b], [i]dulac[/i]. In Loki's name, [u]DULAK![/u]"[/color]
Lips parted with words of magic that tinted the windows to half again their normal brightness. Not great but it would do as he drew the shades as well. He had only written the runes last night in soap, he would have to come back through and carve them in if his request for a room transfer didn't come through. There was more to it than just paltry party tricks, he lived with one of the most powerful telepathic people in the world. To say there was an undue pressure from the 'thought police' was an understatement. One of the few things the mutant telepathy could not pierce was magic, as evidence by Juggernaught.
He was no sorcerer supreme, but he had practiced his protection symbols first, learning defense before offense. Even with his wards at the old school, it was static at best mainly just to hedge his bets and hope it worked to keep an 80 year old man out of his head. But that was most rituals, religions, or spells were in the end, a sort of hope and trust that our mental and emotional energy was making a difference. 

Ugh, too heavy a thought for the morning. 
He stepped into the bathroom carrying his toiletry bag without turning on the light and hit the shower to wake up, the darkness was comforting to him, he felt a connection to it as the cold water ran over his azure skin. He always started with his hair using an oil infusion to keep the indigo locks shiny and smelling nice. His morning bathroom was always a bit of a cleansing ritual for him with touches of [url=https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Misogi]Misogi[/url] as he always used the coldest water the shower allowed. He got used to cold showers in the old world and never warmed up to the luxury. At lease whoever he shared the bathroom with was always going to enjoy a hot bath. 

[color=black]"I met a girl at the car-ni-val 
In Rio de Janeiro 
We danced all night on the boulevard 
In doorways we did the tango
I miss her lips 
And the way she sa-shayed her hips 
As she shook her shoulders 
I miss the smell of her hair 
I don't care if it takes my whole life to find her..."[/color]

It was an old Rickey martin song from way back, he'd started with the music his grandfather listened to in world war two and has been chewing his way up through the charts since then. It gave him an eclectic sense of songs from each era and he had about one or two favorites from each band. He loved the music here, it was one thing he would take home if he was ever forced back, that thought alone chilled him to the bone more than the water.

Four minutes later, his singing in the shower was over and he was all rinsed off as he took a folding knife to his throat. Five minutes after that his face was smooth except for his 'soul patch'. By 7:35 he was done in the shower.