Subject: It is, perhaps, not quite like home.
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Posted on: 2008-10-25 06:51:00 UTC

There is a young man here who moves with the alert confidence of someone who has won many battles. His long, uneven brown hair is tied back so as to obscure little of his face and less of his vision. However, the blue-and-green mask he wears covers at least enough of his face on its own.

As our imaginary viewer's eyes travel downward, they pause on a blue cape, a slightly battered breastplate over a gray-green tunic, and a worn sword hanging from the man's belt.

After a few moments spent looking around, Felix nods, steps forward a little, and holds out his hand. Those sensitive to magical or psychic phenomena would see a giant ghostly hand spring out from his own, close gently on a cup of Hot Bleepolate, and carry it back to him; those not so sensitive would simply see the cup flying into Felix's hand. He raises the cup to his mouth, but stops as it hits the mask. His other arm moves up into a facepalm.

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