The candlelight behind the curtain is not coming from the alcove there- but from within the full-length mirror behind it. Barry's reflection in the mirror raises its eyebrows, and answers him in a smoky contralto voice.
"Perhaps," the reflection says. "But probably not to your satisfaction."
The real Barry's eyebrows, on the other hand, drop into a sharp, surprised frown, and he lifts his other hand to press against the glass of the mirror, seeing if an Arcane Knowledge check might tell him anything: this looks like some form of divination, if nothing else.
"Can't be worse than what I've already gathered. Uh. You've decided I'm on your team, o-or that I kind of represent what you're about, I guess. And I'm supposed to help you win?"
"If I was correct to choose you, then you would be hard-pressed not to help me win," his reflection says, still in a lounge-singer purr. The surface of the mirror feels like gauze or cotton candy, and his hand will sink in, slightly: a portal, more than a divination.
He's learned the Rider-Waite definitions floating around by now. Love, relationships - otherworldliness seemed a bit on the nose.
"I, uh. Suppose that depends on what you wanna win, huh. The last time me and any family met something that was capable of pulling one of us out of our universe, he was kind of an asshole."
And with his hand still on the apparently-not-glass, he pushes gently, seeing if his hand doesn't go through.
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"Perhaps," the reflection says. "But probably not to your satisfaction."
no subject
"Can't be worse than what I've already gathered. Uh. You've decided I'm on your team, o-or that I kind of represent what you're about, I guess. And I'm supposed to help you win?"
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"I, uh. Suppose that depends on what you wanna win, huh. The last time me and any family met something that was capable of pulling one of us out of our universe, he was kind of an asshole."
And with his hand still on the apparently-not-glass, he pushes gently, seeing if his hand doesn't go through.