As the world swam into view and his balance gradually remembered that it had something to balance, and as his mind tried to keep up with what his body was doing, what Michael felt like most at that moment was hungover.<br/><br/>The familiar half-step to catch his balance caught his attention, though--he wasn't in the carpet of his apartment, or the linoleum of Saint Augustine's. It had more give, it complained and groaned at him for his impudent movement, and when he looked down the dusty old floorboards were entirely unfamiliar to him. His first breath almost caught in his throat, and he realized he'd had no time to adjust between breathing and not--the sudden rush of stale and dusty made him choke for a moment, and he coughing into a curled hand to try and clear that awful tickling sensation out of the back of his throat.<br/><br/>It looked as if he wasn't the only one, at least. Arranged around the same carpet there looked to be all manner of people here--some older, some younger, some looking to be pretty close to his age and most of them looking disheveled and moderately panicked. With a brief flick down to his own clothes he coughed again and tried to straighten his cuffs a bit self-consciously, not quite sure what to do with all this and trying to buy him time to think. If he didn't know better he'd have said that he got dressed up to go out to dinner, drank too much, and was just coming around.<br/><br/>But he did know better.<br/><br/>'The door has been opened' wasn't something he could quite pretend he'd dreamed up hearing--it had came too unbidden, and when he tried to think of who had said it or where it had come from...nothing. Just like when he tried to remember how he got here, or hell, what he'd been doing for the last day and a half. Nothing. He could name the bones in his hands, the veins in his legs, tell you how the digestive system work...<br/><br/>And he couldn't have told you what he had for breakfast this morning.<br/><br/>On the verge of panic or shock, he swallowed, breathed deep that musty air, and took a step back from the rug. His hands were shaking, so he crossed his arms over his chest and took in the house with a studiously bored look on his face--someone was going to have to be the straight man in all this, and it might as well be him. The red-head--even now he gave her a reflexive once over, almost nodding in idle approval--was already worrying at the doors, so there wasn't anything much he could do there. He turned away from the rug at the same moment as the homeless man stumbled and fell back, and he almost chuckled. Already a leg up, all he had to do was keep his cool and things would be alright. Don't lose your head, that was the first rule of the game.<br/><br/>Right?<br/><br/>While he turned and examined the aged portraits, trying to discern something from beneath the cobwebs but not quite willing to brush them off himself he heard the comment about the phone and almost started. He should have thought of that--there'd be an app for this and they'd have it all figured out in a nano-second... if it worked. Berating himself for the slight satisfaction that his companions weren't any better off than he was, he brushed off one of the dusty love-seats with a few swift motions of his hand and sat as casually as he could without enveloping himself in a cloud of dust.<br/><br/>"Dead as can be." he responded idly, flipping over the compact little iPhone and resisting the urge to chuck it down the corridor. Useless little thing. The more he looked around, the less he realized he wanted to--the corridors didn't seem right, he couldn't look at the ceiling without the feeling that there was something lurking up there, the Latin over the door was downright creepy...<br/><br/>He coughed again and rummaged through his pockets once more, feeling a bunch of lint, a wallet that wouldn't do him much good, a crumpled pack of cigarettes... and no lighter.<br/><br/>Couldn't even throw him a bone.<br/><br/>"Anyone got a light?" He asked dryly, looking across them all with a bored smile. Not sure if it was to cheer them up or to cheer himself up, he tried to project an air of confidence and relaxation. Take it all in stride. They'll all phase out the way they phased in eventually, and in the meantime there was nothing to get worked up about. Just a room.<br/><br/>He did his best to keep his hands from shaking, and not to scratch at that little itch in his mind that was screaming to get out now.