She didn't really expect the question to throw him. Probably because, at least in her universe, it isn't that broad. Sure, there are countless varieties of small magics that come with things like having peri blood - pouring coffee that's always hot, stitching a seam that never unravels - but those are more like singular quirks than full-blown magic-handling (no disrespect to Mary, who is everyone's preferred coffee-pourer for a reason).

But if you have enough magic in your veins to be worth getting registered, the practical applications are pretty much just Other-related. It's amazing how quickly the field narrows when 'whatever you want' amounts to 'not suffering a messy, horrible death, please and thank you.'

Castor's universe, from the sound of things, isn't operating under those... constraints.

"Yeah." She drops her gaze to her hands, and her bee. "That answers it."

Dom looks up at her, as if waiting to see if she's going to offer anything interesting before taking it upon himself. "We're from more of a gritty, war-torn magical dystopia," he deadpans, which earns him an incredulous snort from Sunshine.

"Dystopia?" she repeats. "Gods and frigging angels." Since when did her bee develop a flair for the dramatic? To Castor, she adds, "It's not a damn dystopia, and it's not gritty." Well, some of it isn't. It's not gritty as a rule.

"War-torn, though. You gotta give me that one."

Sunshine briefly entertains the idea of flicking her smug bee right off her lap, but she knows it would hurt her as much (if not more) than him. Instead, she deliberately shifts her focus up to Castor. "We have Others, in my universe. Vampires, weres, 'ubis, ghouls, demons. That sort of thing. Most of our magic-handling is about... dealing with that."