This was a matter beyond laughing, but Solomon smiled almost savagely, almost amused. "If that is how you'd like to begin, certainly." Though even Bakura, apparently, required something more of an explanation to understand just what Solomon was asking. "I told you before that magic in my world comes with a price. For Necromancers, that price is chaos."

... He had to move. The ghosts, the magic, the need--it was in his skin, making him jittery. Like an itch he couldn't scratch, no matter how hard he tried. He paced along the street, because at least it was something to do, and it was some mild distraction in its own fashion.

Previously, shadows had seemed drawn toward him, even if in minor ways--blurring at the edges where he was near, creeping closer like hesitant puppies. Now, no matter where Solomon walked, they were still and sharp. Sleeping.

"Usually we filter our magic through items to prevent being consumed by it," he said, and reached a wall and turned back. "Mine was broken shortly before I arrived here. In return for caring for his sibling, Asti offered me a more permanent and intangible buffer between magic and insanity." He stopped and ran his hands through his hair, and laughed. It wasn't hysterical--but it wasn't precisely controlled, either. "I just didn't consider the bloody withdrawal."

Items didn't come with a withdrawal. He'd assumed, if anything, Asti's boon might reflect that effect--not this.