The question had been partially rhetorical, partially made from simple surprise. Maybe their encounter with the constructs of Set and flight from the guardians of Alexandria had put him in too much of a fighting mood, but things seemed to have moved so... quickly, now. Not that he found reason to complain at all, it was only a good thing.

He had hoped for an affirmative answer, had expected no real answer... but did not expect the lady reaper to respond. Especially not in such a... manner. His pale eyes focused on her alone, pondering just how to respond.

"I... don't think so..." Politesse was the best defense, so he decided to answer the question. She was being deliberately rude and sarcastic, he knew, but it did bring up an interesting question. Was his brain still... there? After so long it might very well not be, could that pose a problem? He gave one temple a delicate tap, listening intently for an echo within his own head, before giving the lady reaper a shrug.

"It was an important part of the ritual, we made sure everyone came back with their own."

Michael sometimes swore they had forgotten part of his. But Michael sometimes swore a lot of things. It probably wasn't true.

Considering their trade of words done for the moment -neither really seemed keen to talk to the other, and Semyon didn't want an altercation at the moment- the Wight turned his gaze to the others. Tamarind and the revived... Max, right? Had finished their greetings for the moment, the elven lady was speaking with Nestor, the golem seemed to likewise be observing the group. That was... everyone, yes? Except for Isis, the one who had brought them here in the first place... That was someone they needed.

Turning from the group, Semyon made his way cautiously towards the exit back into the Library proper. He didn't dare actually leave, not knowing if the guardians were still lying in wait. But he moved as close as he could, to be able to peer out into the ruins they had wrought not too long before, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Egyptian goddess in question.

Gun drawn and ready once more, he kept watch, ready to signal her over should she appear, and to make sure nothing else tried to get through to his comrades.

Veti's eyebrow cocked curiously as her gaze traveled from Daisy to Semyon, at an utter loss for what in the world had transpired between the two. Still, if the sour body language of the Reaper and the deliberate words of the wight were any indication, it was likely less than pleasant though for the life of her, the werewolf could not understand how this should be. She tucked the smartphone back into her pocket, before vigorously scratching Artie's ebony ruff with both hands now, whispering softly to the hellhound.

'What'd I miss boy? What in the world did I miss, hmm?'

The one thing Veti couldn't begin to miss, was how this entire trip had effected Daisy, up to and including what should have been its successful, joyous ending that somehow only sent the Reaper further down the brooding hole.

She could really only deal with one brooding roommate at a time, and Siya had claimed that role from way back...

"Daisy," the werewolf began softly, gently shoving her shoulder into the Reaper's own, just begging the young-seeming woman for a moment's attention, to turn her bubblegum pink head and look at her. "Daisy, I know this past year or so... It hasn't been easy on you. I'm not a completely self-absorbed, oblivious idiot you know. Just mostly."

Veti smiled softly as the fingers of one hand ran gently over the smooth black hairs on the top of Artie's enormous head. "I'm not really very good at this, and I'll probably make a hash of this but before we get back? I want you to know... I mean, I know you felt bad, for what happened to Max, or to Thad - even though it was never your fault. Not ever, and I never blamed you. Not even a little. He's a grown man with a mind of his own, and he made his own decision. He knew the risks."

"But I'd like to believe you hung around this past year or so, for more than just that. I know I've been about as much fun as a swift kick in the face... " The werewolf shrugged, and laughed a little, her eyes sliding back toward Artie, as if she really couldn't look the Reaper in the eye at that moment.

"But now that he's back - and 'thank you' seems a little lame to say for all you've done, all the shit you've put up with from me, helping to retrieve this ancient relic of Eternal Life," the werewolf laughed as she lifted the Ankh up, "And then sealing off a rising tide of imminent death, and so on... "

"I like knowing you're around Daisy. You're my friend, you know, well... At least, that's how I think of you and... And I don't want you thinking you just have to go disappear now that that enormous charmer over there," she added with a guffaw of laughter and a jerk of her thumb in her lover's direction, "Is back on the side of the living. I mean if you want to go? I'm not going to keep you from a single thing, but... "

Veti shrugged again, her smiling turning a little sheepish as she looked to Daisy again. "Just know, you don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to. And I'd like it very much, if you decided to stay." She wrapped one arm around the hellhound, turning her head just so to ensure she gave Daisy the perfect picture of sapphire blue, pleading puppy dog eyes, right alongside Artie's midnight orbs. "Oh, and your little dog too," she added with a wide, sappy grin.

Zakhar licked his long tongue over the points of his canines, and snapped his jaw in annoyance. This creature, this Lady of Ice was a fool.

“We do not answer to you, Ice Queen,” Zakhar spat, his voice heavy with a thick Slavic accent and the guttural sounds of a werewolf. “The Lupus Naturae partnered with you, to further both of our ends; we bring to you the means to free Fenris, and you aid us culling the defiled from the world.”

Zakhar snarled. “Never was is stated that I bow to your whims.”

The Lady of Ice looked down from her seat on the dais to the massive and beautiful wolf-man that stood before her. His coat was snow white, save for the puckering of scars, and a single, thin black line, that ran from the tip of his nose, and down to the base of his bushy tail. The hair about his large wolf’s head was thick, and bristled from his neck almost like the mane of a lion. His physical prowess was impressive, but The Lady was not the least bit intimidated.

“You are not serving my whims, wolf,” she said in a slow and intensely stunning voice. “You are merely fulfilling your end of the bargain. Release him.”

Zakhar growled. “The Lupus Naturae will give you the means to free the god-wolf, it is your task alone to act upon those means.”

The wolf thought that he must restrain himself. Though she appeared as fragile and delicately resplendent as a China doll, the gorgeous creature that looked down from her frozen throne was no defenseless flower. Zakhar was in her realm, and the only thing that was keeping him alive was the power granted him by the Lupus Naturae. Without the unspoken threat of their retribution, Zakhar would have already been dead. Probably convinced to slit his own throat, or worse, by The Lady’s iced and sugary words.

She stared back at him with her crystalline eyes, unspeaking for several long moments. The wolves were nothing more than cursed dogs in her estimation, and she cared not a whit for their campaign of genocide. They were the lot of them barbarians, carrying of the thin façade of a society, with their pompous tribal leaders and their packs of roving mongrels. If she did not need them, she would enjoy eradicating their filth from the Veiled World.

A slight smile tugged at her porcelain face. In a short time she would not have to eradicate anyone, for the coming storm would accomplish all of that for her. These wolves were so blinded by their hatred and fear that they would fail to see what their own hubris was bringing to the world until it was too late.

“Let us not hang ourselves upon technicalities, dog,” The Lady said. “Do not insult me by trying to pretend that the Lupus Naturae does not also wish the emancipation of the great god-wolf.” She leaned forward upon her throne, a delicate eyebrow rising as she did. “Your kind is simply too afraid to do it yourselves.”

The hackles upon Zakhar’s neck rose at The Lady’s insult. He took a step forward, a clawed finger pointing to her. “Watch your tongue, witch. That is a cavalier claim you place on my kind. It is not fear, but respect for the nature of things, that stays our hands. You know not what you trifle with.”

Truly, it was Zakhar that was ignorant in this matter. The Lady of Ice assured as much, for her plan did not work if the world of today perceived that it was in its twilight. Neither Zakhar, nor the Lupus Naturae could fathom what was to come. The Lady merely looked back to the wolf, her face placid. The end was coming, Ragnärok was coming, and The Lady of Ice meant to survive, and with her own hands mold the new beginning to follow.

Veti laughed softly, and shrugged a little, and gave Artie's neck a loving squeeze before she stood to her feet. "I'm sorry, Daisy, that was a lot and hey, I already know I'm the Queen of Awkward Silences," she quipped to Reaper. "No need to answer now - probably not the time anyway. Need to get this 'Key of Life' here back to a certain goddess and... "

The werewolf's voice trailed off a moment, turning her face upward as if to test the winds, though there were none to be had here.

And then Veti realized, there was. It was a warm, subtle breeze, a zephyr that moved playfully among these strange, weary travelers, like delighted laughter - for that is very much what it was. The lights that shone among them - not a one disappointed the goddess as she moved as she could among them here in the Vaults. The Key of Life, her own precious creation, knew its Progenitor. Her call lifted the werewolf's hand skyward with the Ankh, floating easily above the travelers' heads some twenty feet.

As it rose, the Ankh began to glow a deep amber-gold from within its depths, a fiery light that intensified in brightness until it shone like a second sun, near painful to look on.

"Well done, travelers." Isis' voice moved amongst the breezes, tickling the vast, supernatural greenery about them, the scent of verdant life near palpable now. "You will not be able to return the way you came. The way back to the Library through here is closed to you now - but no, you will not be left here in the Vaults after all your troubles. Your party will return to... London, yes werewolf? To the offices of Bain & Hoyle on the Thames?"

Veti could only nod her response, as pleasantly dumbfounded in the presence of Isis, the very embodiment of Life, as she'd been amongst the Irish stones - perhaps even more so, now that She was no longer "simply" a woman, or "simply" a kite.

And the goddess too, could at last savor the brilliant aura of each as she would, the spectacular glow of both the living mortals and the living souls of the undead.

Their lights, their myriad colors, were simply... Magnificent.

Overhead, the Key of Life burned brighter still, blazing now as if made of the very stuff of the sun itself, roiling to its molten depths. The burst into shards of every color and none, a silent supernova of perfect, blinding intensity that suddenly collapsed back into itself - and then winked from sight as if it had never been.

"To Atticus then. Farewell beautiful travelers." The voice of the goddess seemed no more than a whisper now. The daylight of the Vaults almost as dim as dusk to Veti's eyes as she blinked, rubbing at her light-spotted eyes with a grin.

The silvery light of the lotus was the veritable the moon to the sun of the Ankh, a cool, rain-kissed wind replacing the warm breeze as the flower opened further still, as if finally sharing the essence of its own soul. More than just a key it seemed, like living moon-filtered pollen the wispy tendrils descended, snaked among the party and wrapped each in a tender, misty caress.

Veti laughed with the purest joy she'd known in nigh on a year now, waving farewell to the enigmatic Vas'o'los before sprinting to her lover, throwing herself in his arms. "We'll be traveling together from now on," she whispered in his ear before kissing him fully, eagerly, as the lotus' mists wrapped around them.

As peaceful as the wings of the goddess had transported them to the Library, so to was travel by the breath of Isis. Each of those who chose to see Max returned from the gates of death would find safety, assurance, even joy if they would as the darkness closed about them briefly, a warm cocoon through space and time in the arms of a Mother.

And then a gentle rebirth as the darkness lifted, to a sight far removed from the strangely bucolic wilds of the Vaults. Veti opened one eye mid-kiss, to peer around at her surroundings for a moment when she felt her boots touch solid ground once more. The grand hall inside the London office of Bain & Hoyle. Mixed feelings of course, but at least she knew damn well the bedroom accommodations were first rate.

She didn't bother to wonder how they'd managed to land inside the keep proper, past the enchantments and the guardian Oni. Frankly, at this moment Veti had her hands full and her mind very pleasantly "otherwise occupied."

Atticus smiled and settled his head down once more, a smile of relief upon his face. It was a smile conjured from a mixture of happiness that this was the first time in months that-besides her feeding from his neck-he had been this close to Siya, coupled with the feeling of safety granted by the walls of this very room. So much had taken place here, not a year ago, that Atticus would count as life altering, or at least the beginnings of such an alteration.

He looked back to Siya and sighed. “Well, I could think of a few ways to get that energy back,” he said speaking of her quip about other means to return the blood she had taken from him.

With a languid groan he rolled over and leaned up to kiss her. It was a compulsory kiss, one that he followed upon the heels of her light and delicate touches over his face. Her lips were as amazing as he remembered, soft and dangerous, and they spurned a wave of memories and emotions that sent the demons upon his skin to shouting, hooting, and gyrating for more. His eyes, now so close to hers, glowed enough to light the high features of her beautiful face, calling forth another smile to his lips.

“Fuck a year, don’t let me miss a day without that.”

He leaned down to kiss her once more lightly upon the forehead, before he pushed himself up. A laugh escaped him as he had to balance himself against the wall. Siya’s method of travel had affected him more than he had truly thought possible for a demon. With several hard blinks, and a shake of his head, he stepped over Siya and moved towards the expansive table of liquors and delicacies that sat beneath the massive half-moon window. There is something more powerful within her, Atticus thought, and as he made it to the table, he forcefully did not finish his own thought; that whatever it was could be inherently dangerous.

With Cornelius preoccupied on the phone, Atticus plucked his own way through the bottles of exotic liquor, using the task to further quell his recent thought. He selected a bottle of ancient whiskey of Dwarf manufacture, one from the highlands of Scotland if he wasn’t mistaken. Atticus read the label. It was over five-hundred years old.

“This will do just fine,” he whispered.

He took two chilled granite cubes from a small ice tub nearby, and placed them into two crystal tumblers. Then, almost reverently, he poured the bright amber liquid of the Scotch into the tumblers. The aroma was sharp and plentiful, and his mouth watered for the warming feel of the liquor.

With a tumbler in each hand, he made his way back to Siya, and handed her a glass. He sat heavily into a plush leather couch nearby, and raised his own tumbler in a silent toast before taking a first sip. As hoped, the Scotch burned pleasantly upon his tongue, clearing his nostrils, and warming him from belly outward as he swallowed and breathed.

Atticus was about to comment to the others to feel free to join in, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the room darkened as if the world itself had been hit with a dimmer switch. It was not an unpleasant darkness, and it lasted for only a brief moment before the light of the fires and the twinkling lights of London in the distance, returned.

He blinked, looking about until he saw them all, the entire group that had gone off to search for the Ankh, and ultimately Max. Atticus stood, his drink still in his hand, and almost simultaneously he spotted the man of the hour amongst them, well amongst Veti anyway.

A flood of happiness, regret, guilt, and once again joy filled him. The tattoos had quite a time keeping up with the shift in emotion that went through the Incubus in that short moment, before at last his feet made up his mind for him. He crossed the room, setting his glass down upon a side table, before thrusting a hand in front of Max.

“I knew I couldn’t get rid of you,” Atticus said with a broad grin, and a bright, glowing spark in the crimson of his eyes.

So, that was it, then.

A year of silent reverie, of letting her dog befriend a werewolf, of dealing with a Tiny Vamp equal parts sullen and cherubic, of bracing herself before each cold walk into Death, telling herself she'd lay low for real this time, telling herself she'd pull back on the haunting traipses past creatures who'd wanted her dead (or worse) for what she had cost them, knowing it was a lie, because every time she returned to see Veti silent as the proverbial grave, she knew she couldn't just watch another acquaintance die. Because she could see it in her head, even now, even a year later, even with Max alive and whole and apparently no worse for wear, though 'worse' was herein highly suspect terminology.

She'd let Max die, let him slip through her fingers, and before that, let him talk her into taking him at all. His death would -- would have -- led to Veti's, and Daisy was not so confident even Atticus could help Siya recover from that blow. And all of it was just fucking stupid, because Death and dying, none of it had bothered her before. Hell, she was firmly (mostly) on the wrong side herself, and she could attest, it wasn't that bad.

But it could be. Was about to be. For a year she'd put the Black Denizens on hold, because obviously, adding Veti to their numbers wasn't going to help anyone, anyway. But now Max was back, and Tiny Vamp was hooking up with Atticus again, and quaint little Boston studio or not, Daisy had much bigger problems than becoming a fifth wheel.

The thought made her shudder despite the 'warm' and entirely unpleasant breezes thronging around her. She'd liked God(dess)Bird much better as a lady, or even a bird. This whole 'embodiment of life' stuff was so not jiving with Daisy's being pretty much the exact opposite.

Fortunately, Veti's little admission and subsequent departure gave her a decent cover. It didn't quite take the sting off the edge of the Key of Life, or the relative irony that they'd used it to open [read: rip to fucking shreds] a portal to Death, but...well, it was just so stereotypically Veti, and obviously Daisy now had no choice but to stick around and make sure Max was who or what he said he was.

That, and she'd never known the dead to give up one of their own so easily, magic key or no.

She hadn't said a word to Veti, and the werewolf had seemed more or less okay with that. She hadn't stopped talking, anyway, or redacted anything in part or in whole. It was weird and open and personal in that sort of way Daisy liked to pretend didn't exist, and would do her best to forget, while simultaneously thanking every major name she knew that she didn't -- couldn't -- blush. And while she knew it wasn't like Veti would be looking for any compensation, or whatever, she was clearly too wrapped up in her fuckbuddy to keep an eye out for danger. And there would be that. She wouldn't share it with the young lovers. She liked Veti too much, and Max too little for that. But she'd keep an eye out. And Artie would sooner lose a chew toy than see his own cache of delectable table scraps take (another) one for the team.

So, that was that.

Meanwhile, Daisy was just deciding these pervasive feelings of life and energy and goodness were going to make her sick when they dropped her, and everyone else, back at the place they'd been when she'd first killed Max, the morning after his stupid, stupid dare.

Daisy kept silent, a much smaller Artie once more cradled in her arms, watching wordlessly as Max made the usual "hey, fuckers, I'm not dead anymore" spectacle of himself.

That whiny-ass Alanis Morissette song was playing on loop in her head.

Semyon's plan fell a bit short, when he discovered nothing but smooth walls where the entrance to the vault had been. Pausing mid-step, the Wight regarded sight with mild surprise. Certainly, they had come from this direction. Though it wasn't a stretch to consider things weren't 'normal' in this vault, it still seemed strange for a doorway to simply... vanish.

Thinking it might be a simple glamour, Semyon took another step forwards, tapping his pistol lightly upon the stone.

"No no, undead one, that way is closed." The voice stopped him once more, but he lowered his weapon without concern. The voice was familiar, even if he could not see Isis herself. "Turn back."

Semyon acquiesced, turning into blinding light that sent him stumbling back against the wall. It radiated outwards from the Ankh Tamarind had held in her possession, now floating high above his comrades. Soft words and subtle colors toyed with his senses as he stood there.

For a moment, he did nothing but listen to the Goddess' words echoing through the air. For a moment, he did nothing but watch the light play across the room all around. Again, he felt it again, familiar sensations he just couldn't quite place. A vague, longing nostalgia. It wrapped around him in dazzling beauty, thanking for his contribution, and promising safe travel to the London headquarters of his company.

Pity though, that he hadn't managed to get Romanoff a gift.

"Just ask." The voice curled about his ears once more, "As thanks for helping retrieve what is mine."

A gift for her then, something she would like to read.

Of course."

Light dominated his world as she spoke, and he found himself weightless, suspended for an instant within indescribable sensation once more. It faded as it came, too soon it seemed, yet the memory of it etched into his mind.

The sights of the Bain&Hoyle London Branch Grand Hall greeted Semyon's pale gaze now. A somewhat... disappointing site compared to what he had just witnessed, but welcoming in it's own way. They had completed their task quite quickly, and now could move on to assist Mr. Hoyle with the task he had originally called them to. Hopefully it would temper any ill feelings the venerable Werewolf might have, that they returned as swiftly as they did. Though even if they did not, Semyon no real guilt at his choice.

A subtle weight pressed down upon his free hand as he took in the surroundings, gaze falling upon a tightly-bound scroll held in his grasp. The parchment was stained and frayed at the edges, but appeared preserved well enough. Lips managing to raise slightly higher than usual, he knelt down to tuck it away in his pack, wrapping it tightly within the towel he had brought. It should keep it well enough, better than any other method he had on hand, at least.

Rising up to remove his suppressor and re-holster his pistol securely, the Wight gave the now-arriving Atticus a polite nod. It seemed the man wanted to speak with their newly-revived comrade first, so he avoided interrupting any conversation that may happen.

It was enough that they had brought back an old comrade, could continue to assist Mr. Hoyle, and that he had found something for Romanoff as well. He would have to thank Isis properly for that one... which meant a second trip to Egypt after things were done here, which would probably lead right into another trek through Siberia...

Semyon's smile faded slightly, one gloved hand running across the smooth top of his head at a sudden thought.

He wasn't going to be getting back to his job at the club anytime soon, was he?

Sweet. Yup, things were sweet. Veti was all warm and friendly and Max didn't even mind the crowd he had to share her with. They came with her, he could figure that out. They helped her, or something. Just like the easy breezy goddess. Max noticed the mood creating, over the top good feeling dame, oh ya, she was one of those deities things never want to fuck with because she would slam him right back down there in Daisy girl land. Nope Max would just smile and accept the ride. Sweet.

In the warmth of Isis’s ride it was Thad who sought the healing goddess out. He knew it was her ankh. He felt that easily enough and for all the surprise it was Max who found it. With a turn from Veti, Thad managed to let his face break through from the darker tougher Max. “Wondrous Mother, Healer, and Patroness of Nature, I am in need of your skills.” He bowed formally and let his face show Max and then Thad one right after the other. “I played in magic I did not understand to win the love ( Max grinned thinking lust) of someone I decided I could not live without. Now I am two in one body. It is this one, (Max smirked again) that brought you Osiris ankh. We ask that you make us one, not two, that I might take what I have learned from him, from my foolishness, and be someone deserving of the love I sought.”

Max laughed.

The Goddess Isis watched them both and it seemed she smiled. “In time you will be him and he will be you all in one.”

“In time?” Max shot Thad back, his tone not near as respectful. “Fuck time, I just sat in some dead ass tree for oh, time, and I am not playing that game again.”

Isis did not respond. The warm sweet feel all around Max faded and he reached for Veti just as his feet hit the ground. Sort of pissed at the mother god it took Max a few minutes to realize where he was. Back there? Of all the goddamn places to end up they were back in that I will save the world asshole’s place. He got extra pay for this shit, right?

Good thing it was Atticus that greeted him and not that head of the wolf pack that sent them out on errands lead guy. With a hand extended Max couldn’thelp but snort a smile and reach out to shake the dude’s hand. “Where’s the chaps? I leave and your wardrobe goes to shit.” As he reached to take hold of Atticus's hand it was Thad that appeared standing there smiling. He was tall, thinner, with light hair and blue eyes that contrasted Max, dark rough features. He shot a glance to Siya, “I have missed you too sunshine.” His voice smoother and softer than Max’s had ever been.

“Now,” Thad spun around and scooped Veti up in his arms with the power and confidence of Max. “I remember where that room was. Whatever is about to happen will have to wait. I’ve been dead and I know just how to feel alive.”

He didn’t wait for objections. Not from anyone, even Veti. Thad felt Max yip with pleasure.

The feeling again was familiar, and as I lay there – floating upon the sublime beauty of the Goddess' grace – the visions that came to mind were familiar too: a hanging tower, tier upon tier tracing away skyward into the clouds above, the whole of the structure covered in heaping tendrils of greenery. Spilling, tumbling down, down and bending into endless streams of water that went surging over the edge to the unguessed ground below. Something within me yearned to reach out – to touch, to hold, to -stay-. There was a voice in the water. A whisper in the air. A soft call in the lush sway of the grassy gardens.

The warmth of a new spring breeze rustles amongst the ivy; soft promises a year only just begun slip through the chinks in wrought-iron gate. There is a life to things now – a life lost in the time before, which makes little sense as in all reality the time was -then- and I gaze upon it from -now- – but somehow in the muddle things are confused. The fringe of an ill-remembered dream. The edge of pleasant memories where all that remains is the pleasure. The eaves of nightmares where naught remains but the pain. I feel them all, see them all, and then with a sudden rush reality springs forward...

I am seated beneath the shade of our garden walls. The light play of a fountain springs to life before us, soft patter of water upon water; darker shades of tricklings upon stone. We have guests. I am terrible with names. She leans over, gives me a bemusedly wry smile before cupping a thin hand over my ear and helpfully remarking:

“Madame Villefort and her Daughter, Miss...” Her voice trails off as a pair emerges from around the corner; generally my luck – the pair of us rise as one and...

I shudder even now, a certain cold seeping in from some place beyond as I reorient my thoughts: embarrassing moments are the same now as they might have been for me some two centuries in the distant past. I feel my teeth clench, my eyes again opening as I prepare for the inevitable...

And then the whole image rippled – spread into ever expanding rings, surging outward as though some unfriendly passerby had hurled a stone into the midst of Nestor's thoughts and with that the Demonspawn found himself surrounded once more by the cold marble tile and heavy wood paneling of the Baine and Hoyle London Headquarters.

He draws a breath. Glances about himself. Absently rolls his so recently mangled and battered shoulder, now seemingly as hale as it had ever been... “A convenient trick, that – suppose the gods are still useful for -something-” might be heard to trail from beneath his breath as he spares no time in claiming a tumbler from the table just vacated by Atticus. Left hand resting heavily upon the table, right raising the decanter and pouring... not one finger, not two -- no gentleman's glass this – straight to the brim, and then straight to a chair.

Siya glowed in the light of Atticus’ eye, basking in the warmth of his nearness and the heat of his words. She was fine with his suggestion, that they never miss a day. It made her grin and wriggle her toes in her shoes in delight. It made her want to kiss him again, no matter who was around. But he was up and moving, as restless as the ink on his skin and she couldn’t help but stand up and follow after him, her small form swallowed by the shadow he cast.

She was exhausted from her expenditure of power but also better, more comfortable in her skin as if she fit better. So she slipped into a chair and beamed happily up at him when he handed her the tumbler with it’s cube of chilled granite. Hard alcohol was one of the few things she could comfortably drink without issues and she indulged rather often. Though in the past year it had been done with an air of brooding whereas now it was done in the spirit of celebration. She lifted her glass to toast him, parting her frozen-berry lips to offer a toast when the room darkened. She froze, her eyes, normally able to adjust to the dark, couldn’t pierce this dark and it made her skin tighten and prickle. But then it was gone as fast as it had come and she felt her jaw dropping and her undead heart cracking. She barely managed to put the glass down before it slipped from her fingers and the half a century old scotch was saved simply by the luck of the table being on hand. Even as the granite clattered inside the glass she was standing, her eyes wide in her face, pink tinged tears of relief running slowly from the corners of her eyes.

Max. Max and Veti. Veti who glowed with life and joy. Veti and Max together as they always should have been. But then she stepped closer and saw that maybe it wasn’t Max.

Thad. It was Thad. She bit her lip and then covered her mouth with her hand to keep in the wash of emotion. Max, Thad, she supposed it didn’t matter, not if it made Veti glow like she was. Not if it kept her best friend and savior in this life. She stepped close to Atticus sticking to his shadow and smiled at the lot of them. She was distantly worried that Veti would never forgive her for not going with them but she couldn’t stay away. She ducked her head sheepishly when Max spoke to her, teasing her, calling her Sunshine and she had nothing to say that wasn’t choked off by the joy bubbling up inside her.

And it didn’t matter, he was scooping Veti up and taking her away, as he should. Keep going, she whispered in her mind. Keep going and don’t stop. She was no sunshine. She was just a pale little thing hiding in the shadows, happy to bask in the glow of her friends. She did feel emboldened enough to step closer to Atticus, slipping under his arm and slipping her own around his waist. She pressed her face into his side and sighed as close to contentedly as she could be.

She eyed Daisy who stood across the room with her arms around that dog-thing she kept with her. Siya tried to catch her eye and then nodded her thanks. Daisy had gone with Veti and helped her get Max back. Did that make her a better friend than Siya? Perhaps. What did that mean for the lot of them? Siya wasn’t certain, but she did know that she was done living with dog-hair everywhere. But she also knew that somehow she would miss the sullen presence of the bubble-gum reaper if she were gone. She might even miss scowling at the not-dog or grumbling as she vacuumed yet again.

She tightened her hold on Atticus and eyed the space between her and the reaper like it was some big yawning chasm.

Veti felt the shift long before her eyes saw the difference in the man she loved. She had seen him before but only in glimpses, the golden man beneath Max. She felt him glimmer beneath her hands, light made flesh, as the goddess brought them to London on her breath, the words he spoke with the divinity a personal prayer between them she could neither hear nor understand. She wasn't meant to, and she did not mind

But when Veti's boots hit the herringbone wood floors of the London Office, she could see it all, feel the transformation coming over him completed when he turned to shake Atticus' hand. Max spoke, but it was Thad who finally gripped the incubus' hand in a firm welcome.

He was whole.

He was himself.

He was beautiful.

Bits and pieces of the semi-chaotic scene around them came into focus, and in the few moments she had, Veti did her best to take in the cacophony of light and sound and so many of the people she cared for, back in one place all over again. The initial welcome wasn't for her of course, but for the man returned from the other side of death, as it should be. Still, Veti's eyes were riveted to Daisy with Artie curled up neatly in her arms once more, and she smiled at her friend the Reaper, who had never really answered her words in the Vaults.

Perhaps she never would. Actions always spoke the volumes words never did, and Veti had said what she could. Daisy would do what she would, and that would simply have to be that.

Nestor poured an obscenely large amount of whiskey into his tumbler before settling into one of the vacant chairs. Semyon was returned as well, holstering his pistol, the expression on his face - for as much expression as wights could make - seemed suddenly thoughtful, even concerned for a moment.

Veti had not a moment to ask her friend why that should be, what troubled him great or small, before her eyes flickered to Siya, lovely little Siya shining darkly in Atticus' shadow. The werewolf could smell the blood tingeing those happy tears, and knew the infernal source instantly. Veti was no mind reader, could not have known the doubts lurking behind her friend's eyes. But she could see the joy in that smile, those tiny little fangs just peeking from the covering of pale pink lips. She could not remember the last time she'd seen Siya so perfectly... Content. It was beautiful, it was glorious and Veti wanted to just wrap her arms so tightly about Siya too, find out all that had happened -

But Veti found herself swept up for the second time in as many moments without so much as a "by your leave," and could only give a quick, happy farewell wave over Thad's shoulder to the tiny vampiress, and a hope-filled grin to Daisy and Artie, the werewolf's low, warm laughter trailing behind the couple like a bridal train.

This was a moment some nine years in the making, when the werewolf could finally look into the true eyes of her maker and her lover, the man who loved her enough to die for her - with no more masks between them. As he carried her to the room they had shared nearly a year ago, with its massive four-poster bed and the elegantly tasteful antique furniture, Veti studied Thad's face, sapphire eyes and surprisingly gentle fingers tracing every line of his face.

He seemed heedless of the stone dust and sweat, and so then was she as they lay on the bed. Veti could not take her eyes from his gently smiling face above hers. Of all the impossible things she had ever known, the werewolf felt somehow virginal all over again with a new and heady anticipation, almost as terrifying as it was delicious, as she lay beneath the weight of his body, the feel of his lithe muscles under her fingers.

"It was you," she whispered as she smiled up to him, "It was always you. Max was reckless, thrilling, insane in his foolishness - there was never a dull moment. But it was always you Thad, who brought me back when I swore I was done, time and time again... " Veti gave up any pretense to words with a kiss that deepened until she was as lost as he, blissfully and entirely.

Atticus smirked at Thad, remembering back to his brief stint decked out in leather, courtesy of the warlock.

“I would’ve worn them more, but I kept wanting to watch Easy Rider and smoke Lucky Strikes.” Atticus joked.

He watched the resurrected man, now in the visage of the tall and bright Thad, briefly greet Siya before scooping Veti up in his long arms. As the pair turned towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms, a genuine and knowing smile split his beard, and he laughed quietly. Those rooms contained a special place in Atticus own heart as well, and as he felt Siya slip beside him and pull him close with her arm, he directed his smile down to her.

His mouth opened to speak to her, but Atticus stopped when he saw the look in the pretty vampire’s eyes, and traced the intent of her gaze over to where Daisy stood. The reaper was cradling the lovable hell-hound, and Atticus made a mental note to warn Cornelius before the hound decided to give the rubber-ducky butler a good chewing. His eyes creased with concern, and he bent down to whisper to Siya.

“Are you alright, petit prédateur?”


Aislinn Hoyle

Aislinn Hoyle walked on wolfen legs out from the hallway that led to the private quarters of her brother, and looked around the expansive and richly appointed room. Her muzzle scrunched as she sniffed the air, taking in all the multitude of strange and foreign scents. The mottled brown, red, and gray fur upon her head rustled lightly as she shook her head, trying to shake free some of the pungency off the smells that permeated the room.

The ancient werewolf had not set foot inside of a traditional structure in decades, and as such her heightened senses were woefully unaccustomed to the lingering scents from hundreds of years of food, cleanings, visitors, and even more cleaning. She snorted and repressed a growl. This was not where she belonged, and she did not understand why Reginald had chosen a life free from the natural comfort of a pack. Her choice had been made for her, almost a thousand years ago, but it was not one she wished to continue willingly.

Her giant clawed hand came up to rub at the recently healed slash mark that denoted where the Nixie’s blade had almost drawn the life from her body. It now appeared as a bright white smile of fur across her throat, one that contrasted sharply with the other dimmer colors of her coat. Aislinn knew that she would never be able to be in a pack ever again. The blood in her veins made that certain enough. She did not possess the untouchable prowess of her brother, and thusly the Lupus Naturae would never allow her to ascend to any kind of status. To the world of the werewolf she was a pariah, and she would never know true peace until the day she drew her last breath.

She snarled to herself. That day may be coming sooner rather than later, judging by what she felt was coming. The entire world was not long for the sunrise in a fortnight if something wasn’t done. Ragnarök was beginning, and it was being accelerated by someone who was in a position to benefit. Aislinn was putting her stock in this Ice Queen that the Siren had spoken of in the cave. That coupled with the betrayal of the Solas na gealaí, the tooth of Fenris, was the final clue. The end was coming, unless something was done to interrupt it. Bain and Hoyle were discussing even now how to go about doing just that, but Aislinn needed to get away from their machinations. Though she would never admit it, she was also distinctly curious about the individuals that were in her brother’s employ.

She stepped further into the room, her attentions being first drawn to two individuals standing somewhat apart from the rest. The first was dressed in a mismatch of clothes, drinking a tall glass of liquor, and smelled of both human and demonic aspects. The second was a hard looking individual that smelled distinctly of old death and rot, despite his relatively normal appearance.

Aislinn moved between the two, and in turn stuck her black nose close to each, sniffing in deeply. The gesture was purely natural, like that of a dog smelling new visitors, but the strangeness of a large werewolf doing the same did not dawn upon the old wolf. The bulk of her years had been spent in hiding amongst the wild creatures of the world, and manners were not something that Aislinn took much value in in the first instance.

“You two,” she grunted in her rough wolfen voice, “you are here to help stop Ragnarök, yes?” A giant hand came out to clutch the clothing of the one that smelled of demon and human. “The manner of your dress, it is strange.”

Still holding onto Nestor’s clothing, Aislinn bent her head down to lap at the tumbler of whiskey he held in his hand, her eyes moving between the two men as she waited for them to answer her.

Upon arriving back 'home', and after sharing some quips with Atticus. Henry had vacated the premises. He had to do it before Veti and the others returned or he would not be given the chance. Besides, a part of him wanted nothing to do with the scene. It would only serve to remind him of his own loss all those years ago. And right now, he needed a clear mind.

Themsen was close, and that meant he needed to speak to some of its denizens. He needed information, a leg up in this terrible and increasingly dire situation. As he passed Cornelius he simply waved at the living rubber ducky before ducking out into the night. He didn't tell anyone, Atticus would like know either way and the Siren wasn't needed at the moment. This was calculated and logical progression based upon what had turned into completely rational fear. Ragnarök was looming, like a sharp knife made pendelum over their heads. The devestating, Norse equivalent of Armageddon. The awkening of the wolf, Fenris and the emergence of the great serpent; Jugumandir or as he calls it “Midgårds Ormen”. There was so many questions; Why now? How could the Lupus Naturue be so incredibly foolish as to deal with the Lady of Ice, how were they going to achieve this. While the others prepared to greet the returned Max, for he had no doubt they would succeed, Henry stood at the edge of the river. He sighed, took a deep breath and dived into it.

The currents were strong, but they avoided him, pushed around him as to not obstruct him. He swam until he found a large rock that jutted up like a angry, broken tooth in the water. Sitting on the edge he produced his violin. This was not the black and white, elegant affair of a instrument that he had used a year ago. This one was red like a devils hide, its neck had a mouth full of teeth that at the moment he started playing, bit down onto his wrist. He could not use his powers without care, or the Lady would no doubt swoop down on him in a instant. Gods only knew what kind of power she had accrued the past years. So demonic magic had to taint his for a moment, work as a mask. The music was strange and warped, yet the magic of his talents still could the spirits nearby to him. And there she stood once more. A hag in green. Only she was young, gorgous and not at all the dried up husk she had been before.

“You are a brave man, or a foolish one.” She spoke, voice all haughty. Her body language was nothing but desire, one didn't have to strain themselves to guess that she had traded his blood for restoration of her power and glory. So incredibly vapid and petty. Henry felt disgust rise up his very being. And seeing the result of his sacrifice made him snap, something flipped. If this was all he had been worth to the fellow spirit, well he was not going hold back.

“I am both. And I am something else hag.” He said as he put the violin to his shoulder. His eyes cold as the glaciers that once encapsuled this planet. His tone remarkably harsh and unpleasant for once.

“What little broken nack, would that be.” Jenny taunted back at him. Showing that row of green, shining teeth. Like a million tiny needles they distorted her visage to one of terror and death. She didn't fear him, he could tell. Normally, henry would be fighting a uphill battle. But not tonight, he had a secret weapon against the hag. Henry didn't flinch when the demonic violin bit down at his wrist and drank from his blood. It surged with power, and the Siren seemingly lit up like a bonfire with malevolent, angry magic of darkest kind. A human using it, would find a demon or worse waiting for them. But a being like Henry could use it freely, a effect the maker surely had not considered. A potent tool indeed.

“I am angry. And I am vengefull.” Henry said, his voice a angry, crushing river in comparison to the gentle tones his friends favored. And as the first tone of music sang out from the infernal instrument, Jenny suddenly realized she was in danger. She began to weave magic of her own but to late. The magic of the Näck and his terrible violin wrapped around the throat of Jenny in a second, her eyes shot up wide. She struggled and flailed, for even if she had been restored, and was in her own realm of power. The magic attacking her was not Fey. It was demonic, the violin catching her completely by surprise. Henry had seen Atticus completely bypass the Sirens in the cave with his demonic charm and It had given him the realization that he did indeed have a ace or two up his sleeve.

“I'm sending a message to all that call the Lady their queen. I am done running and I will spare no one.” He spoke before the song ended, and Jenny fell to her knees a bloody mess. Eyes rolled back into her skull her newfound power left her body in a instant as she turned into putrid water, and like a true river spirit, Henry soaked it up from the water around him. As Henry left the river, he felt somewhat cathartic. It was a scary feeling, taking solace in the slaughter of a another being. But at least he could tell himself that she deserved it. With his dirty deed done, a slight avenged and with a sense of newfound purpose, he returned to the others.

They were back. Max was there. Then Thad finally decided to break the shackles that was the 'Mask' of Max and he took Veti with her like they were newly weds. Henry liked Thad a whole lot more then Max, he would like to discuss with the boy in length later. But for now, he steered his steps away from them, towards atticus. He made no attempt to hide the marks the violin had left on his wrist. Angry teeth marks in red against his pale complexion.

“I apologice for my brief absence. But I had business to handle.” He spoke with a smile that was both genuine and happy. Catharsis indeed. “Later, I will have to speak to you, but I see you have..” He glanced at Siya with a grin. “I see you have some personal make ou- I mean make up time to take care off. Just don't break any beds. Cornelius will be furius” He laughed and passed them. He steered his feet towards Daisy, not breaking his stride. He stopped, pondered for a second then produced a dog treat for the 'little' dog.

“Why the long face Daisy. You have removed the most stubborn of zits from the face of death.” He said, clearly reffering to Max. His eyes were bright, he himself was obnoxiusly pleased with himself from the look of it. “I know a whole bunch of terrible movies, where they keep the best booze and have some stories and drinks to share from my time in Brazil.” He grinned at her, his voice that pleasant calming tone.

“How about we indulge in some bad taste and bitch about the others.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I know you want to.”

Semyon found himself drifting further and further off to the side, and not really minding at all. Those gathering together had more to talk about, without needing to be interrupted or distracted by him. Likewise, he had no reason to try and speak when there was nothing for him to say. So he stood apart, soon finding himself near the seated Nestor, who like him seemed less interested in discourse -though in his case, drink took the place of silent standing.

The Wight pondered striking up conversation, if for no other reason than to ensure the man's shoulder was okay, but never managed to find the words. Nestor seemed content in his drink, most of the others seemed content in their speech, and the others who weren't either seemed to busy to interrupt or... happened to be a Reaper of death.

He probably should actually speak with her at some point. Maybe tomorrow, or after their next task was done. Probably sometime between those, actually. Maybe.

But not now, at least. Max (Or whoever he was, were they calling him something different suddenly?) was alive once more, and Isis' request had been finished. But Atticus hadn't said much about what Mr. Hoyle needed. It seemed everyone who didn't follow Miss Tamarind was here as well, so had the task been finished? Surely not, why call so many if it had been that simple? Where they moving on, then, continuing with more information? If so, Atticus would share it with them soon. Or if not, then Mr. Hoyle w-

The sound of someone sniffing the air beside Semyon brought a sudden halt to his thoughts.

The Wight didn't reach for his gun, sure in the security of the Company Headquarters. He did, however, turn sharply, pivoting on the ball of one foot to directly face the figure that had approached him. A werewolf, like Hoyle or Tamarind... but neither? Mottled fur, scarred neck, a powerful yet venerable build. She stood between him and Nestor, attention seemingly focused primarily on the latter.

But her question was meant for them both. And it took more than a little while before Semyon could answer.

Not through any desire to be rude, or because he thought the werewolf was ignoring him. No, it simply took his mind a while to make sure she had really asked what he heard. It had been a long time since he chose undeath, and many of his senses had already dulled to nothingness. Loss of hearing was a dire portent in a being such as he, so any possibility of it arising had to be taken with grave consideration.

But his hearing seemed fine, if the jaunty words of a returning Henry Grimm were any basis for judgment. In that case, he had likely heard correctly, which was worse, but at least he wasn't falling into feral mindlessness quite yet.

He would just likely die for good in the near future, along with everyone else.

"Ragnarok... " Finally, Semyon found the words to answer the werewolf. "Yes. If it is truly- Yes, yes I am here to help."

Once more, he ran one hand over the pale flesh of his head. No wonder so many members of the Company had been called out. When Hoyle needed help with a job, it would turn out to be a very big job.

Daisy had been wrong about Max...Thad...fucking SchizoLock, or whatever his name was, and that scared her.

She still didn't think the formerly-dead-man-walking was going to hurt Veti -- whatever he/it was, he/it was in love with Veti, and while that was totally gross, it was also sort of a relief -- but it still put her on edge. She'd killed a man, and he'd come back a different man, and she hadn't even noticed. Granted, none of them had really noticed, or not at first. And Daisy had been busy making sure a small handful of their number, namely SchizoLock, the wight, and herself -- didn't get sucked right back down the drain. But still. This was sort of her realm, sort of literally. And she'd missed a big tell.

So, danger or not, she had to stay. Right?

Tiny Vamp was cuddled up with Abacus on the other side of the room, giving her a look Daisy preferred not to read too deeply into. Like she'd done Tiny Vamp a favor. As if. They weren't friends, just teammates. Playing doubles. Only instead of tennis, the game was keep-Veti-alive-just-one-more-day. And if MaxThad's appearance was anything to go by, the game would go on. So, Tiny Vamp could keep brooding, and Daisy could keep sulking, and Veti would get to do a little fucking, and life/death would go on. Right?

Right?

Except, somehow, Tiny Vamp looked sulkier than usual. And Veti wasn't alone anymore. And Daisy...Daisy couldn't stop shaking, even though she'd hardly touched Death.

Artie was curled up, asleep, against her chest. LifeBird had done that much right, anyway. For all her perfumed breezes and bullshit, Artie wasn't bleeding anymore, and it hadn't cost Daisy anything. Well. Almost nothing.

She was about to quietly retreat into her own space two things happened.

One, a decidedly not hipster-wolf wandered out of BossMan Wolf's quarters and immediately commenced being all...wolfy and shit. And while Daisy had never been up on wolf daily news, the newcomer reeked of old age...and maybe a brush with Death. Daisy shivered again as the werewolf made her way to the wight and Old Guy...ducking her head to take a sip out of the latter's tumbler. Daisy would have laughed allowed if she hadn't caught a single word passed between the unlikely trio.

Ragnarök

Daisy was almost certain she'd never heard the word -- was it a word? A name? A curse? -- in her life, and yet hearing it made her almost convulse with a violent shiver and gasp for the first time in maybe years. If she'd been holding something (aside from a hellhound), she'd have dropped it, shattered it probably. As it were, Artie yelped quietly and nipped her arm.

"Sorry..." she muttered distantly. The word had faded. The cold had faded. The shivering...she was beginning to wonder about that.

Thank God for Henry.

And his face. And his voice. And his body, sans clothing...

But mostly just Henry.

Okay, Henry and body.

He appeared in front of her sort of without her realizing it at all, and it wasn't until Artie wriggled to take the treat out of the proffered hand and dropped to the floor to go find his favorite rubber duckie/manservant, Daisy realized the Siren was there in front of her at all.

And then she smiled. It was odd, and only sort of forced, but it was better than...

The word echoed in her head, and she quickly shook it free.

"'Max' removed himself," Daisy said, matter-of-factly, with only a hint of bitterness. "But tell me more about Brazil. I hear clothing is optional, nationwide."

From the shelter of Atticus’ side Siya nodded, her face grave and her eyes full of thick emotion for which she had no real name. It wasn’t sadness she was feeling, she was happy for Veti, happy for Max or Thad or whoever. But things were different, unsettled and that wasn’t even including the upheaval of the crone-werewolf’s words. She knew what Ragnarök was, she was more well-read as an immortal than she had been as a mortal courtesy of living with Veti. But that was a big problem, an overwhelming one and for all that the immediate problem of changes and such were painful and personal, they felt more approachable. So for now she would let herself focus on that. Ragnarök could wait, at least a little.

Or not. She knew her thoughts were silly, that time moved for all that she was static within it. But she just didn’t want to face it just yet. So she tried to meet the bubble-gum reaper’s eyes and covey some of what she was feeling but the reaper was having none of it, looking away and happily turning to Henry whose own quip to Atticus had been both thrilling and insulting. She wanted to brood not sulk.

“It’s nothing. It’s everything. I don’t know.” She said softly and nuzzled into his side and then worried that she was too clingy, that she took too many liberties with his person. His face registered affection but she was still too new at this to assume anything. She loosened her grip so that he could pull away if he wanted but then she worried he would think she was stepping away because she didn’t want to be there. She realized the loop her thoughts were going in and slumped. Maybe Ragnarök was a simpler subject to handle after all.

“I think I am a terrible friend, I wasn’t certain that they would be able to get Max back. I was certain I couldn’t live through losing Veti again. It has been a very hard year and I didn’t think I had anything left to give. But now, now they are back and I feel like I have been faithless and that I will deserve their scorn. But I know full well just now I am not even on their radar, I am outside their thoughts and while that is a comfort, that is also a pain. I am ever outside of peoples thoughts.”

She paused and realized she was being rather more forthcoming that she normally was, not even with Veti who could read her like no one else and who had never needed the words that seemed to be pouring from Siya without stop. Her china-doll’s face scrunched up into a rueful expression as she looked up at him, a strange vulnerability in her eyes.

“I make a terrible vampire.” She said in her husky accented voice. “I sulk when I should brood and I am afraid of so much that is inside of me now. I think that I need more scotch and distraction but I think also that I not be given the time.” She said the last as she watched the crone-wolf come out from the private quarters of the founders.

Thad was wrapped up, wrapped in, warped around, Veti. Every part of him that could touch her did. Even parts that could not were surround by the feel of Veti. All his time dead and still or clinging in the world of death evaporated in the sparks of life, of love. Thad cherished each moment, each touch, each scent, each sight, each move of Veti. He told her so.

First with a body that she didn’t know, his. And although every time with Max ,Thad was there, watching and learning, this was him. For a minute Thad feared he better be at his best because this might be his one and only time with a woman he knew would never fade from his longing. But she said she loved him too. At this moment he believed her. And if she loved him now why not more than now. Why not.

Next he told her with his words, as they tumbled out, “I knew,” he buried his head into her, “I knew when I saw you. Right then.” He laughed and let his chuckles move his lips over her. “I just never thought you would see me. So there was Max.” He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “He loves you too you know. And he taught me more than I should admit.” He kissed her again never trying of the feel. “But his time is up and I want you. All of you. Forever.”

He told her with his eyes that looked into hers to see the wild side she could not help but let run and the side that cares for her pack and her friends. She would not fade off into any sunset with him leaving Siya or Daisy or Henry or even Atticus behind. She would not leave a job undone, or partners in danger. And Thad could love that too. He told her so with his smile.

With arms around her he pulled her sweat covered sex soaked head against his chest . He wanted her to feel safe and happy. Not sure about how he would keep her safe he laughed and realized the happy part would have to do. Maybe he could make her happy. And that meant being beside her on her wild rides, her protective rants, her inquisitive hunts, and her pride in her job. He could do that. He would make sure not to fall into a routine of just picking the safe dull easy risk free way. No, this was Veti, after all.

Sure that he would never fall asleep again Thad was surprised after repeated warpings around Veti he could feel his eyes get heavy. But to fight off the idea of laying still again Thad jumped from the bed and ran to the window to open the thick dark curtains.

Naked he bounced back to the bed. “I think I am starving!” He held his stomach and fell on top of her. “I don't think I have eaten in a year!” He crawled up onto her and put his face close to hers. “I would run out right now and grab whatever food I am sure is nicely spread on those old exquisite tables. Do you think they would notice?” He let his eyes show his dare that he so casually threw. The Max in him rumbled in approval.

Thad sprang from the bed and ran to the door placing his hand on the handle waiting for Veti to say go or stay.

The liquor warmed my palate; left a tingling in the roof of my mouth, a soft burning down the back of my throat and through my innards... I found my thoughts drifting to both times and places far away. The grey rain of London that seemed to so often greet me here – the grey rain of London that toiled and struggled against the indomitable stone and iron and glass of the aged Baine and Hoyle headquarters – became something else altogether: the soft rattle of a gentle summer's storm upon the tin roof of some farmstead outbuilding. There was laughter in the air, and a scent as strong as the smell of the thunderheads borne upon the fresh rains, as pungent as the bales of straw stacked neatly in the loft above us. I could not quite place it. A strange scent. No, not a scent but a -feeling-; thick and heady as the warmth of any well-crafted spirit Youth. Passion. Feeling. Yet it was not a name I could place, as though some invisible hand had latched onto the word and pulled it away, thrust it into some deep hole and buried it; left perhaps a gravestone at the site of its death: a marker that read only “For what was and might never be again – Dire warnings....”

Nestor was pulled quite without warning from his reverie; the scent of memories long past became the odour of an encroaching werewolf, the weight of his thoughts nothing more than a heavily clawed hand digging into the back of his shoulder. He did not move. Did not flinch, did not twitch so much as a muscle – save his eyes, which darted at once sidelong toward the creature, took her in with a swift glance, followed her motions as she dropped her head slowly toward his tumbler, took a lapping sip in a manner.... (Was it a challenge? A greeting? A simple show of no etiquette? I resisted the urge to glance toward my comrades – Veti in particular, if she was even still present in the room. No, instead, I drew breath. Eyed my glass)

The Demonspawn does not immediately speak, nor seek to at once answer her question, rather – in the very moment that Aislinn raises her maw from the glass – he lifts the thing to his lips and takes another sip, eying her steadfastly all the while (Revolting, really! I feel the convulsions of disgust tickle their way down my spine as I forcefully suck down the remnants – real or imagined – of were-spittle and were-fur and god-knows what rotted carrion perhaps still stuck between her teeth. But what doesn't kill me, hmm...?). Releasing a pent-up breath, Nestor finally responds to the question:

“Ragnorok, you say, Ms....” Here he trails off, pausing uncertainly for a moment before plunging back into speech: “But how, might I ask, are we...” He turns whilst speaking, takes up another tumbler and the decanter – begins to pour another after setting down his own: “To stop that which has already happened; to prevent that which has already occurred? Can one fight their own fate? We are immortals in our own way, you and I...” These words are punctuated by pointed gestures with the freshly filled glass; the first toward the werewolf, the second toward his own chest. Afterward, the glass is held out by way of offering, along with a brief aside:

“I might add, Ms...” His words are kept low – a conspiratorial tone, almost – as he offers helpfully: “In these parts, it is appropriate to drink from one's own glass; and several decades ago, perhaps, quite rude if I should not have offered you one...”

With that, Nestor continues on his prior train of thought:

“And thus it is for us to understand the revolutions of our own lives; the brevity of humanity, the longevity of the gods... and the fate of you and I, thrust somewhere awkwardly inbetween.” (She might take the glass, or she might not – but I find myself warmed to the outward expression of my own inner dialogue, and after having offered the glass I produce from its precious breast pocket (opposite the flask) the sacred tin of cigars. I eye the wolf woman thoughtfully a moment, before flipping the tin open and presenting to her the personal array of a favoured pastime.)

Gleaming tin of cigars extending, Nestor selects one himself, nimble fingers feeling with some caution at the firmness of the wrap, one nostril wrinkling as he raises the roll to his nose and takes an exploratory whiff. His words, meanwhile, churn on more or less unabated:

“But this fate is that of the gods – their 'Twilight', or so it might be called; 'The dusk of the gods'. A strange thing, is it not? The death of gods to signal the rebirth of humanity... and for whom shall we side, you and I?” Nestor allows these last few words to linger a while in the air. Still holding the offering toward the werewolf, he meantime clips the end of his own cigar (an adroit manoeuvre, considering he uses only one hand), places it between his lips and scorches the tip with a match before lighting it, a few clouds of smoke sent toward the distant ceiling before his words resume.

“And yet perhaps for us both, at the end of it all, it is our humanity that claims the day – the desire to -live-, even if by struggling to avert the inevitable we only prolong the existence of the gods; delay the rebirth of humankind. But that is humanity, is it not? To struggle against the yoke though it might very well choke us to death... and we are human, you and I, just so much as we are gods.”

A chilling laughter slices through the air in the silence following, wrapping itself around the forms of the two – Demonspawn and Werewolf – the blistering hilarity of some being caught up in the irony of a joke too sickening for any right-minded creature to laugh at. But Nestor pays it no mind, eyes remaining locked upon the creature opposite him.

The laughter leapt from her crimson lips like a torrent of dammed up river water that had lain cold and still for far too long. The woman scrambled from the bed and to Thad in an instant, naked as she was but for the art that was as much a part of her as the crimson hair, bed-tangled and wild, and the beating heart in her chest.

"Thad! What in the world - " she laughed as she snatched at his hand, the door opening by inches before she pressed his hand swiftly to close it again, playfully shaking her head as the latch clicked back into place.

Veti caught her breath - and then caught the scent wafting through that small opening, a whiff of ancient wilds, feral and venerable and... A wolf. There was another wolf among her friends in the hall. Not Mr. Hoyle, but another, so... Familiar... Her eyes widened at the sudden realization. The confidence the ancient werewolf had shared with her nearly a year ago, was no small thing to Veti, who had never known a kind word from her own kind. There was only one other of his pack who survived the purge of the Lupus Naturae, and that wolf was here. Now.

As sweet as these stolen moments had been, Veti knew they could not linger. A sudden chill tripped up her spine and she shivered for a moment, the holy ash tree Yggdrasil etched into her right leg, ankle to thigh, beginning to shake. The rippling of the corded muscle beneath her painted skin caused the eagle in its branches scream, and the wyrm to sink its teeth further into the roots.

A sudden, icy wave of dread began to wash over her, but... No, Veti shook it off, wrapping her arms around Thad's waist as she looked up into those deep blue eyes, pressing herself against him entirely. And as she savored the warmth, the feel of his skin, his scent, the lithe muscle beneath her fingers again, some small part of her thoughts began to laugh at her silliness. For heaven's sake, she was only chilled from their mingled sweat and the regretful departure made from that warm, inviting bed. No need to add melodramatic portents of doom to the mix.

"Max didn't go anywhere, did he? Or not very damn far! But you'd best get this through your head right now," she added with a wicked grin, the sharp retort of a one handed swat to his bare bottom ringing through the air, "I'm not sharing this much of you with anyone."

The werewolf chuckled warmly, never moving her gaze from his face. She had spent years of her life, searching for this one singular visage. And now that she found him, Veti wondered if it were even possible, to tire of looking at him. Her voice lowered softly, the hand that had just swatted his bum snaking up his side, tracing the lines of his chest to tenderly cradle his cheek. "I can't give you forever Thad. It's not in my power. But what I do have is yours, if you wish it... "

The wolf in the woman looked into Thad's face now, sapphire eyes shifting to a golden amber, the canine teeth behind those crimson lips lengthening to an unnatural sharpness. "No moment is guaranteed in this life. You of all people would know this, better than most any man alive. But if the moments of my life aren't shortened? I have centuries ahead of me - years and years of time you gave me, that would turn grey, colorless, meaningless without you in them."

"I love you, Thad. And... I want you to come with me. Run with me under the full moon, when her song is simply too irresistible. See the world - taste it, smell it, know it as you could have never imagined it would be. Come with me, all of me, even the wolf you set free." Veti stood to her bare tiptoes, a warm, soft kiss that still held a heartfelt plea, but she would say no more.

"There's no need to make up your mind now," she added, the wolf receding, the woman returning now as she took his hand in hers, entwining her fingers in his with a gentle squeeze.

"Yes... Anyway, yeah I'm hungry too - and we already know you're just starving. But a quick shower first - I'll even soap up your back, love. Your front... However you like. And then, you know... Clothing," she added, nodding meaningfully toward the wardrobe with a wide grin, before pulling him toward the bathroom. "Yes yes, I know - clothes. I hear all the cool kids are wearing them. Oh now, don't look so disappointed. I promise, the minute we're alone again, they won't stay on long... "

Standing at almost seven feet tall in his human form, Zakhar towered over the press of people exiting the Underground. His intense gaze drifted over the throng as people made their way up to street level. He allowed the flow to carry him up with them, his feet moving in uncomfortably short strides for one so large.

As he topped the stairs and met the gray skies of London, Zakhar drew a hand through his pleasantly disheveled, bleached blond hair. Even in his human form, his face held the striking and powerful beauty of his wolfen other half, and his sharp nose turned up to the clouds to sniff at the damp air. Around him the human wave parted, moving either north or south upon Kentish Town Road. Placing his hands into the pockets of his threadbare jeans, Zakhar turned north, his legs now able to lengthen and take up massive lengths of pavement.

In little time he was veering onto Fortress Road, and moving north still further until he reached the junction of Fortress and Brecknock. Here he stopped, looking to the darkly painted building that occupied the southern corner. Above the front door was a glowing neon sign that read ‘Aces and Eights.’ Zakhar unzipped his faded leather motorcycle jacket, and pulled open the heavy wooden door, and into the bustling saloon bar. His ears were accosted by Blues guitar, and the noise of dozens of liquor lubricated tongues.

The werewolf wove his way through the crowd, his muscular frame and daunting height drawing the eyes of many. He paid the attention no mind, and moved towards the rear of the saloon like a man with a purpose. As he moved past the end of the bar, he smelled the distinct scent of a vampire off to his right, and his eyes tracked up to a deliciously proportioned woman flirting with a drunk businessman. It would be the most costly piece of ass the man ever had the pleasure of trying, Zakhar knew. The Veiled World was a dangerous place, especially where it met with the human realm.

It is about to become particularly deadly, he thought as his gaze fell upon those he was here to meet.

He took a seat at the small booth occupied by two surly looking men in mismatched clothing and dingy complexions. The pair eyed him warily, their gaze moving up and down his body with a conspicuous note of surprise.

Zakhar smiled at them with a grin that was almost as predatory as the one he wore when covered in fur. “My brothers,” He began, his rich Slavic accent peppering the thick air, “let us speak of Hoyle’s precious castle, and how we are going to bring the walls crumbling down around him.”