MarinaNova Asylum

[ He knows it's not real. None of this is, if he's to believe Kitty but a thing doesn't have to be real to have a very real effect on his mindset. You'd think that such a simple thing as brushing your teeth in the morning would be a safe activity, but this is Marina where nothing is safe. He spends a good half minute staring at his reflection, fingers brushing angrily at the words but all that does is smear not-blood over his skin, a fresh batch welling up in their wake.

c o w a r d

Eventually he pulls himself away, unsure if the chickenscratched letters are still there. It stings his eyes but maybe it's just imagination running down his face. Either way he wishes his hair was cut differently, something to hide behind rather than tie back in barefaced honesty. Honest he can no longer claim.

He keeps his head bowed as he hits the streets, forcing himself through the routine motions while hunting for something to wear. A hat, a cap. Something that'd let him pass a shop window without feeling a deep stab of guilt at his own reflection. By now his fingers have rubbed his forehead into a true redness, regardless of the imaginary blood. Motions bordering on manic, Aidan does what he can to keep himself from scratching. From drawing blood. ]

[ Her skin is falling off.

Or rather, her skin looks to be falling off in big, rotten chunks, dirt dusting her hair. She's never been more aware of what her skull looks like and the scary thing here, the really scary thing is that she can't tell for sure if it's actually happening. It feels right, when she looks at herself. Closing her eyes, Chuck carefully feels out the shape of her face, finding smooth skin and round cheeks as always. She seems alright. She doesn't look it.

Just to be safe, she wraps her head up in a scarf, puts on sunglasses to cover up parts of her face. Maybe her time ran out. Maybe there's more to Ned's power than even he knows, things that affect humans but not dogs. Digby never fell into tiny meaty chunks, but that doesn't mean she won't.

Brave in the face of her own expired mortality, Chuck heads out to get to the bottom of this, looking more like a mummy than the corpse she feels like. ]

[ Voice, closed to Ton. ]

Ton, could you, uhm. I need your help.

[ If it's one thing Spike knows, it's magical shenanigans. Seeing a reflection of a much younger man, a living man for all intents and purposes, when he should be seeing nothing at all stink to high heaven of magic. Or, if not magic, the usual wankery prison throws at them. There's no doubt in his mind that this is another fakey-fake trick, designed to poke and prod at their weak spots.

He's not sure if it's in an effort of neighborly camaraderie or just annoyance at the potential daftness of his fellow inmates, but this seems like a good time for a PSA. ]

I wouldn't put it past you lot to miss the bleedin' obvious, but... don't trust your eyes. Something's up.