Heading down into the labyrinth beneath the Thomas' shop was never his favorite endeavor.<br/><br/>For one, there was the simple fact that the whole place was practically made of neon signs saying 'Don't Touch This', both magically and not. Even if he had the magical sense of a sea cucumber he would have felt it in his teeth and at the tips of his fingers--it was thick enough that he could practically<span style="font-style: italic">feel</span>the weave of it.<br/><br/>The second, of course, was because even Isaac could barely follow the weave of interacting colors and lights. The door had been one thing, but looking at anything other than Clara was like staring at one of those optical illusions. He wasn't sure that wasn't a trap, too, meant to catch anyone trying to undo it all; whenever he tried to work his way through the layers he started to find himself getting lost in them, started to feel something electric behind his eyes, and decided against it.<br/><br/>The third being that it was a fucking<span style="font-style: italic">dungeon</span>.<br/><br/>As they worked their way through it, he kept his head down and his eyes focused on the young woman who ran the store. It wasn't his fault, he was sure to remember, that keeping his eyes on her waist was the best way to avoid the technicolor dreamworld that was her family's magical bomb shelter. And he was relatively sure that he imagined it when she squeezed his hand, though he gave it a slight squeeze back with his tatooed fingers. Seeing the shudder run down her spine, it seemed like she didn't like the place any better than he did.<br/><br/>"You guys work hard to keep this place as creepy as possible, don't you." He muttered dryly. "A few additional silence spells would keep all that moaning from echoing."