windandstorm | we both know the mirror's cracked and everybody's in the act...

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we both know the mirror's cracked and everybody's in the act...

[Desiree is feeling very unsettled. Currently, she's standing in what seems to look an awful lot like her bedroom, but she knows it isn't. There are two reasons this isn't her room: One, she doesn't have that many pillows on her bed - she used to, but not anymore. 2) Only seconds ago, she was in a dressing room at a high-end clothing store. So how did she get here...?

She hears something (Someone? You?) moving in the hallway outside. She squeezes into the space between the open door and the wall, wincing a bit when the door's hinges creeeeaak loudly. Still, she positions herself where she can peer through the crack. She waits and watches - and if danger is approaching, she knows exactly how she's getting the heck out of here...]

((OoC: Voice test! She's a shapeshifter, you've been warned. Be gentle?))

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[ Vincent really doesn't enjoy being in this bizarro version of his own home, but at least he's not incredibly lost or something. Even if the door outside doesn't actually lead outside.

He's been systematically checking the rooms, though, just in case he's not the only one here. When he notices a particular door is open... ]

Desiree?

[The door lets out another loud moan as she pushes it forward and moves into view. She's relieved it's just Vince and not some total stranger, but at the same time, who knows what all of this means.]

Yeah, uh, hey... [She bites her lip as she tries to think of the best way to say "This isn't really my room," without sounding too mental. ... Failing, she just rolls with it.] Something's not right here.

Tell me about it. [ He thumbs over his shoulder, concern flickering over his face. ] Front door doesn't work.

It doesn't? Well, neither does the front door of Neiman Marcus. [She moves over to the shopping bags she dropped, scoops them up and tosses them on the bed.

After that, she goes still. Should she be getting into ass-kicking mode? Investigation mode? Should she just stay as she is? All she knows is that she doesn't like this one bit. She speaks to Vince without actually turning to look at him.]

Hey, Vince? Where's everyone else?

[ Vince watches, leaning against the doorjamb. ] No idea. Back home, I'd guess. Probably safer than we are, but given that it's home... I could be wrong.

[That puts her even more alert. She turns, but more so she can see the doorway than to actually face Vince (though that's part of the reason, too).]

We should get out of here, then. Like, right now. Or we need to find out who's behind this, wherever they are, and I'll take care of it.

[ Vince moves so that he can wave her through the door. By all means. Now that she's changed position, though, he sees all of the bags on the bed... ]

Desi, how much did you spend?

[Just like that, her demeanor goes from super heroine back to young girl with a retail therapy problem. She gets a little defensive, narrowing her eyes and fiddling with the end of her skirt with one hand.]

Not that much! And it's not your money, so... [She shakes her head rapidly. Now is not the time! Focus!] Nevermind! But you're right, I don't want to leave it all behind, that's a waste.

[ Oh, sister. He shakes his head while rolling his eyes. ] If I carry it, since I know you're not going to, you'll have to handle any baddies we may or may not run into along the way, or deal with it when I drop all your shit.

You drop it, you owe me. There's crystal in there. Earrings. On sale. [Cheesy grin~!] Thank you, my sweet, loving brother.

Put it on Travis' tab. [ He moves to grab the bags, however, peeking inside at what Desi could honestly have found so amazing to have bought it at the ridiculously overpriced fashion store. ] You're so very welcome, my dear sister.

[Oh, you know, just a few things... Two pairs of shoes, A skirt, a pair of pants, a nice top, a dress, three pairs of fabulously shiny earrings... Anyway, once he has the bags, she begins walking out of the room and down the hallway.]

He's running out of credit. [And while she's on the topic, yes, let's get indignant!] Can you believe he'd "mistake" [airquotes!] my workout shirt for a rag to work on the car with? I still don't buy it!

They're pretty indistinguishable sometimes. [ With that, he steps it up and makes sure he's outside of swatting range. ]

[She wasn't really trying to smack him anyway, just a warning shot, of sorts. She shakes her head.]

How did you get here? And how long ago? Tell me anything you think I should know.

Well, I don't know about here, but I haven't been home in almost two months. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if I was still in Bete Noire somehow.

[She shakes her head again.]

No way, I saw you this morning before I left the house. You were going to help Kelsie with something-or-other.

[It's said with a kind of "Psh, no, you're just wrong," matter-of-fact kind of tone.]

[ He slows down, gives her a searching look. ]

Really?

[She turns to face him, a single eyebrow arched, and gives him a searching look of her own. Vince clearly wasn't joking, and Vince would have no reason to lie about something like this at a time like this.]

Yeah. Really.

[ There are many things he could say to that, ways to deny it or refute or prove that he's not making it up. But one particular thing sticks out above all else. ]

So you're not looking for me.

[She shakes her head, frowning, clearly worried.]

No. I mean, I saw you this morning. It's only been a few hours. And besides, you were going to be with Kelsie, so...

Desiree, I'm not with Kelsie. I'm in a city in an alternate dimension or what-the-fuck-ever with magic and demons and angels and... shit.

You're what? Alternate dimension? You... what the hell is that supposed to mean? You're right here! With me! Not... wherever. What are you talking about?

Well, I'm right here now, but I how the hell am I supposed to know if this isn't there? [ Sighs, takes a moment to collect his thoughts. ] It's hard to explain. I hardly know what's going on there sometimes, either.

Alright. Look. Can we sort out the philosophical weirdness when we get out of this creepily accurate model of our house? I mean, if we need to find you, we will, but...

You're right. [ Game face is go. Not the time to be freaking out about the lack of a rescue party. ] Let's keep looking. If the front door doesn't work, there's got to be somewhere...

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