"'Waste magic'," she repeats with a scoff and a roll of her eyes. Before Cyrodiil she could barely remember the last time she really exhausted herself casting magic. There was a reason her family opened doors and held trays of tea with magic. It was so easy, so simple. Besides, every bit of magic was practice.

Turning her attention back to the furniture, she pulls her arms in and then pushes upwards like she's done a hundred thousand times before... Except this time nothing happens. Something's wrong. It's like a twisting deep in her muscles. Isidor frowns and tries again.

This time there's a clear strain in her motions, until she realises that brute force isn't working. With a huff, she tries to centre herself, focus, and reaches out magically, sensing what works and what doesn't. Her movements slow considerably, and her features continually twitch. Eventually, though, the furniture shudders, the vibrations building into an intense drumming before they finally lift. Everything hovers for half a second, and then catapult towards the back wall.

Isidor's arms drop, and she blinks at the mess before scowling at Jim. "What the hell is wrong with this place?"