Isaac wasn't quite sure whether he'd fallen asleep there or if he'd actually been awake for what felt like the past six hours, but either way the desire to move hadn't reared itself yet. He wouldn't ever have really described porcelain as gentle, but somehow the cool solidity of it was refreshing against his throbbing temples, a cloth laid over his feverish brow by someone pallid and maternal. It was incredibly likely that he would have remained there for quite some time had the small matte black brick on the counter above him not erupted with tinny glee. Normally relatively inoffensive, within the confines of the tiny lavatory it might as well have been a grenade.<br/><br/>Fifteen minutes, a change of clothes and an unhealthy amount of advil later, Isaac was pulling the door to his apartment shut and pressing his tattooed hand to the surface of it with a dull slap. The myriad locks on the other side clicked cheerfully into place, and satisfied that his home was once more secure he turned and made his way down the stairs towards street level. He even managed to do it with relatively little weave.<br/><br/>Isaac cut an odd figure as he made his way from the relatively shitty apartment complex he called home. At almost six and a half feet tall even slouching he stood head and shoulders above most of the crowd, and he practically swam in the heavy hoodie and cargo pants he wore. His lank white hair hung down a thin, almost stork-like face with a hint of white stubble across the jaw with a black beaning capping it off, which altogether gave of the vague impression of an art student after a long night of partying.<br/><br/>It was raining, of course, but he didn't seem to notice and walked to the store anyway. A few miles, it took him a fair bit, but even then he stopped outside the door and at least made an effort to straighten himself out. Not for Clara--he'd met her a few times and they'd gotten on...alright. No, there was something about her dead parents that made him want to be at least decent. He may look like hell, with bags under his eyes and sodden, massive clothes, but at least he would try for them. For whatever reason, he would try.<br/><br/>The ringing of the bells on the door as he stepped in would alert the shop to his presence, but he didn't waste time starting in.<br/><br/>"I'll assume there's a good reason this couldn't be done elsewhere." He said pointedly, doing his best to keep his gaze off anything magical--he'd worked a spell, when he was much younger, that allowed him to see magic, but had the downside of showing it all in lovely, vibrant color. The wards on this shop made it look like a goddamn rainbow, and he had enough of a headache as it was.