"I know it is a good look on me, I'm much too vain not to pick out a good look before sticking with it and ignoring clothing-related decisions for months on end. I wonder if you could alter Parabola linen if you got some..."

"Maybe? Not sure. There aren't things with magical properties that magical girls did not make at home to try this with."

"Yes...hm. I can make a dynamic image of Parabola linen, I might be able to make the stuff itself. But I might not; Parabola might actually be important."

"It's probably not that important unless I ever need to stop a very large object."

"Figuring out how to do new things with magic is fun though. And you would look stunning, which is its own reward."

"Well, if you hand me some I'll be happy to play around with it."

"I shall absolutely do so if and when the opportunity presents itself. You said you power was stopping things, what kind of things? Like, you could stop a moving object, but does something have to be actively happening before you can stop it? I'm wondering if you could stop me from using Correspondence-magic when I speak."

"I could stop you from speaking, although I'd be a little worried about accidentally stopping you from breathing. I'm not sure if I could just stop the magic, but maybe?"

"It'd be interesting if you could."

"Why?"

"Because if I'm modeling it right it might be less oomph to only cancel part of me talking than all of it? And there are people besides me who speak Correspondence."

"We're not as I understand it expecting any to show up and be hostile but I could try the experiment anyway."

"We're not, but I was on the topic of considering interactions between our magic systems anyway."

"Sure. It might take an outfit upgrade, though, so we shouldn't do it prematurely and draw conclusions."

"Makes sense." 

She returns to her civics book.

The day draws to a close; they head back to their rooms. Isabella generates her sleeping bag and does not dwell on how a diamond crab the size of a house with twelve legs would be so cool and could probably pick her up in one of the described pincer claws.

Lucy curls up on the floor in the blankets and does not dwell on how magnificent Isabella would look in glowing sunset colors, beckoning imperiously. 

The next day they rise early and meet Seymour out front. If he thinks it's odd that they don't have any real luggage, he doesn't comment. 

The countryside they pass on the way to the city is lovely. 

Xander sketches on the ride with some paper begged off of his sister.

Lucy scribbles in her notebook, her brow furrowing in thoughtful concentration. 

As they approach the city, the air quality worsens fast. 

"Eugh, they weren't kidding about it stinking here."

"It's temporary."

"It doesn't smell like the smog I'm used to."

"You're from, like, old-timey London, probably yours is either coal or magic, right?"

"...Coal. Magic doesn't--smell different than whatever being on normal fire."