Whatever Wanda may have expected from the apartment of a magical demon man she'd found bullet-ridden in an alleyway, this was definitely not it. The place wasn't dark, spooky or macabre; his apartment was nice, modern, and he seemed well-off. The front door opened onto a long living room with shelves along two of its walls and an archway leading into a kitchen and, Wanda could only assume, other rooms beyond. At the opposite end of the living room, tall windows in exposed brick walls streamed afternoon sunlight onto a dark wood floor. Overhead, the high ceiling was painted white to brighten the narrow room. A light-colored sofa and chairs populated the middle of the room along with a few tables and plants. The décor was stylish but painfully mundane. The only hint that anyone peculiar lived here were scattered candles, a few arcane knick-knacks, and the ancient leather bound books cramming floor to ceiling shelves.
"You seem to be doing very well for yourself," she remarked wryly and shook her head. The normalcy of his apartment was somehow the strangest part of this whole ordeal. Those men attacked him as if he were some monstrous evil creature and here he was with real estate in Brooklyn, living in bourgeoisie luxury. After the horrors she'd seen in his head, this was absolutely absurd. Well, she supposed, there was no reason to assume a demon couldn't live comfortably, maybe this was just how a modern monster lived in the big city. Perhaps it was the final ebb of adrenaline, a release of tension now that they were relatively safe, but a laugh escaped her and then she couldn't stop. She leaned against the archway into the kitchen and laughed until tears sprung up in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she managed breathlessly, scrubbing her face with her hands and then grinning at him. "It's just too much." She gestured around his apartment, "You're Čudovište. Ah, a devil. Fire in your head, magic in your hands, that mark on your chest- and you live here. It's nice, but it's so normal."