[He swallows and nods, gesturing for Cas to take a seat on the floor. Because Bolin doesn't have furniture. In fact, he doesn't have much of a house, either. They are, in fact, underground. In a burrow some ten feet underneath The Raccoon Room club in Cellar Door.
The chamber is about 10ft x 10ft and juust deep enough for Bolin to stand (Sorry Castiel, you may have to hunch, Bolin isn't very tall), illuminated by three decently bright lunar lights. His bedroll lays neatly folded up against the far wall, a mix of straw mattress, disused velvet curtains from the club, and other assorted bedding he's collected. His desk, a wide plank of wood elevated about a foot off the ground on some stone, is strewn with Rocky Horror scripts, costumes and plans; and there is another 'table' with some various household tools. A pot and pan, some casks of water, his bags, clothes and some food.
There is no central fire pit, knowing that the smoke would suffocate him underground, but the first step of the stairs behind him is black with char where he has had fire and been able to feed it from the door kept open a crack. And while Bo hasn't been down there very long, it's been long enough to source and install a series of copper pipes across the ceiling and through to street level for fresh air.
It's basic and bare, but it's dry and safe from detection and attack. The pipes create a draft which isn't great but mean he can breathe, and there are a few blobs of cooled magma on the ground near his bedroll and more by his desk which is how he's been staying warm.
Which makes more sense once he picks a few pebbles out of the earthen floor, which float in the palm of his hand and rotate in a circle faster and faster until they super heat and phase change into molten lava. A burst of heat blooms from the trick and he lays the puddle on the ground with no hint of discomfort. Just an every day task for him, who moves on and fills his small pot with fresh water and tea leaves. No tea he is familiar with, distinctly Trenchian and Other, but it's decent.
Pabu, Bolin's omen, a small red ball of fluff somewhere between a red panda and a ferret, watches all of this take place from his nest on top of Bolin's bedding. Alert but docile.
Working quickly, and the water boiling in no time at all, tea is made in just a minute or two and he carefully pours a cup for Castiel and then himself with the rugged for of ceremony given by a young man who has no idea how to deal with someone like the angel he's summoned. He's trying, though. And why it all may be completely unnecessary, the effort and respect is there anyway.]
cas has to earn that gift
The chamber is about 10ft x 10ft and juust deep enough for Bolin to stand (Sorry Castiel, you may have to hunch, Bolin isn't very tall), illuminated by three decently bright lunar lights. His bedroll lays neatly folded up against the far wall, a mix of straw mattress, disused velvet curtains from the club, and other assorted bedding he's collected. His desk, a wide plank of wood elevated about a foot off the ground on some stone, is strewn with Rocky Horror scripts, costumes and plans; and there is another 'table' with some various household tools. A pot and pan, some casks of water, his bags, clothes and some food.
There is no central fire pit, knowing that the smoke would suffocate him underground, but the first step of the stairs behind him is black with char where he has had fire and been able to feed it from the door kept open a crack. And while Bo hasn't been down there very long, it's been long enough to source and install a series of copper pipes across the ceiling and through to street level for fresh air.
It's basic and bare, but it's dry and safe from detection and attack. The pipes create a draft which isn't great but mean he can breathe, and there are a few blobs of cooled magma on the ground near his bedroll and more by his desk which is how he's been staying warm.
Which makes more sense once he picks a few pebbles out of the earthen floor, which float in the palm of his hand and rotate in a circle faster and faster until they super heat and phase change into molten lava. A burst of heat blooms from the trick and he lays the puddle on the ground with no hint of discomfort. Just an every day task for him, who moves on and fills his small pot with fresh water and tea leaves. No tea he is familiar with, distinctly Trenchian and Other, but it's decent.
Pabu, Bolin's omen, a small red ball of fluff somewhere between a red panda and a ferret, watches all of this take place from his nest on top of Bolin's bedding. Alert but docile.
Working quickly, and the water boiling in no time at all, tea is made in just a minute or two and he carefully pours a cup for Castiel and then himself with the rugged for of ceremony given by a young man who has no idea how to deal with someone like the angel he's summoned. He's trying, though. And why it all may be completely unnecessary, the effort and respect is there anyway.]