This isn't where Raafi went to sleep. He'd set his bedroll up on a comfy patch of moss under a tree, and now - he still has the bedroll, at least, and his pack, but the tree and moss are nowhere to be seen, replaced by a strange metal room with still, stuffy air and an implausibly clear night sky out the window.
"Hello?" he calls, getting to his feet.
She smiles at him.
It's not a very pleasant smile, is it. He has a closer look at her binding.
It's the standard Ganymede binding for angels.
The receptionist is hyperventilating again but shakes his head.
Chaotic neutral.
Huh.
"I think I know some slaad you might like to meet. Or you can stay here - I don't think I'm going to bring you anywhere else without knowing more about this."
"What's a slaad?" she asks.
"A type of person. They have something like your outlook on life."
Smile.
Her binding does not allow her to come closer to him.
"I hear you're snapping bindings."
"Not without knowing what I'm doing. It takes a lot to get a human that upset."
"I think I have killed fewer people than Daha."
"You didn't ask her what she did. Or her boyfriend."
"But he's having an anxiety attack, so I must be very special."
"I could fix it for him. It's all chemicals."
"I'm sure you could. But my offer is what it is - the plane of chaos, or stay here, or tell me your story."
"And if I tell you my story?"
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