HORIZON.

[sorser]

THE GROUNDS Somehow, impossibly, the Himalayas press into the skyline. The buildings are tall and silent, of sturdy stonework and slanted rooftops. The space between them is ample, as though they’ve drifted slowly apart through the ages — but the clearance is calm, quiet, cool. It is ancient here. It is peaceful here. The air invites meditation, reflection, and a sense of knowing that you can push past your limits and improve yourself. That you can learn.

THE EXTERIOR The building sits amid the open area surrounding it, demanding focus upon the bold, upward-chasing lines of its Western architecture. It looks like a townhouse, singular because it lacks any neighbors to match. How many stories is it? Two? Three? It’s hard to tell at first glance, even if the circular skylight adorning its facade never wavers, but trying to suss it out is a pointless endeavor, anyway. The sidewalk leading to the porch stairs leading to the door is positively metropolitan. The door is open if you’re expected, or maybe even if you aren't. The interior inspires curiosity even in the disinterested.

THE FOYER A large staircase is a centerpiece, but there are places to sit, end tables with scattered books, a fireplace unused unless someone wills it to life; then, it casts a warm light across the dark, earthen tones of the foyer, somehow accentuating the depth of space. The flooring shines, its odd patterns bordering (but not quite) on non-Euclidean. This place looks lived in, and planks of sunlight sneak in through a hole in the roof that— No, wait, there's no such thing. Eyes playing tricks, probably.

THE LIBRARYBooks. So many books. The shelves are myriad, and they are lined up neatly like soldiers ready to march off to war. Reach out to one and pull out a tome by its spine. It’s any title you want, it’s knowledge that’s been tucked away somewhere deep in your (or maybe Stephen’s) memory. The subject matter is aplenty, but upon closer inspection there’s a clear inclination towards magic, or medicine, or… music? Wait, is that a book or vinyl in an old slipcase? Well, it doesn’t matter.

Somedays, the books can’t stay put — literally. Grasping one is a feat of physicality, for how they fly about like birds flitting from branch to branch. It adds to the novelty.

THE OTHER PLACES AND SPACESThis domain changes when you aren’t looking, rooms moving, doorways switching places, corridors winding for far too long. But one never feels trapped, only as though if they are taking the scenic route from point A to point B.

The upper floors, though it’s impossible to tell which, harbor strange old relics. Carved from stone or wrought from metal, oddly warm to touch, placed on pedestals or behind glass or just in a corner, lying sideways. Glance up, and the strange, circular skylight hovers above in places where it makes no sense to put a skylight. But the sun refracts through it all the same. The warping design of lines across its face move, sometimes, indefinable.

THE CITY STREETSometimes, you’ll hear the bustle of people from outside, and they always sound like they’re in a hurry. A car horn honks, a siren blares by. How does that even make sense? Look out any old window and when you hear these noises, the outside has changed into a city. One particular street. It’s alive, and it has a pulse, and there are so many places you could go visit if you walked even just a block down.

The Metro is always in sight, no matter where you stand, like it’s been nailed into the horizon line. It looks too far to visit any longer, but you know it’ll always be there.

CODE BY MARWOOD

Comments

[unwings]

[ the view of the himalayas is stunning, and for the first twenty or so minutes Castiel's lingering in Stephen's domain, he sits near a heavy, bronze bell on the Kamar-Taj training grounds, watching the skyline, parsing through his long memory.

over the eons he'd watched over earth, exploring forgotten places was a calming pastime for him. cas remembers when they'd been full to the brim with life - spiritualists, philosophers, pilgrims, humans searching every corner of their consciousness for the divine, for deeper meaning, for peace. in later centuries, they were half-abandoned, whispers of life long extinguished clinging to the rounded corners of stone where hands once brushed in passing, leaned against, decorated in times of celebration. what the world forgot, the earth remembers. some things remain, tucked away and hidden, small surprises in a cracked ceramic bowl, a once-beloved bracelet forgotten in the corner of a bedroom, a few stray beads perhaps broken off ceremonial robes now stuck in the cracks between intricately patterned stones of the courtyards.

this place, in the horizon, isn't uninhabited, it isn't a ruin. someone who remembers a time these grounds cradled vibrant life must've constructed it, and cas ponders on who, while watching the distant, snow-peaked mountains towering over and protecting the holy site. the central building with the westernized architecture, he imagines, is where he'll find the keeper of this domain.

not wanting to arrive unannounced, cas lays a hand against the thick bell, and gives it a push, just enough to have it ring out clearly once or twice, before its weight slows it to a gradual halt. works well enough as a doorbell, and cas makes his way towards the building's open entryway. ]

I've been trying to place this monastery. [ cas begins while pacing into the foyer, eyes on the strange flooring, expecting whoever's home would hear him. if not, he's perfectly content to talk to walls. ] Of all the ancient sacred places protected by the Himalayas, this one escapes my memory.

[sorser]

[He had sensed the presence of someone new in his domain like a tugging on his consciousness, or a pebble dropped in still water, sending ripples outward — but the bell, echoing throughout the grounds and lowly penetrating through the walls of the building, is still a conscientious touch. It pulls him away from wherever he was nestled before, to stand at the top of the stairs in the middle of the foyer, greeting guests as though this were the real New York Sanctum, tending to what they needed, answering what questions they came bearing.

He doesn’t recognize this man; that in itself isn’t surprising. He does not know but a scant few who have made domains in the Horizon, and if there are yet more, he’s not taken the time to explore thoroughly enough. Even so, the stranger isn’t unwelcome. The doors are open for a reason — Stephen’s curiosity extends past the doorstep, ushers them in so that he might know who his not-so-figurative neighbors are.]

Do you visit a lot of ancient, sacred places?

[He’s acerbic, as he usually is with those he doesn’t know, but the question doesn’t bite. It sounds amused, intrigued. He descends the stairs—floats down them actually, a red cloak billowing behind him—drawing closer and gesturing out the door behind Castiel.]

That one’s Kamar-Taj. Not exactly on a map, at least as far as I was aware when I first arrived.

[unwings]

[ cas paces to stand at the base of the staircase, looking up to take in the red-cloaked man that answers him, head at a curious tilt, before he turns back to the open doors and training grounds beyond them. ]

Yes. [ a pause settles, and it seems like that might be all he offers as an answer, but after a long moment of cementing Kamar-Taj into his memory once more, he adds, ] Most I've seen at least once.

[ Castiel's rolling the name around in his head, digging through the catalogue of memories, through what he knows and what he'd witnessed of human history, but can't find a single match. Perhaps it's specific to this man's world, and not his own Earth. Fascinating, regardless. ]

Kamar-Taj, the name isn't familiar. Who built it?

[ turning back to address Stephen directly, his eyes lower to the empty, hover-space between his shoes and the stairs, a pensive wrinkling of his brow. welp, cas teleports outside of cars in lieu of using door handles, so he can't really judge the dude for levitating down a staircase. sometimes walking is just overrated. ]

[sorser]

[He lands once he’s ground-level, cloak settling at his back into normalcy as though it were little more than an extravagant piece of cloth. The answer makes him tilt his head in turn, and Stephen trawls through his own memory to reply.]

The Masters of the Mystic Arts, those who came long before me. Maybe even the first Sorcerer Supreme.

[The reality is that he isn’t sure, really, who built it. He had always just assumed that it was built by the same people who took him in when he was penniless and desperate, and this hole in his knowledge is suddenly a transgression that he wishes he could fix. Mental note to self, on the ever-growing list: do more research when and if he returns to his home universe.

For now, though, there are more pressing curiosities at hand. Who are you, fellow stranger and Horizon-wanderer.]

As for you, you’re either a very stalwart explorer, or a man who’s lived a very long time. [Both is reasonable, too.] Which is it?

[unwings]

[ when stephen lands, cas is wholesale leaned to the side, attention focused on the magic cloak more than the man wearing it for a solid handful of seconds. interesting piece of enchantment that is, and he holds in the urge to reach out and touch it. don't, cas, it's weird. he does, eventually, find stephen's face, and the conversation, again. ]

Both.

[ cas answers the question prompt and short, though not impolite. he's assuming that straight answer is sufficient. awareness of when context is expected has not historically been a skill he possesses.

stephen's answers, the names he invokes, ping all the intrigued bits of his angel-brain, and castiel's eyes become laser-focused on the man, doing that unsettlingly intense eye contact habit he has, like he's staring past a person's eyes and directly into their brain. thankfully, after dean's advice (and a very unfortunate experience with a stripper), he's sworn off using the telepathy cheat on humans. the unethical and uncomfortable nature of it was made clear, though dean failed to mention that staring people down like you're trying to freaking soul-gaze them is another big factor in the uncomfortable vibe. it's all a work in progress. ]

Is that your coven, the Masters of the Mystic Arts? [ not a term he's heard before, and magic user typically means 'witch' in his world, thus - coven. ] Your Sorcerer Supreme must be quite powerful to so thoroughly avoid detection this long.

Horizon Wandering~ Early december-ish?

[rinwell]

[ There are a number of mountainous domains, Rinwell's noticed. In the very least, the borders of her slice of Cyslodian range run close to that of the witchers who showed her how to enter the Horizon, and she knows others are dotted around in the distance.

Kamar-Taj is new, though. She's never seen anything quite like it before, and there's a pang in her chest as she steps quietly into the territory; the style of the buildings and the layout of the temple grounds is appealing compared to the heat and dust and steampunk supremacy she's had to deal with in Cadens.

In this place, she's once again dressed in clothing from home, touched by the Magician's mark she gained in Abraxas, with the tarot symbol running along the edge of her cloak rather than replace the central butterfly clasp. She stands out, to be sure, and from the depths of the voluminous hood, a small owl pops up his head, with a soft coo as she looks back at him with a smile. ]

Maybe there were places like this on Dahna once upon a time. What do you think, Hootle?

early december works! sorry for the delay! holidays and such

[sorser]

[Stephen has learned that his domain is not unlike the Sanctum, at least in that he can sense when a visitor's arrived. The heart of it tugs at his consciousness the same way a spider knows when something has landed at the periphery of its web, though the doctor would prefer to use a far less ominous metaphor. He investigates not because of some dread intent, but out of mere curiosity -- it was a matter of time until neighbors wandered over, and maybe he even fashioned his domain to imbue a wonderment, a strangeness (no pun intended) that could not be easily ignored.

So. Rinwell is allowed to wander the grounds for a minute or two more, when without preamble, Stephen stands leaning against one of many solid stone banisters encompassing the training grounds. His arms are crossed and his brow is lifted, and he calls out to earn her attention.]

Is that where you're from?

[Dahna, he means. Hi there.

He's dressed in his sorcerer's garb, his own clothes from home, which coincidentally match hers at least in overall hue; navy, though with far fewer highlights of color. There's no bright red cloak resting at his shoulders this time, at least not right now.

Nor does he have some kind of animal on his shoulders like the young woman before him. An owl? He wonders.]

No worries at all! RL gonna RL c:

[rinwell]

[ Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised that there's another person present. It doesn't stop Rinwell all but jumping out of her skin, however, Hootle flapping to retain his balance as the girl spins about. She doesn't quite hunch her shoulders — there's surely nothing to feel guilty about, right? — before brown eyes find the stranger who addressed her.

There's definitely a sheepish air when she replies, however. ]

Ah.. Yes. That's the name of my world. The place I grew up is cold like this but, otherwise, very different to here. And to, well. [there's a vague gesture with one hand; the world outside the Horizon is clearly implied]

Is this your home?

[sorser]

[He feels a little guilty for appearing out of the blue when he notices her inward reaction, but Stephen isn’t in the habit of being unsubtle back at the Sanctum — this habit exists in his domain, too, apparently.]


Sorry if I scared you. I’m a little too eager to see who wanders in from time to time.


[He straightens, unfolding his arms and gesturing at Rinwell.]


You’re welcome to look around any time you like. The environment I’ve based my domain on is like a second home. It’s called Kamar-Taj, a place where sorcerers would train and reflect.


[And then a glance over to the townhouse in the middle of the grounds, a strange building which look out of place via architecture alone.]


That’s my actual home back in New York.


[Well, a facsimile of it, but they all understand the logistics here.]

[rinwell]

That's okay. I'd be too, honestly. My place is.. [she turns then, trying to figure out the direction. She still hasn't quite worked out how all the pieces fit together here, only that they do.] Out..that way? North west, at least. More snow than here, or most other places.

[ The gesture of welcome seems out of place on the rather serious looking man, but Rinwell gives him a smile anyway, and Hootle bobs his head in acknowledgement. That smile gives way to something that is both amazed and perhaps delighted, when he mentions sorcerers and training. ]

Kamar-Taj.. It's beautiful. [Aside from...well. The slice of New York that sticks out like a very sore thumb, thanks to its very different architecture.] Are there many who can use magic where you're from?

let's call this... early-to-mid December?

[unnecessaryflourishes]

[If there's one thing Emet-Selch has found, in his wanderings, it's that there are very few spaces that are built for people the size of the form he takes in the Horizon. This is not a surprise, precisely, given how matters are even on the world he might otherwise call his own, but it does mean that he is often forced to either adjust his own height or abandon the idea of exploring all together.

Today, he has opted for the former, or rather, had right up until he'd found himself in a very spacious library with conveniently tall ceilings and had promptly returned to his proper size, with nary a thought as to what the owner of this particular domain might think to find a veritable giant of a man standing in the middle of their library - and giant he is, given that he stands some 15 feet tall.

The fact that he's dressed in long (if simple) robes and has long pale hair besides are not nearly as eye-catching in comparison to his absolutely ridiculous height, but even so, he cuts a very odd figure, as he peruses the shelves, apparently not so much looking for any one thing as simply seeing what sorts of things the shelves might contain.]

that works wonderfully!

[sorser]

[Now this is a curious visitor, Stephen thinks when he sees him, a giant of a man who’s wandered into his domain and found himself planted within the confines of the library. Though his stature is… noticeable, dwarfing Stephen who isn’t exactly short in human terms, there’s something else he senses—magically, perhaps—that nibbles at his inherent curiosity even more. He can’t exactly put his finger on it, his sense of those who wander into his domain more a fleeting impression than a thorough reading, but it warrants further investigation.

Does the man even see him in his periphery as he approaches? Stephen wonders, suddenly feeling abnormally low to the ground, and instead opts to hover on the opposite side of the bookshelf, floating up and up with his red cloak billowing at his back, until he finally reaches eye-level with the man across from him.]

Out of all places in this version of the Sanctum, you’ve stood in the library the longest.

[His brow arches. He doesn’t bother to hide the once-over.]

So either you’re bored and killing time, a fan of reading, or you’re having trouble finding something. [It’s vaguely flippant at best; he knows someone doesn’t just wander into a strange area, looking for a strange, nameless book upon a random shelf.] That shelf’s all basic Eldritch magic spell casting, by the way.

[hi, whoooo are you]

[unnecessaryflourishes]

[For all that he may not have been able to see Stephen out of the corner of his eye, he'd been aware of another presence in the room. Enough to be aware that he hadn't been entirely alone, at least, though it isn't until he speaks that Emet-Selch turns to look at him... and in so doing reveals one last surprise. A pair of yellow eyes that seem to almost be glowing.]

Can I not simply be curious? It's hardly every day one sees such a faithfully recreated library. [A pause.] I presume it is a recreation?

[He knows that things need not be, here in the Horizon. But as his own domain is a similar recreation, he feels the need to ask.

More interesting, perhaps, is the fact that despite his size, his voice is no deeper than any other man's. Indeed, it isn't even a voice that would be considered particularly deep were he not several times a normal person's height. Nor does he object to the obvious once-over - and should Stephen have the ability to sense it, there is definitely a sense of magic about him. And a not insignificant amount at that - whoever, or whatever, he is, he has the power to be quite the sorcerer if he isn't already.]

More advanced spells would be further along, yes?

[This too, is largely idle curiosity for the moment. But it's still something that is loosely relevant, and it never hurts to know more about the places in which he has found himself.]

[sorser]

[All right. Duly noted: vaguely glowing yellow eyes, and a voice that doesn’t sound like it belongs to a giant as he’d expect. But all that barely registers on the scale of interesting, at least comparatively, to what he senses from this man. An absolutely fount of potent magical energy, nothing to scoff at.

Just who’s wandered into his domain today? Another sorcerer? A cosmic entity? There’s something to be said about a situation where either case is just as likely.]

This is the library of Kamar-Taj, a place of study and training for sorcerers back home. The building you entered is located elsewhere, but why not mix things up when we’re given the chance?

[The Sanctum’s libraries were stuffed to the gills with texts, too, but nothing like the equivalent of a sorcerer’s “homebase”, where information across the ages—including the ones that needed the privilege of higher security—was where the real heavy duty reading converged and collected.

Not that it mattered here. It all personal preference, and easily changed on a whim. Anyway, Stephen’s going to prod a little more before he directs this man towards more complicated reading.]

That depends. What do you consider more advanced? I’m guessing you’re not a newbie in the spellcasting department.

[Clearly fishing. He knows because he can sense it poignantly.]

[unnecessaryflourishes]

[Not a cosmic entity as Stephen likely knows them, at least. But more than a mere mortal nonetheless, even by the standards of his own world - and his own people. He does, however, appear to be somewhat less than inclined to make an active threat of himself. Instead, he nods at the explanation of where they happen to be standing, and though the names mean nothing to Emet-Selch, the idea of it being a place of study and training is something that he can understand.]

Why not indeed?

[His own domain might not be such a mingling of bits and pieces from various places, true. But that is neither here nor there at the moment, and instead he simply shrugs at Stephen's question.]

As I am familiar with neither the texts of your world nor what would be considered commonplace among sorcerers of any caliber therein, perhaps it would be easier if you were to show me what you would consider more advanced spellcraft? Though your assumption would not be incorrect. The vast majority of my people had at least some ability with spellcraft.

[And he likely more so than most, for all that he has not yet directly admitted to such.]

oh, you know ;)

[piqure]

[ falling into the horizon was starting to become easier. a proverbial leap that’s taken a little bit of practice to settle into until finding his way through it with a bit more surety.

finding stephen’s horizon had a particular feeling to it, and Peter has gotten used to following it within the course of several short lessons. it felt familiar and fathomless both, like a deep breath before the plunge, until he was back on bleeker st, until he was walking through those doors and standing in something so distinctly removed from everything he had been used to previously. and yet, still closer to home than much else.

better here than his own horizon, still a mismatched amalgamation of an apartment that hurt a little too much to be in for too long. it had been all he could think of at the time.

he tried, for what it was worth, to not fuss around with influencing stephen’s space since the last time he had, frenetic energy instead focused on the sorcerer’s tutelage, listening to concepts and theories and explanations, filled to the brim with questions and the sort of giddiness that hasn’t yet faded. he was learning magic! ned would freak out if he knew!

today was another of those days.

or at least, it started out that way. though when he stepped through the threshold, there was a stutter in his step, and a drop in the pit of his belly. he stills, brows creased.

was something wrong? did it feel off today? but - it was the horizon, something he barely really understood. was his ability even the same here? was this realm dangerous in a way he wasn’t aware of? where would danger even come from? peter tries to shake the feeing off, pinpricks along his back. a roll of his shoulders, but the unease lingers in a disquieting sort of lurch. yet he keeps his footfalls steady and surefooted and it’s him finding dr strange first now, up the grand stair. ] Um — Stephen?

[ still strange, but getting less so, to him. ] Hey, I’m not late am I?

let's goooo

[sorser]

[Magic’s warped and waned, and Stephen can feel its energy running him through like a lance, only to disappear altogether in the next moment. Rinse and repeat — over and over again. In the waking world, and in the Horizon, the result is the same, and he can only assume that something is happening to the Singularity. A thought that would be worrisome on its own, but Stephen has been left irritated and touched with a vague sense of mania, seeking a way to force his magic into place, make it comply as it once did. His priorities are needle-point focused and self-centered, which he may regret when the fog of displaced and missing magic clears.

But for now, he’s working.

And he’s nowhere in the foyer, awaiting Peter on the grand staircase as is the norm, eager to get their lesson started for the sake of efficiency. Stephen is tucked away in the center of his domain’s library, fashioned after the one in Kamar-Taj, rows and rows of shelves stuffed with books, rummaging through them as if to rummage through his own memory, seeking any solution to the problem that plagues him.

The Sanctum lurches, makes one’s stomach drop like standing at an odd angle in a funhouse. It teleports Peter, transplants him right into the library, uncaring of how he lands.]

No lessons today, Peter.

[Snappish, impatient. Stephen stands with his back to the young man, books swirling around him in a slow-moving spiral. He plucks one from the trail, flips through it, finds it wanting, sends it back into the queue. The process repeats.]

I’m busy.

[piqure]

[ one minute he’s standing — or rather, walking up the stairs, following some sort of expectation to see Stephen where he thinks he’ll be — and the next he’s free falling, a lurch that shoves his breath from his lungs enough that he doesn’t even have a second to gasp, but he still lands on his haunches, knees bent to catch his weight and hand catching the last of his balance, fingers lightly splaying on the ground. it’s sudden and unexpected but his reflexes act before anything else and when all is said and done he lifts himself up and feels only mildly affronted. ] Okay — what was that —

[ oh. ] Oh.

Okay, [ tries not to sound disappointed, and sounds worried instead. follows the swirls of books around them, and magic prickling at the nape of his neck (he can only call it that, but it feels - does it feel different? it feels odd somehow, more persistent, more of it, and he turns himself around, following the flow. brows furrow, and it’s even more difficult to shake the feeling that something’s not entirely right and his concern only spikes. ] Is — is everything okay?

[ he heard that intonation from stephen before, on more than one occasion. a snap, call me sir hissed through in the near future-past.

he knew the reason for that. he wasn’t so sure now.

and — who would he be if he walked away from trouble? if dr strange needed help with something…

undeterred, he takes a step closer, hand snapping out to stop an errant book from clobbering him in the head. ]

[sorser]

[He doesn’t even turn to face him, hearing his approach, feeling the jittering interruption in the circle of books floating around them as Peter stops its trajectory. His annoyance, an ember already stoked, grows a little hotter. He does not need another distraction; in his current state of mind, with the Singularity’s unsteady magic setting him on edge, that is all Peter represents.]

My magic—

[He starts, eager to give him the most bare-bones explanation imaginable, to impress the seriousness of the situation so that he can shoo Peter out of here even more quickly. After all, if he had just teleported him out without rhyme or reason, the kid’s sense of concern—ever present—will just bring him back in. He’s sure of it.]

—it isn’t working. Not how it should. There’s something happening, something—

[The timing’s impeccable. Peter receives an example, unexpected by both: the books that had been circling about all stop, their pages fluttering like the nervous wings of a hummingbird, vibrating impossibly fast, and explode on the spot.

It’s an eruption of paper, bindings, veritable confetti of old texts now shredded into uselessness. Stephen whirls on his heel in just enough time to watch it happen, cursing and pressing the heel of his palm against an eye.]

I have no control.

[It rankles him in ways it shouldn’t any longer. Makes him feel as though his purpose has been carved out of him a second time; the loss of his magic harkens back to the loss of the higher functioning of his hands, and he can’t abide by it.]

[piqure]

[ there's something happening and it spikes more worry, pinpoints peter's attention.

dr strange's tone isn't unfamiliar in this moment at all — he's heard it more times than he hasn't, in the course of several weeks, sharp and brimming with annoyance. it may be seconds away from snapping. but when has an obstinate mood ever prevented peter from sticking things out?

the tinnitus of senses ringing in his ears sharpens abruptly as the swirl of texts crescendos, as he stands and watches stephen run through the motions. it reaches a peak and stills and peter is dropping downwards into a crouch just as the eruption occurs, a pivot on his heels for his back to take the brunt of force. it isn't anything worse than what he's been dropped through before but its a perfectly timed affirmation to peter's blatant suspicions that yeah, no shit, something's really off right now.

a flurry of pages, of leather-bound tomes and the remnants thereof and peter's concern grows instead of lessens when he straightens up, and looks at stephen, takes a cautionary step towards him as the other's attempts at dismissing him go fully and completely ignored.

it had never been in the boy's nature to turn away from people - a steadfast sort of morality (even if it chokes him). an arguable flaw nearly as much as it wasn't. ] Okay — okay well, that's new, right? [ mind, sprinting through what possible solutions he can provide. comes up blank because he just doesn't know enough about magic but — ]

Do you think it's something about this place? Did something happen? [ last time things went sideways was ... well, was when he messed up the spell. he's seventy-five percent confident it wasn't him this time.

its unfortunate peter doesn't know how to take a hint and leave but it didn't feel right to do so. ]

horizon! (libary)

[furibund]

[ The woman blinks once then twice. She - they - have been dropped into a large room with shelves that tower far taller than she is. Not endless, but she thinks this would be an amount of information (reading) that would take years. She places them correctly as the word "books," but has a feeling she doesn't... Really have experience with them. Archaic means of holding information, some part of her offers and she has to agree. ]

[ Though she's not entirely sure how she would know that or what a book is because the more she stares at the spines the more she realizes none of these titles make a lick of sense to her. Unknown or foreign? How did she get here? She wracks her brain, feels the computer spinning and -- ]

[ — Has no answer. ]

[ Makes a low sound of frustration and turns quickly, as if the next shelf will have an answer because as far as she can tell she's the only one in this room (she's not). The books on this shelf are — ]

[ — Not books. ]

[ She doesn't know what a vinyl is exactly, but she knows music. Somehow. The one she spots first is familiar - like something she's heard more times than she can count (more times than she wants to count). Before she can stop herself her fingers dart out to grab the cover to Mr. Blue Sky with a too deep scowl of concentration.]

[sorser]

[They're dropped in, simply present amid his Horizon domain crafted to look like the Sanctum, couched by books upon books upon books. His library. He's appeared in the neighboring aisle from her -- he can see her form move past the spines of tomes and the spaces between the shelving, and Stephen...

He lets her browse for now. Lets her pick a vinyl off the shelf, not choosing to interrupt just yet. A first-timer to the Horizon is in a delicate state, he knows that; he's been there, too. Memories gone missing, only faraway echoes in the mind sometimes elected in the Horizon itself. He wonders if that's the case now, if what music she's plucked from the shelves has some meaning, if it hails from some galaxy brimming with alien music that wouldn't exist in his domain if not for the fact that she stands here now.

So, after a few moments of letting her scowl down at the vinyl cover itself, he moves forward in quiet, steady steps. Turns the corner to finally face her properly, announcing his presence with a-]

Find something good?

[Eyes rove across the vinyl itself, but he's not quite near enough to tell which it is yet.]

[furibund]

[ Let's call it a trick of her ears - weakened in Abraxas - or something in the singularity: she doesn't hear him until he's right behind her. When he speaks she whirls to face him, free hand turning into a fist she pulls back at her side. ]

Don't sneak up on people.

[ She hisses back a demand, nose wrinkling as she says it - near the appearance of hissing cat in human form. Brows pinching together as she stares at him, neither lowering vinyl or fist. She doesn't know him. Not really. Pieces together that he's human but there's - ]

[ - relief? At not being alone? Someone reliable? Not trust exactly, but it prevents her from punching him like she's thinking about. ]

... I don't know.

[ If it's good or not, she means. ]

[sorser]

[Okay. Maybe announcing himself so quickly wasn't the best idea, and Stephen raises up his hands, palms forward, in a placating manner.]

Woah, woah. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm just here to browse, same as you.

[Well, it's partially the truth. He's here to let her browse, let the strange, surreal reality of the Horizon sink in. Her brows pinch, but his own hike up, and he smooths his gaze down to the vinyl in question.]

Ah, that's... Well, you got yourself a single there. [He can see it better now that she's turned around.] Electric Light Orchestra. Not a bad pick. Did you want to give it a listen?

[furibund]

[ Nebula doesn't shift her position even at the universal sign of 'stand down'. Mouth in a low line as she considers him - deciding if he's a threat or not. That stupid little sense of belief says to trust him, in some form, and so her fist does not unclench but it relaxes more readily by her side. ]

I wasn't browsing.

[ Stiffly. Petulant to be petulant. Was she browsing? She doesn't know, she's not sure how she got here - ]

A single. [ She repeats the word, dubious - that's less familiar than the music itself. She glances at the cover, trying to piece together why it drew her to it. Not a bad pick, she smothers down the pride that wants to rise as she gives a short nod - turns the vinyl in his direction: ]

Yes.

... Please.