If there had been any visitors to the small apartment they would almost universally have formed the same opinions: Firstly, no matter how much had been paid to live here, it would have been too much. The paint peeled off the walls so heavily that the red carpet had become pink around the edges, while the roof seemed to be almost batik-coloured after too many leaks and plumbing-related incidents. The second thing someone seeing the place would think was that whoever lived here had not only recently moved in, but moved in to stay.

The furniture stacked around the room and waiting to be positioned properly was big and heavy. Oak and mahogany gleamed in the dank light, with both tables and chairs showing intricate carvings. A drinks cabinet that must have been antique stood on its side, the various crystal bottled held firmly in place with several layers of duct tape and cotton. It was like a fraction of the contents from a British mansion had been crammed into a dingy hole of a room, which was not entirely too far from the truth. But so far the result was that the place felt overcrowded, cramped, like a coal mine constantly threatening to collapse.

The third thing most visitors would have noted was that the windows were not only covered in dark and heavy curtains, and not only were they drawn at all hours of the day, but they were also embroidered along the bottom with big runes in silvery metallic thread. All in all, anyone visiting this place would be hard pressed to consider the occupant anything but an unusual person merely from glancing around the living room.

There were never any visitors.

A voice from an inner room seemed to be talking, but with pauses indicating that this was a dialogue rather than a monologue, and that the other half was simply not audible. This would be because normal ears couldn't detect the second voice in that room, though Nótt on the other hand had always struggled with shutting it out.
«No, I refuse to have a Ferrari calendar in here. This is supposed to be a place to study properly. It needs the proper synergetic resonance patterns, so as to be conductive to memorization.»
«Dude, can you like, for once make a sentence with no word above three syllables? Would it kill you?»
«No, but I find it's easier to confuse you that way»
«Oh yeah? Well I find it easier to make you hallucinate that you've got clothes on before you go shopping too»
«You wouldn't! You said you'd never do that again!» he was almost shouting now
«So? You just said I was too stupid to get you. Seems like your head is gettin' too big again»
«That doesn't mean you can just go around and...» he began, but was interrupted by a sharp knocking on the front door. From out of the room steps a young man in his mid-twenties, the sleeves of his shirt rolled back and a few drops of sweat on his forehead. He looks like he's been moving something heavy, which is exactly what he's been doing. Going to the slightly crooked front door he makes sure the security chain is fastened before opening it so he can view the outside world through a thin slit. A short old woman stands there in a very faded and patchy lilac bathrobe. A cigarette butt hung from the corner of her mouth, constantly threatening to fall out with every word she uttered.
«Oy, Senka, I wants a word with ya»
«Oh, hello miss Cartwright. How can I help you this evening?»
«Who are you talking to? You don't have guests, do you?»
«Nothing of the sort miss Cartwright. I'm just on the phone, talking to family. That's all»
«Well, keep it down. It's late, and I don't want you waking the other tenants. That goes for your moving stuff about as well»
«Yes miss Cartwright. I'll wait until tomorrow to move the furniture into place then»
«See that you do sonny-jim. See that you do»
And with that she left, letting Nótt close the door and return to his work with an exasperated sigh. «Sweet lord that woman is nosy» Peter said, making a face not too different from that of their stern landlady « 'Don't talk on the phone! Don't move around!' Honestly, I hate to think what she'll say when you finally get a girl up here. Probably set fire to the apartment or summat»
«Peter, we've talked about that. This is supposed to be my Sanctum Sanctorum. A place for contemplation upon the deeper Truths of the universe, it's not a shag-pad.» The exasperation in Nótt's voice was almost identical to what he'd used with their visitor, but Peter seemed not to notice.
«Yeah, yeah. Your hocus-pocus is all real important and stuff. Still, she could be trouble.»
Nótt heaved a sigh as he sat down at the desk, overstrewn with notes and diagrams and carving tools of various sorts.
«You're right. She could be. I guess I'll just have to be careful, and watch myself»
«I thought you said you always had to do that anyway. That there were all these, like, huge enemies and monsters and stuff that constantly tried to take out any wizard they found. You spoke for ages about constant vigilance and all that»
Nótt suddenly looked sheepish, and turned away quickly.
«Well yeah» he mumbled, «but I'd just been reading about it back then. It's so different when you have to actually live like that. I just don't know if I'm cut out for it. Not that I have a lot of course, of course, but still. Takes getting used to».
«Well, that's why you've got me!» said Peter, grinning widely «I'll watch your back and kick arse whenever some oogledy-beastie looks at you funny. I'll be your friendly, neighborhood spider-ghost!»
This elicited a wry smile from Nótt, though he still didn't turn back around. Instead he began lifting books out of various boxes and putting them on shelves.
«You can't protect me all the time Peter. I'd have thought you'd learned that the hard way»
Peter's smile evaporated instantly, like a candle being blown out. For the shortest of moments his image flickered, and something bloody and mangled was briefly visible. It was over in a flash, and Peter was back again, and after a deep breath he grinned again. It looked slightly strained, yet genuine.
«Well then, that's lucky for you, eh? I can't die twice now, can I? So no chance of failing a second chance I'd say. You just take care and trust me to deal with things when you need me to»
«I do trust you Peter. It's just...there are things out there you can't protect me from. No, I mean it» he said, holding up a hand to silence the outburst threatening to interrupt him, «and despite what you think it IS possible to be deader than dead. And I'd kinda prefer if that didn't happen to you.»
«Awww, you DO love me then?» he responded jokingly, seizing Nótt's head and giving it a knuckle-rubbing.
«No», Nótt managed to choke out, trying to get free, «It's just that I can't move any of the heavy furniture if you snuff it. Again.». Finally Peter let go, and they both stepped away from each other, Nótt breathing heavily. «And I'd really like for you to stop that. I mean it. I'm trying to help you, and the least you could do in return is act a bit more maturely» he said as he rubbed his sore pate.
«So stop me then. I heard your gandalf telling you there were spells that could control me easily. Go on. Cast them. Make me your bitch-slave».
Nótt looked resentful, all signs of mirth gone now.
«I can't do that and you know it»
«Then stop bossing me around. If your awesome spook-powers are too weak then you should just give up on the chatterbox too.»
They stared at each other for a moment, their faces set in matching expressions of angry stubbornness, before breaking off. Peter floated backwards, towards the darker end of the room, while Nótt furiously continued to unpack. A series of short menhir-like stones the size of paperweights were arranged along a dresser, spelling out various words of power in a dead language as they were arranged in line. Once the atmosphere had calmed down a bit Peter tried to continue:
«While you're at it, do you want me to haunt miss nosy-pants downstairs for a bit?»
Nótt whipped around, a chisel still gripped in his hand
«What? No! I don't want you haunting our landlady! Why would you even suggest that?»
«Well, we should figure out what sort of person she is. She could be involved in a conspiracy, or be a pawn of some evil corporation of wizards or something, set here to spy on you»
«That's rubbish. Utterly paranoid rubbish»
«Oh yeah? It's exactly the sort of thing you said the enemies out there were doing. Besides, I can check if there's any hot chicks living in the other apartments while I'm out and about»
«NO!»
«It'll keep me occupied and out of your way while you finish up with your little geek-nest here»
There was a moment of silence, stretching on. The chisel was thoroughly inspected.
«Ok then. But no funny stuff. No levitating her chair or anything. Observing only, is that clear?»
«Totally clear. So, can you scare me up a camera or summat? Just in case?» Peter suggested, leering as he began to descend through the floor
«Get out of here you lech» Nótt replied half-heartedly, turning away and continuing his work. 'At least now I can get some work done' he thought, while trying to block the idea of candid photos taken of Miss Cartwright in the shower from his mind. Shuddering slightly he bent over the box filled with dried herbs and began to sort through them.