Eighth Casefile: Reversed Fortunes

[quicktoanger]

[Action: Your character's living room!]

I noticed a few problems immediately.

The first was that I wasn't outside of Johnny Marcone's office building. In fact, I wasn't even outside. I seemed to be in some sort of small apartment. 

The second was that I couldn't feel the Winter Mantle. Which sucked, because I had been in really, really rough shape.

The third was that I wasn't in really, really rough shape. In fact, I felt fine. The only thing that hurt was my back.

The fourth was that my back hurt. Specifically, my shoulderblades hurt. And I had the most peculiar feeling of deja vu, in the same way that getting dropped into molten steel gives you a peculiar feeling of warmth. That, and the familiarity of the apartment...

"Oh hell's bells, you cannot be serious."

[OOC: So for today's exceptionally late re-intro, enjoy 1 Harry Dresden, slightly confused, and appearing in somebody else's house for a change.]
 

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GOOD GOOD

[misterbrief]

[He stares at Harry with no interest in his words whatsoever, face still as hard as stone as he approaches him. Nothing fast, a casual gait that wouldn't suggest anything dangerous. Contrary to what his expression might tell, he's not that angry- this has happened far too many times in the past to blow up about.

He only wants him out.

Gazing upwards at a man who is clearly so tall that he has to fly to even touch his head, he opts for something more within reach. A hand shoots out as he steps to Harry's side quickly, and tries to pinch one of his wings. Nothing too hard, enough for a grip between his two fingers but not enough to bring Harry to his knees or anything. But if he does grab it, it's going to hurt like a bitch.]

[quicktoanger]

Well, he didn't rise to the bait. Disappointing. I always like to know I can smartass with the best of them.

Still, he also didn't seem to be lightening up. He took a couple steps toward me, no fighting stance, nothing setting off alarm bells- until he reached for me.

And I mean fast. So fast I could barely even see it. And even as I tried too late to twist aside from the grasp, I could already feel the hand on my wing.

And then I felt the pain. Hell's freaking bells. I remembered enough about Luceti to know the wings were a giant weak point no matter who had them, and I knew they hurt, but me and pain are old friends. We go way back.

This, this was different. This plucked at my entire nervous system and set all my nerves on fire. I clamped my eyes closed and concentrated on my breathing. Deep breath in, deep breath out. And then my eyes opened again and I stared down at him.

"That was the exact opposite of what I meant."

[misterbrief]

[He tugs on the wing. Tug tug. And then he starts to walk towards his door, with the intent of dragging Harry with him, still silent. Any resistance is met with a little harder tug and a lot more pain.

He'd be lying if he denied not enjoying a little bit of this.]

And now I make up for the delay by being a giant shit again.

[quicktoanger]

Well. The defiant and unreasonably stubborn part of me wanted to find a way to further defy the jerk on principle.

However, there was a more rational part of me that pointed out what a crappy position I was really in to do that. I'd just have to let this guy get away with being an asshole, so I didn't try to resist as he tugged me to the door with that astonishingly strong grip.

That and it hurt. I mean, seriously. I'd forgotten just how sensitive the wings were. Damned inconvenient, that.

So since resistance was out of the question, I decided to vent my petty spite another way. Gathering my will, I began to look around for whatever device looked the most technologically sophisticated in the room.

"Alright, alright, I get the hint. I'm going. You really could have just asked, ya big goof."

It was a feeble attempt to annoy him further, but I wasn't on my A-game at that moment.

lolol it's okay!

[misterbrief]

[The room isn't highly decorated. As technologically inclined as the entire family is, without the presence of Bulma, there's not a lot. Vegeta has never required anything but the basics, and all the tech is in Bulla's room. His journal lies on the table in front of the couch, the most advanced thing in the room. The house is small, so as Harry is dragged across the living room, he should be able to see the fridge and the oven in the kitchen. A clock hangs on the wall, but that's pretty much it. The man doesn't even have a TV.]

That's right, you're going. [When he gets to the front door, he opens it and glares back at Harry.] Out.