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"The cat is her familiar, and having him allows her to cast spells."

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"Interesting." Pause. "It's non-transferable, isn't it. No trips to the pet shop for an extra set of magic?"

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"No, you need a spirit animal for it. Only people from the plane have one."

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"I wish I could say I was surprised, but." He looks up in a skyward direction. "No, universe, you'll not drive me to drinking. Console yourself somehow, this behavior is getting embarrassing."

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"We may yet find transferable magic," says Isabella encouragingly. "I mean, I guess Pantheon magic is transferable. Just not horizontally, you have to get gods to like you."

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"How long does that take on average?"

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"For me, not long, but I was resurrecting their deceased acolytes."

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"Then maybe I can placate them with a large showy display of magic."

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Cypress does not comment. Conspicuously.

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"Sorry," apologizes Prime.
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"Well, you can introduce yourself, at any rate, once you make us a portal back to the mountain Spring is living on now."

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"Certainly. Speaking of which -" He finishes the last of his meal. "- everything's taken care of. To sleep, then?"

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"Mm-hm. But presumably not at your kitchen table."

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"As enjoyable as it would be to have my face become acquainted with its surface, no. Bedroom."

He gets up to go there! Presumably Isabella and Cypress will follow.
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Well, Isabella does. Cypress is technically superfluous.

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He is, but he is going to supervise anyway. Because, wife. With an alt that killed him. It's an absurd thing to worry about, considering that Prime's an alt of himself and the entire affair was an accident, but. Wife.

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And then they are at Prime's bedroom, it's not like it was a long walk.

"Is the sleep instant, or can I ask you to spell me here and I crawl into bed by my own power?"
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"It will take effect instantly when I'm through the poem."

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"Okay," he shrugs, and he opens the door with a murmured, 'Boop.'

The room itself is nice, and well kept, though it looks like recently things have become rather messy - papers left on the desk when they could be neatly stacked, books not returned to the nearby bookshelf, that sort of thing. It's still nice, and there are curious and obviously magical things just - around.

Prime takes off his shoes and sits on the bed. "All right, ready."
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Isabella recites the poem. This one rhymes and she actually learned it to a tune, as a lullaby, so bits of singsong creep into the casting.

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Prime doesn't comment on the singsong quality, though he does look faintly amused.

And then, flop. He's out like a light.
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Isabella backs out of the room politely.

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Cypress follows, and closes the door behind them.

"Well. At least I'm not in danger of being boring when I'm five hundred."
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"Were you expecting to be?"

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"No, but it's nice to know, anyway."

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