The Science Center at Cape Kore Network

It's difficult to paint one's nails when you've got a camera attached to your wrist, you know. [ The brush hovers just outside of the feed, threatening to drip purple paint everywhere, and Magnus' eyes - glamoured unless you have the inherent ability to see those golden cat eyes - blink sleepily at the unfashionable wedge locked to his skin. But suddenly the mood shifts. He grins, teeth sharp and very, very white. ] I'm a little confused as to why actually. I know I'm particularly fabulous but I'm not sure we could really drum up a whole cast for the next big reality show. Some of you are clearly Mundanes and while I find you very charming it's not like you're going to burst into a shower of champagne any time soon. Unless you're dreaming - which by the way, some of you obviously need psychiatric help. If I find a couch big enough I'll open my doors. But what's the point in filming all those hours of pointless activity in between?

[ His fingers let go of the brush for a second, letting it hover long enough for him to run a hand through his thick hair. It's immediate, the illusion shifting from him like running water. To the humans he changes - Magnus Bane the High Warlock of Brooklyn is tired of pretending. And so he gives the floating brush a grin, eyes flashing like a headlight has been shone to them. This is who he is. This place is clearly a melting pot for specific creatures and he's crippling himself by pretending to be normal. His derision is a ploy after all. Pretend to be bored and the villain usually shows his hand. It's something he learnt from a number of impudent but beautiful Herondales.

And Magnus has shown himself to the Mundanes before, if they react badly he can just - well, brood fashionably he supposes. On his psychiatric couch.

His magic doesn't last long though, not with the way the brush then shudders and drops to the floor, his spark dying out. Magnus blinks and then his features shift suddenly, frustration and anger mingling on his handsome face. ] Oh for the love of Kim Kardashian why is this happening?

[ His gaze narrows as he regards the bright splash of colour on the floor. It's been on and off since he got here. He had assumed that the trauma of being kidnapped had something to do with it. And then Alec had shown up and Magnus had other things to think about. Namely the shattered pieces of his sticky-taped heart. But he's not going there. ] All right, spill. Who's messing with my mojo?

[ Another pause. ] I need a drink.

Well, clearly somebody skipped the lesson on matching our accessories. [ The disembodied voice, with just the hint of several different countries in its depths, is joined by the blur of black and white mesh before it focuses on the deeply unhappy face of one Magnus Bane. To the untrained he looks normal - well, normal for a given use of the word - coloured skin and gold-green eyes. Of course, there's the glitter adorning those eyelids, and the hue of his lipstick to contend with but come on, it's the twenty-first century. He has a reputation to uphold.

To those of a more supernatural persuasion Magnus is more Chesire like. In that those eyes are shaped like a cats and flash when he moves as though light has been shone into his face. ]

Whoever thought that dragging me from my planned alcohol induced revelry was a good idea - it wasn't. Next time how about a nice RSVP. One of those little envelopes gilded in gold. Or sent with a goody bag. I like bonbons. In fact I only party with people who like bonbons. If you don't there's something deeply disturbing about you and I suggest you see a psychiatrist immediately. Or phone up the late-night psychics. Mistress Night read my palm once. [ A grin. ] And other places. My future's very bright.

[ A pause, and then the smirk drops off his face. ] Come on faceless and mysterious message givers, I haven't got all day. I have a nice loft all of my own and while your hospitality is interesting there are still several bars in Brooklyn that require my ability to drink them dry.

[ Who dares disturb the High Warlock, indeed. ]