[ 'Magic'. That's the name for remote incidents whereby logic is suspended and the unknown substitutes the expected. Loki's told him so. Loki's brought green wisps of airy nothing with it, and that was pretty and ethereal and brief — where this is hearty. Raw. Lasting, when Dio pointedly blinks once, then again, then very slowly, and the flower is still there.
No slight of hand, this. He's measured the room enough to say so. No sleight of hand, no mischief, no explicable anomaly. Just a (drunk) man and his flower and Dio, stepping back from both. ]
I don't want it anymore. [ It is, in fact, many days past due. ] It's too late.
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No slight of hand, this. He's measured the room enough to say so. No sleight of hand, no mischief, no explicable anomaly. Just a (drunk) man and his flower and Dio, stepping back from both. ]
I don't want it anymore. [ It is, in fact, many days past due. ] It's too late.