[Michael makes a quick stop in Shadowdale, right after everything goes to hell, but he doesn't stay long. His duties all lie in Yggdrasil. 

The tree is halfway reminiscent of home. The halls of the Bad Place have always been twisting and labyrinthine; you could never navigate them if you were a human. But there, everything's stayed the same for millions of years. He's learned all the paths. Here, every time he thinks he's starting to learn his way around, something seems to shift. He longed for change once, and now it's just disorienting.

It's not great for getting where he needs to go, but it's okay for running into others. Should he stumble across any Reclaimers looking less than their best, he'll hurry over - or, at least, he'll go as fast as he can. His movements seem a little slower and stiffer than usual. 

But that's probably no cause for concern, right? He's already an old man. And he looks perfectly normal, the light cast around him holding steady.]

Hey - are you hurt at all? I've got some stuff from the pharmacy. None of it's magic, so it should all still work.

[Michael just doesn't want anybody to worry about him. His physical health is barely important anyway; if this vessel dies, he'll get a new one somewhere. So he uses those illusions he's been practicing to cloak his visible symptoms as soon as he realizes they're happening. He's only pale for a minute or two; the thin veins in the back of his hand go black for a second, and then suddenly he looks hale and hearty once more.

But he can't hide everything. He can't hide the sudden coughing fit that wracks his body, leaving him to lean against the nearest wall as he gasps for air. Air - the sudden need for it is terrifying. For a moment, he genuinely looks like the old man he pretends to be.

Realizing he's been seen, he forces himself upright and tucks away the handkerchief he was coughing into. Was there a dark smear on it?]

Sorry, sorry, I'm fine. Just choking on my own spit - why are all the important human tubes so close together?

[Somehow, no matter where he tries to go, Michael's steps always lead him down, down, into the twisted remnants of the Ghost Zone.

It doesn't start off intentional. His illness, his malfunctioning limbs and the incessant pounding in his head, just makes it even harder to find his way through the nightmare that is Wonderland. The first time he finds himself in those particular dark hallways, the whole place strikes him as just plain unnerving. He can't leave quickly enough.
KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK
The second time he ends up there, he lingers a little longer, running a hand idly along the wall as he walks. Not wood - something stronger, he thinks. The cool, smooth texture is actually kinda pleasant. But he doesn't see anybody else in the area, so he leaves again.
KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK
By the third time, he decides that the labyrinth isn't really that bad. If he's gonna keep wandering down here anyway, maybe it wouldn't be so awful to just hang out for a while. It's almost a comforting place, honestly. The cold air calms his coughing and eases his aches. When he's alone - which, here, is always - he can drop his illusions and just relax. In the darkness, no one can see what's really happening to him.
KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK
The labyrinth calms that fluttering anxiety in his chest,
KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK
KEEP UP THE GOOD WORKthe one he's felt ever since Wonderland crumbled.KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK
KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP

He sits on the stairs, at the top of the spiraling staircase, and lets his eyes slide shut as he leans against the wall. No illusions, no light. With no spells to focus on, he lets his thoughts fade into the buzz of exhaustion always threatening to overtake him. Right now, there's nothing to worry about.

The cool wall against his temple is welcoming. It makes sense, really, doesn't it? This was the Ghost Square, once. The haunted house, the lounge and the office he'd made, even the mirror maze - they were his places in Wonderland. They've changed, but his connection to them hasn't. This is where he ought to be.

KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK KEEP UP THE GOOD
Work! The realization hits him with a sudden spike of guilt. Shit, he's been missing work! The audience doesn't want to see him sitting around - they want to see people suffer. They want horror. And it's Michael's job to give it to them.

He stands, feeling suddenly revitalized, and cloaks himself in another illusion. In the perfect black hallway, already so dark, it's easy to blend in seamlessly with the background. That must be why - he's not sure if he designed it or some producer did, but that must be why. With another illusion to mask the sound of his footsteps, hardly anyone would even know he was there! Now all he has to do is track down a good victim, some little mortal to scream and run and maybe bleed. From there - well, between his illusions and what the labyrinth has already provided, he thinks he's got a fair amount of options.

The Ghost Square is back in business. Let's put on a great show!]

[Wildcard! hmu if you want something else!]