. . .
"It is only through shadows that one comes to know the light."
—St. Catherine of Siena.
. . .
Travelling through shadows is... not at all what Alastor expected, to be honest. Then again, he literally has no idea what to expect from here on out.
I mean, it's just shadow... right?
Somewhere up in Mount Olympus, he can almost picture Thalia, the goddess of Comedy herself, snorting in laughter at his wishful thinking.
The moment his ears caught the faint sound of an alarm coming from the direction of her room, he assumed that it was time to leave or something. Luckily, he guessed right because Winters approached him after a few minutes in the living room, dressed in a trench coat that reminded him of the first time he saw her.
"Uh... so, where are your bags?" Alastor finally asked, gesturing to her hands that were buried deep within her pockets.
Other than her sword—the idea that another being, another god was with her is still so confusing—Winters doesn't seem to bring anything else with her. It's also a bit awkward since he had his trusty, mountaineering backpack on and the groceries they had bought already packed in another luggage and ready to be wheeled.
Compared to her, it looked like he's been packing excessively and it's beginning to embarrass him because it shows just how excited it was for this trip. I mean, come on, can you blame him?!
It's JAPAN!
"I stored it," she answered, before holding out a hand to him.
Not thinking much of it, he held her hand.
For a moment, Winters only stared at him then at their conjoined hands, at the way he interlaces his fingers with her's. Her face was completely blank... before pointedly staring down, "...I meant the bags," she said, and at the confused look on his face, she clarified, "Give me your bags so I can store it away."
He blinks, staring back at her.
Oh...
Oh, right!
She can put her things away in the shadows...
Resisting the urge to smack himself at the blunder, Alastor hurriedly let go of her hand (at least she didn't say anything about that) to remove the backpack off of him before depositing it in the pooling shadows gathering by his feet, along with the trolley as well.
"So... how does that even work?" he muttered.
Winters watched the shadows fade into nothingness, taking their things away before waving a hand, "It's a bit complicated but... to put it simply, just think of it as a personal pocket dimension."
"Oooh, can you put food in there?"
"Yes."
"It won't go bad or something?"
"No."
He startled, "Wait. You tried–?"
"...yes."
There was something exasperated in her tone now, one that clearly matches the weariness she barely blinks away from her eyes.
Hadn't she rested enough or was it just him?
"Oh, okay." Alastor shuffled, "...Cool."
"Close your eyes," Winters finally demanded at length, half-turning away from him, "And don't move until I'm done."
