Atticus looked down to Siya with a smile of sympathy. He could see how troubled she was by the lines that etched her smooth face, and the clouds that seemed to roil behind her ethereal eyes. He thought in that moment how much humanity still remained in Siya. To his eyes she was an individual laced with the worries and emotions of one still grounded enough to not be carried away by the reality of her immortality. In Atticus’ experience, such perspective was rare amongst the children of Cain, and he admired Siya’s reliance upon those she loved. It was a quality he himself wished he possessed more of.

“Siya,” he said, pushing a lock of hair from her face, “you are many things, but a terrible friend is not one of them. I know it was hard to keep faith that Max would be returned, but that is no indictment of your love for him, or Veti for that matter.” Atticus shrugged, hoping to rob some of the angst from Siya. “Being caught up in the reality of the times is no betrayal, it simply is the way of things.”

He reached down and laced his fingers into hers as she returned her eyes to his. It was a gesture foreign to him, but in that moment he decided how wonderfully delicious it felt.

“As for being outside of people’s thoughts, I wager you won’t have to wait for long to know that Veti and Max both keep you in the forefront of their thoughts. Veti especially will be overjoyed, and she will naturally want to share that joy with her best friend.”

Atticus gave Siya his best, most assured smile. It faltered slightly as he continued. “I know that I did not do a good job in these past months of showing you, but you have to believe me when I say that you have been in my thoughts and in my heart always.”

He clenched his jaw, an Incubus finding himself in a realm of speech he never fathomed would pass his lips. “Siya, I have never felt drawn towards any creature like I am to you. It is a feeling that as a demon I have never experienced, and so I know my ineptitude has hurt.”

Atticus returned the smile to his face, and gave Siya a wink. “Maybe you can help me get better in that regard?”


Aislinn Hoyle

Aislinn’s head cocked first to the undead man, and then back to the deep thinking one with the Scotch and strange clothing. Surprise registered in her yellow eyes, and she licked her fangs in a gesture of contemplation, though only those accustomed to a werewolf’s habits would identify it as such.

Her surprise registered from their own confusion, even despite the flowery contemplations of the man with the Scotch. They did not know about the coming end? Why were any of them here than? Certainly Reginald had brought these agents here to help in the stopping of Ragnarök, for Aislinn could fathom no other purpose for their presence.

“You did not know of its coming?” She growled to the pair. Aislinn thought to inquire after what had brought them to her brother’s service in the first instance, but she decided it mattered not. Instead she would labor to inform them.

“There is much happening in the world, dark things, and despite whatever deep thoughts…” Aislinn’s wolf muzzle screwed itself into a bemused expression as she was offered a cigar by the demon-host. She reached out and plucked one from the tin, sniffing it several times before continuing. “…You may have upon the end of the world, and its rebirth, I say to you that it is too early. This is not the natural work of the gods and their machinations, no, this is the work of sinister forces that wish to bring the great storm to the world early, and for their own gain.”

She paused to sniff at the cigar once more, before deciding to light it upon the flame of a nearby candle. The pungent scent of the tobacco was foreign to her, and the old wolf had only her experience of smoking other medicinal weeds to lead her to the proper method to handle the cigar. Somewhat awkwardly in her wolfen form, she drew in several long puffs, and held her breath deep within her lungs. She then took the cigar and offered it to the undead man, shaking it slightly between her fingers, indicating that he should take it.

Thad was sure he was happier than he had ever been. Oh yea, his face hurt from the grin that seemed unable to end. Clean and dirty all at the same time from a shower scrub in ways he had never washed before. But he would again. Oh yes he would. And Veti would be howling right there with him. He felt sure. As he held her again under the stream of water he talked in low murmurs of the woods they would run through, of the hills they would roam, of all cities they would sleek around, and all the hunts they would take. Promises, plans, futures, pledges, Thad just couldn’t give her enough.

But as the clean cycle ended he pulled back and tenderly leaned his forehead to hers. “I am your alpha babe, but let’s hold off on the wolf pack idea just for a little. I am only now in my skin. I was dead and I was moved by someone else. I just need time to feel …” He kissed her. “Just to feel you as me.”

He sprang from the shower unwolf like and went to the massive closet in this favorite room of his had. The room was nice, very nice, but that wasn’t why it was his favorite. No, he turned around and watched Veti as she moved from the shower to find clothes. It wasn’t hard at all to know why this room would be always in his memory.

But it was time to eat, and drink, and to do that he better find clothes. Thad opened the closet door and stood there looking. He felt different. Might as well dress different too. So to his surprise he picked a very fine dark gray suit. Yea, he pulled it out and hung it right in front of him wondering. Why not? It was amazingly soft light wool and he almost choked when he saw the fine crafted lighter gray buttons in the silhouette of a wolf’s head. Yup, this was it. He found a very light blue shirt for underneath. He dressed quick just so he wouldn’t change his mind. And as an after thought grabbed two ties, one gray and blue strips and one a solid darker blue, he slung over his shoulder. Maybe a tie would be too much.

Then all dressed and ready to go he moved to Veti and wrapped his arms around her, dressed entirely or not, ready to go or not, and he spoke in her ear. “It’s time to find some food. Drink. Time to figure the next assignment and save the world again. But this time, we are sticking together.”

He opened the door for her. He knew his she wolf would need to speak to this pack of hers and he wanted to make sure he gave her room. So Thad headed to the food. But before he got all the way across the room he saw Siya again. He grinned and went to her and boss man.

“So, ah, help me out.” He looked to the small graceful friend, “Which tie?” He pointed to the two on his shoulder. She knew more than anyone how little Thad or Max knew about outfits, about fashion, about putting himself together. Besides he wanted to let her know even if he was different he stilled cared about her. Maybe more so. “And damn if I can remember how that knot goes.”

If it wouldn’t have been thought undignified Siya might have wriggled at the words that came from Atticus’ mouth. His earlier words, kindness about Veti and Max had been sweet a balm to her troubled soul, if she possessed such a thing. In the wake of those words she found herself tongue tied, not knowing how to tell him how much those words had meant. She’d been agonizing over her decision almost since it had been made. But then he went on, not stopping with the balm. He gifted her with more and what he said was more wonderful, more glorious than anything she could have imagined.

Her small little body went still in lieu of its wanted wriggles as she beamed up at him, her eyes as bright as the noon sun which she could no longer tolerate. She bit her lip, her tiny fangs leaving indents in the soft flesh as she finally tightened her hand in his and stretched to her tiptoes to brush a kiss and some words across the incredible cheekbones framed by that magnificent beard,

“You needn’t be better at anything...” She began. So many things were on the tip of her tongue, her adoration her desire, her lack of expectations, her enjoyment of his company, her appreciation of his words, his touch, his time that they crowded each other out and not a one could escape to brush against his skin.

Before she could order them and find a way to express them all to this wonderful, dear, demonic man before her a beloved voice was speaking, one that pulled nearly as many heartstrings as did Atticus. Max, Thad, whoever. She turned her sunshine smile towards him, and eyebrow rising at his attire. She kept her fingers twined with Atticus, saying some of what her tangled words would have had they cooperated.

She spotted Thad/Max’s conundrum almost as soon as he pointed it out and she rolled her eyes affectionately and gently loosened her grip from Atticus’ after a gentle squeeze to tell him she wasn’t going anywhere. She took the ties in her delicate hands and looked them over consideringly and then held them up to the suit, looking from the ties to his eyes and back. Her fingers fluttered nervously over the silk as her brows lowered in consideration. After a moment she draped on over her shoulder and looped the other around his neck, fingers flying as she manipulated the fabric into a complex and elegant knot.

“I am sorry I wasn’t there.” She said to the tie, her accented voice husky with emotion. “I was afraid that Veti wasn’t going to come back.” She swallowed, paused and went on. “It was a hard time, but well worth it, we have you back.”

She tucked the neatly tied tie into his suit, smoothing the front and then stepped back into Atticus, her small body sheltered against his ink-ridden one.

Veti had nodded her understanding of course, still smiling, still laughing though some small part of her thoughts squirmed with an unspoken worry, a fearful little worm of apprehension that she was only beginning to understand might never truly leave her. No, of course she couldn't fault Thad for wanting to take his time, to live in his own body, to love her in his own skin after death and after Max.

It was fear that twisted her up, even as she twisted that wide, crimson smile back into place, repainting her lips back to brilliance with the cosmetics at the vanity that supernaturally matched her very own. Dressed only in an ivory lace bra and matching garter and thigh-high stockings, pale grey leather boots laced to her knees, Veti stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Those hard, sapphire eyes never once cut the woman who stared back even the slightest amount of slack. She already knew the hell that life would be without him.

The werewolf knew she couldn't face that world again. She would give him whatever she possibly could, do anything in her power to keep him safe and at her side.

Even share the wolf he'd made of her first.

Still Veti brightened when Thad came behind her, wrapping his arms about her waist, reminding her just how hungry he really was, and thirsty too of course - oh, and a little something or so about saving the world again. Together.

"You look very handsome," she said to his reflection in the mirror, just over her shoulder. And he truly did in that grey suit, the blue dress shirt reflecting the blue in his eyes. And she really did love that last little touch, the wolf-shaped buttons on the suit jacket. Long fingers reached upwards, wrapping behind his neck tenderly, savoring the softness of that golden hair, the living warmth of the cheek that lay against hers for just a moment with a soft sigh of contentment.

But only for a moment, before Veti stood once more, crossing to the bed swiftly where her dress had been laid out. Dove grey silk sewn into a simple sheath dress, styled with a boat neck, the sleeves falling to a three quarter length, its skirt fell to her knees with an [almost] demure slit in the front to her thigh. Ivory lace lay over its entirety, falling gracefully into a near ethereal train to the floor behind her. As with everything found in these wardrobes, this dress fit like a dream, as if it had been tailored especially and alone for that wearer.

Because, of course, it had been.

Veti chuckled warmly as they left their room, one eyebrow raised curiously when she realized Thad had a tie over each shoulder. Well, let the man have his moment of indecision - she was of the opinion he looked very nice with the top of his dress shirt simply unbuttoned. But he deserved his entrance, her resurrected lover - let it be as magnificent as he wished.

The scent of the other wolf grew stronger the closer they came to the great room, and Veti could feel the tension building in her chest, her arm clutching Thad's closer still in anticipation. When they finally stepped back inside, the high heels of her grey boots clicking lightly on the herringbone wood floors, the lovers exchanged understanding glances. Yes, Thad really did need to have his food, but Veti's sudden uneasiness had lost her appetite. She watched him cross the room, toward the food - and then of course stopping before Siya, giving up any pretense to understanding the way of formal dress before their dear, precious friend.

Veti would not interrupt their moments, no matter how dearly she wished to grill Siya on all that had happened - though looking at the entwined fingers and the contented grins, it sure the hell wasn't hard to hazard a damn good guess.

Good for Siya. She deserved that happiness like no one Veti knew.

Still, the werewolf felt the undeniable pull of the wolf across the room, who had certainly not been in the great room when she and Thad had made their dramatic exit. She was ancient, this wolf. Veti could feel this to her very bones - though she would have to be, would she not, if she were a member of Hoyle's murdered clan?

Veti's gut twisted further still, wincing even behind the smile that shook nervously on her lips as she made herself cross the room toward the other wolf. Reginald Hoyle had been kind to her, spoken to her with a respect and a decency she had never experienced from any other werewolf she had ever met. But small, ugly doubts whispered in the back of her head, hissing ugly misgivings into her thoughts. Simply because Mr. Hoyle had been good to her, there was no reason she should expect the same from his surviving packmate.

The werewolf's eyes stole toward the fireplace, toward that familiar bubble gum pink head of hair, cradling a newly-stoated Artie and chatting up Henry, and looking to be having a damn good time of things at it. Feeling just a little silly about the whole... Thing... But not silly enough to stop herself, Veti tried to catch Daisy's gaze, nodding quickly toward where Nestor and Semyon sat, the venerable wolf before them with her back on the room.

Shameless. Veti knew damn well she was acting the shameless, helpless beggar at the moment, but with Thad catching up with Siya and Atticus at the moment, and the unspeakably irresistible pull of the elder wolf? Damn, but Veti shot the Reaper the biggest, most imploring puppy dog wide-eyed gaze she'd ever given, pleading silently for Daisy to come with her, pleeeeeeeeeeeease?

Compared to the definitely delicious sight of Henry Grimm, Veti was pretty sure she didn't really stand much of a chance. But hell, it was worth a shot...

Veti felt herself uncharacteristically subdued as her smile dimmed, weak and tight as she nodded to Nestor and Semyon first before standing beside Nestor's chair, the grey leather clutch purse with her Desert Eagle tucked inside twined between both her hands like some utterly inadequate shield of a sort. The werewolf was, to Veti's eyes, quite beautiful. Her fur red and brown, mottled with the grey of her great age, she could see no facade to her, no artifice in her mannerisms. There was a crescent moon of scar tissue across her throat, and Veti knew its origins in an instant.

Silver.

Only silver could scar a werewolf like that, and she would know that well enough. It had been the silvered edges of the fledgling vampire Joseph's sword that marred both her abdomen and back where he'd tried to run her through - a mortal mistake for the poor boy. Veti shook her head quickly, letting the year-old memory free. There was enough trouble for this moment, after all, and -

One crimson eyebrow shot up in genuine surprise. The one sight Veti honestly hadn't expected to witness was the ancient, revered werewolf offer up a cigar to Semyon like she was passing him a joint.

Semyon remained quiet for the moment, listening first to Nestor's... philosophical side, then to the seemingly confused werewolf between them. They were supposed to have known already? Atticus hadn't said anything about that, the Wight was sure he would have caught the word 'Ragnarok' otherwise. Isis hadn't mentioned anything, but then her -and Tamarind's- task hadn't been in line with the one Hoyle had given Atticus. Perhaps Hoyle had been hoping to avoid causing undue distress in his employees?

Personally, Semyon would have preferred to have known from the start. But he was a soldier, not the head of an organization. He wasn't in a place to judge -or really question- Hoyle's judgment.

He could still wonder to himself though. That was a right everyone held... Like wondering why a cigar was being passed to him.

The Wight regarded the cigars gently smoking form, held cautiously in the werewolf's grasp. He wasn't even sure he had smoked something like that when he lived, and now she wanted him to take it? It was rude to refuse, certainly, but confusion made him pause maybe a moment too long. After all, it had recently been offered to her from Nestor. What tradition was she following, to pass it along?

"...Thank you." He opted to take it gingerly from her gasp, setting it to rest lightly between his teeth, smoke still trailing out at a stately pace. There was no one to pass it onto after him so far, so- wait, Tamarind was approaching? Ah, he could follow the Werewolf's tradition, then.

"Ahead of it's time? More reason to stop it then." The cigar's tip flared briefly as Semyon experimented at inhaling, his voice seemingly unobstructed despite it all. "There's much to do in the world. I-... We can't have it stopping now."

Drawing the cigar from his mouth -smoke still swirling inside, escaping his lips little at a time- Semyon held it out for Tamarind to take. A subtle glance with pale eyes to check the other werewolf would not notice, and he offered their new arrival a small shrug. Given the look Tamarind had on her face, she seemed to know nothing more about this tradition than he did. But passing it along would delay any offense, at least. And surely someone who was actually alive and breathing would appreciate the cigar more than he. So many smoked such things, they had to have some attraction, yes?

Semyon almost shrugged a second time, before reminding himself it wasn't necessary when thinking. Back to standing still and listening, then, though perhaps with more than a cigar to greet Tamarind.

"Did you hear of this, Tamarind?" His gaze turned to fix upon her entirely, for now. "Ragnarok? We have a heavy task before us."

She really had to give the wight some credit - for an undead guy, he sure the hell put on a good show of working a cigar, all the way to managing a brief glowing orange tip, entirely without a single breath of life in whatever might be left of his lungs. Impressive indeed. And the sweet, heavy scent of the cigar smoke told her it wasn't really a blunt either, which didn't make the entire scene any less weird - far from it actually. Fine with her though really, Veti never liked that shit anyway. She swore her IQ dropped at least one point with every pull.

And though she'd have preferred to stick with a Marlboro Light with an ice cold draft beer, Veti got the distinct feeling this strange little ritual may have been something expected - or started - by the venerable werewolf before her. So Veti simply imitated her Russian friend with another shrug, and took the cigar from him as nonchalantly as she possibly could manage.

She knew very well a cigar wasn't meant to be inhaled but she did anyway, the long drag she took hiding most of her genuine surprise and curiosity at Semyon's words, the only evidence of her muddled thoughts the deep furrow in her brow. Stopping the world? What in heaven's name had she walked in on here?

Veti let the smoke from her lungs, tensing her tongue in the back of her throat and pursing her lips to a gentle "O", releasing the smoke ring to float gently toward the vaulted ceilings above. But it was the words he spoke next sent the rest of the cigar smoke in her lungs expelled in genuine shock. She simply couldn't stop the choking, hacking gasps, utterly undignified, every last cool point she'd ever tried to keep in front of the elder wolf lost utterly - but seriously!? Did Semyon honestly just say -

"Ragnarök!?" Veti wheezed when she could finally catch her breath, her eyes darting between demonspawn and wight and venerable elder alike.

Damn it all to hell. And here she thought Thad had just been kidding about having to save the whole world again.

Veti 's mouth fell open for a moment, stunned and utterly unsure who the hell should actually be getting the communal cigar next. She gave up trying to figure it all out, and simply set it down with shaking fingers on the edge of the cut lead crystal ashtray beside Nestor's chair, and let her head wrap around Semyon's words.

Few people might ever realize simply by first [granted, decidedly unconventional] appearances, that if the werewolf ever wished a career in academia, she'd have been entitled to the moniker "Dr. Blasko."

Twice over.

By the time she was 19-years old.

And one of those Ph Ds just happened to be in the field of ancient Norse archaeology. Had she heard of Ragnarök? Of course she had. She'd read the Eddas - Poetic and Prose, understood the cosmology, done the field work, and even taken the time to learn the Icelandic language, the closest living language to the one spoken by the Vikings.

But had she been let in on the plan about fending off the imminent coming of Ragnarök? Uh... Heh... That would be a giant goddamned hell no!

"Ragnarök, as in... The Doom of the Gods Ragnarök ? The Loki and the Fenris wolf are set loose Ragnarök, where the Nine Worlds - including ours here on Midgard - are burned utterly, where Sköll devours the sun and Hati devours the moon? That Ragnarök?"

Veti smacked herself in the chest with a fist, coughing up the last of the cigar smoke with a growl. "Ah Semyon," she said, her voice gravelly with the hacking and smoke, "It's a fair guess that 'no,' no one let me in on that little tidbit either."

He watched the small white fingers tie the knot around his neck with a flow he always admired. She moved like the night wind. When she was done he looked down and smiled up. Expertly done of course and exactly the right one, as it sat under his chin and on the light blue shirt. Siya had many talents. With a sharp lift of his chin he looked to Atticus and then back to Siya, “Princess, have you found your dragon?” He smiled right after and knew he should not wait for any response. The Max in him liked to tease but the Thad wanted to listen more. She said things he wasn’t sure he understood.

“What do you mean not there?” He twisted just a bit to look back over his shoulder at Veti as she was, smoking a cigar? Ha. He watched the smoke blow from her lips and he let himself thrill in the idea he knew them, or wanted them, or anything about them, those lips. He watched and when Veti put the cigar down he spun back to Siya and Atticus. “You’re here.”

In that moment he realized he had no idea of the time frame or the date or even the reason they were back in the same building he died in. How long? He looked to Siya and his eyes asked the question before he even got it out. “Hard? You mean you guys haven’t just been playing truth or dare or pillow games while I was dead?”

He grinned to Atticus. He looked for a change in him and although he couldn’t put his finger on it, not that he would want to, he did for the first time think that maybe time had past. How long?

“I don’t know what you mean. What happened that was hard? And why would Veti not come back?” Thad wanted to know how long but that question just didn't seem to come. It didn’t really matter. He thought the whole gang would go on pretty easy without him. He wasn’t a major player even in Siya and Veti’s affections really. Or so he thought. They were the closest he was to anyone but still, he was gone a bit, how hard would that really be? Oh he wanted them to miss him, that was a for sure. But they had each other. They had the rest of this freaky gang. They went to clubs and did stuff. How hard?

Thad paused. Siya said she wasn’t there. Veti wasn’t right by her best friends side. Had something happened? No, he couldn’t believe anything would separate them for long.

He decided to look to the boss man, the big guns, the one in charge of this. “Alright so it’s in your court, big guy.” He had been dead. He wasn’t so intimidated by the powerful anymore. “What the fuck is going on?”

Daisy wasn't going to rescue Veti.

Veti was a big girl -- and a werewolf -- and she was alive, and shitty as Daisy felt about everything Veti had said back in Oz, or wherever the fuck they'd been (had she and Tiny Vamp really been all that transparent in trying to keep her on this side of the line?), she actually sort of agreed with Siya.

Granted, she would sooner face Death and all the creepy crawlies that came with it before she admitted that. And let there be no confusion -- Tiny Vamp could be sulky and apologetic as she wanted. It wasn't like she and Daisy had ever been or would ever be close. But they had been a team. Maybe not the fun kind. No rosé-filled nights of liquor and cookies and rom-coms for them. The most talking they had ever done was to explain where Veti had gone when she went. Daisy hadn't liked team don't-let-Veti-do-anything-stupid...but it had worked. Not perfectly, or even well, but long enough, and now ShizoLock was a team of one and Veti was laughing again, so that was great.

But standing there at the cusp of Death, feeling the cold flow over her, feeling the darkness scream her name...she couldn't really blame Siya for not wanting to go. If Max hadn't come back...Veti wouldn't have, either. And Daisy...well, fuck it. Max was back. So was Veti. So, Daisy's job, if she could even call it that, was done and over.

So, no, she was going to ignore Veti and her desperate glances and furtive appeals. Veti had Max now. That was his job. Wasn't it?

Only...Daisy didn't trust whatever -- whoever -- had come back through half as far as she could throw him. Veti could only see what -- who -- she wanted to see, and the others were obligated to go along with it. But Daisy wasn't so keen to believe Death had just released its grip on Veti's prodigal beau. She knew better than that. This was the epitome of give and take, cause and effect, catch and release. This was the very worst kind of two way street.

And, yeah, maybe she felt better seeing SchizoLock leave Veti's side. She might have even relaxed enough to comfortably go back to ogling Henry, satisfied that Tiny Vamp was keeping only mostly biased eyes on ShizoLock.

And then Veti fucking failed at smoking whatever the hell it was the old dude pulled out of his Mary Poppins bag-o-drugs, and Daisy found herself moving toward the werewolf before she even knew she was walking.

If she could have blushed, she would have. It wasn't like she was keen to rejoin the presence of the wight, and maybe even less so the somehow-much-more-intimidating boss-man-wolf-sister werewolf. Particularly not for this subject of discussion.

But she'd looked away for a second -- a second -- and Death had crept in. Quietly reluctant, Daisy slid in alongside Veti, scowling imperiously at the wight, though she didn't remove her attention from the conversation at hand. Tiny Vamp was busy. ShizoLock was...skeazy. Daisy thought maybe she could find it somewhere in her to hate Veti. But then where would she go?

Nestor's eyes slide with wary misgiving over the werewolf's form as she licks her fangs, (Whether I could sense danger or not in this one, my profession had never been exceptionally kind to the careless.), grey orbs trailing after the pink member until the very moment it vanishes back into the maw. He gives the cigar a little more life, draws air to the embers and then releases a long, drawn-out sigh; thick clouds of earthy smoke briefly shroud his face, the expression drawn into a pensive frown.

But he does not speak. Rather, it would seem the Werewolf's acceptance of the cigar have proved far more curious than any exchange of words – and even in the space of a lingering moment I realise I am so intent upon watching what she might do next, that I have still got the tin held out, motionless, in my hand! – it snaps back into its place beneath what remains of his jacket, a few more clouds of smoke are dragged from the coals, and his eyes remain upon the creature.

“I must offer my apologies, ma'am – events for me have been, well... destructive, of late...” He offers something that might be considered a shrug – hands extending briefly, palms outward – the gesture masked at once as he raises the cigar, fills the space above his head with a little more smoke still:

“So perhaps my ignorance can be excused. As for my words – the strands all split from the same hair, or so they say – so perhaps the details matter less to you when I might just as simply say I would sooner tear loose and devour the soul from my own body, before standing idly by as I watched the world burn.”

Nestor's final words are punctuated by the chill static of an aggravating voice in the venerable Werewolf's vicinity:

“But maybe, just maybe, She-Wolf, you should be ware of the ones you proposition... maybe he means to say he'd be just as happy to lend a hand to the burning himself... if you follow...”

But the Demonspawn's attention is diverted elsewhere at the moment, both eyebrows shooting upward as he struggles not to break into a grin at Veti's sudden outburst and the subsequent havoc wreaked by the cigar. Biting briefly at his lip, he manages a dry remark – gaze caught all the while upon the neatly bound roll in his own hand – “Not to fear, Mistress Veti – it makes the lungs strong. Like iron. Breathe deep”. He taps his chest with a forefinger before finally offering a lopsided kind of smirk.

She watched the questions moving through his eyes, questions Max wouldn’t have bothered wondering and she found herself cocking her head to look at this new person. Max was wonderful, Max was exciting and clever, Max and Veti were a flame that lit up the night, but neither of them ever stopped to look around and wonder. They’d always been so wrapped up in each other. But this new Max, Max 2.0 was different. He asked questions, he looked outside his own needs and she wasn’t sure how that would change things. But then he looked at Veti and she saw that the pull between them was just as strong. That together they would burn and everyone else would fall to the shadows.

He looked back and more questions came and for a moment she almost felt more real because of his gaze. Was that what pulled Veti so hard to this man? Did she feel more real when he was looking at her? He was a friend and he asked questions and while she was a lousy friend she could still answer him, offer him that small ease. It wasn’t Atticus who could answer, not all of it, he hadn’t been there.

“You left us.” She said as a start. “But you know that part. You were gone for a long time Max, almost a year. It was all we could do to keep Veti from following you by more conventional means. She wasn’t eating, she wasn’t really sleeping. Daisy moved in, or sort of. She was just around because she knew…”

Her voice choked off a little and a drop of pink-tinged tears gathered in her lashes.

“She knew how close Veti was to leaving us. We watched her, we did everything we could. I cooked.” She last was stated in a tone that rang with what a strange phenomena that had been. The words kept coming out, all the words she hadn’t been able to say, all the fears that had filled her and drilled holes inside her heart and head poured out.

“But it wasn’t enough. It was just a matter of time. Veti pretended, she smiled and pretended to eat, pretended to be with us. But in her heart she was gone, just waiting for a chance to slip away. Artie helped, but it wasn’t going to be enough. Daisy wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”

She paused to wipe her eyes on the back of her wrist and swallowed.

“Every time her monthlies came I was certain it was going to be the last time I saw her. So when Atticus came to use to tell us of a way to get you back I… I just couldn’t go with her. Because I knew that if it didn’t work, she wasn’t coming home. I’d said goodbye to her too many times and I couldn’t do it again. So I left her. I wasn’t there and I’m sorry for that.”

She was torn, wanting contact, wanting comfort but not feeling like it was her right. Finally she stepped just a bit forward and leaned her head against Max’s chest.

“Just know that she’s fragile. She pretends to be tough but I’ve seen the cracks, Max. She’s going to get better now that you are back but she’s riddled with them. She’s different, something changed forever when you left us and I just don’t know how to fix it.”

Atticus almost laughed with pure and unbridled pleasure at Siya’s reaction to his words. The relief that she gave him was the most comforting sensation he could remember in all his years, and that feeling coupled with the prettiness of her body language set the demons on his skin to slump and make disgusted faces, while the angels applauded and swooned. In that moment, regardless of the impending threat of the end of the known world, Atticus felt like all was right in the universe as Siya brushed her delicate lips against his cheek.

He made to answer her, to continue riding the wave of joy that was washing over him, but Siya’s doll-eyes were drawn to the appearance of Max/Thad instead. Atticus felt a twinge of disappointment, but it lasted only a scant moment as Siya squeezed his hand before moving to assist the sorcerer with his selection of a necktie.

The sight of the usually less traditionally clothed Max now adorned in a suit brought a sideways smile to Atticus’ face. He wanted to comment to as much, to tease the man he owed so much, but he refrained as Siya spoke to the sorcerer. Her words carried far more urgency and import than his jest ever would, so he kept his mouth closed. The mention of Siya having found her dragon did catch him off guard, and he blinked for a moment before a proud smile returned to his features. He liked that thought.

His expression shifted dramatically when Max asked his questions of Siya. Max’s manner was so magnetic and nonchalant that it was easy to forget that he had been absent, floating in the realm of the dead for almost a year. In the few moments he had seen the sorcerer, it had seemed to Atticus that the man had merely been off buying milk and eggs down the street. When he spoke to what he had missed, the suspension of disbelief was burst, and the reality of what Max had endured came flooding back into Atticus’ mind.

His face pinched with regret and guilt as Siya endeavored to answer Max’s question of Atticus. Again he remained silent, allowing the vampire to present the truth behind the toll that Max’s absence had taken upon the close group of friends. In that moment Atticus felt so out of place, so ancillary to the hard matters of the trinity of Max, Veti, and Siya.

“We did our best,” Atticus said at last, as Siya pressed her face against Max’s chest. “Since the day you allowed us to defeat Decima we searched for a means to return you to the Veiled World.”

Atticus drew his mouth into a frown, one that was hidden behind the hair of his beard, but one that was wholly visible upon the other features of his face. “I am sorry, Max. For everything. What you did for us, for the world, cannot be repaid. I just hope there is some solace in knowing that you were sorely missed. As for everything else that is going on now, you came back at a most…” Atticus trailed off, trying to find the right word. “…Tumultuous time.”

Aislinn Hoyle

Aislinn spewed the smoke she had been holding through her long muzzle, coughs and hacks followed with it, and it took her a moment before she recovered. She eyed the disdainful roll of foul leaves with a withering stare and decided she would bring her own pipe weed to share next time. The demon host had horrible taste when it came to such things.

“You have horrible taste in pipe weed,” Aislinn said, matter of factly to the man, “it is almost as peculiar as your dress. If we stop Ragnarök, I will share a blend with you that has been passed down within the Teachglach Mac Tíre for generations. It will sooth your mind and invigorate your soul,” she moved her hand up and down in the air, as if searching for the spot his soul would reside, “if you possess one that that can be invigorated.”

She found the man with the lingering scent of the infernal utterly intriguing, and his speech only furthered her curiosity. The old wolf understood little of what he said, and all she would concede to his query was a guttural, “Humpf.”

It was then that her nose, momentarily dulled by the cigar smoke that had passed through it, caught the unmistakable scent of another werewolf. The large amber orbs of her eyes followed the gaze of the demon host and the undead man to a woman of striking appearance. Aislinn breathed in deeply, confirming her assessment. This one was a child of the moon, and no mistake. But wait, there was something in the woman’s scent that was off, something that was strange to Aislinn’s keen nose.

Stepping from between the two men, Aislinn stalked quickly over to the red-haired beauty until her nose came to alight near the woman’s head. Like a true wolf assessing another of its own kind, Aislinn sniffed in short breaths, drawing in the woman’s scent many times, and with each drawn inhalation, she learned just a little more.

She could tell she was young, at least in comparison to Aislinn, and she smelled of new happiness and the lingering musk of love making. Her scent alluded to strength and confidence, and the smell of cordite and gun oil upon her skin spoke to a love of firearms. There were other scents as well, ones that Aislinn did not recognize, but reminded her of the kerosene used by lamplighters, and the processed leather of a tanner. All of these olfactory hints made Aislinn’s mind whir with wonderment and inquisitiveness, though the thing that drew her attention the most was the scent she could not place at all, or more importantly, the one that she did not smell.

“I am Aislinn Hoyle,” she said to the red haired woman, withdrawing her nose finally and stepping back a short pace. “I am of the Teachglach Mac Tíre line, from the pack of the Five Stones.”

By now Aislinn’s tail was wagging with barely contained joy at meeting another of her kind that was not out to hunt her down, as well as the curiosity that drove her next question.

“Please tell me, I cannot place your line. To which do you belong?”

It was only then that her mind caught up with what her ears had heard minutes ago, and Aislinn’s ears perked up with recognition.

“And Ragnarök? You know of it in depth?” Aislinn’s muzzle split in a wide grin, her tongue lolling out in a very puppy-like gesture. “I am most pleased to hear it. We shall have to have a den circle with Reginald, you and I. It has been so long since I have enjoyed such things.”

As she finished, Aislinn’s tail was wagging so fiercely that it shook her entire rear end. “Forgive me,” she said with a rare moment of introspection, “it is has been ages since I’ve been amongst another child of the moon besides my own brother. Is your pack nearby?”

"Fucking... " *cough* "Smartass, Nestor... " Veti grinned at the demonspawn though her eyes were still watering, the last of the cigar smoke expelled from her lungs in a hacking little half cough. She smiled, because she wasn't really the least put off by Nestor's words or that little smirk on his face. It was exactly the thing she'd have said too, if she'd seen a friend make a fool of themselves so loudly and spectacularly.

Nyah, she really couldn't blame the guy at all. She'd left the door on that jibe wide open.

The wide, crimson-lipped grin faded just a little though - not entirely, but just a touch - as she turned to look down to Daisy. She felt the Reaper's approaching presence more than saw, and Veti was happily surprised. She honestly didn't think her desperate companionship could have ever competed with Henry's ridiculous hotness. But even so... ?

Never in her life had Veti wished more for the ability to read a mind than she did at the moment. Daisy scowled at Semyon, though for the life of her, the werewolf could not imagine why? Even as the Reaper seemed to pay silent "lip service" to attending the conversation, she was agitated, fuming - Veti had learned to read that much at least, over the past several months. The werewolf looked down to her friend quizzically, opening her mouth to say - well, she knew not what really, nor would she ever.

This was not the first time Veti had suffered the scrutiny of her own kind, the tentative, reluctant whuffles, the snorts of derision, the half-sneezes as if to expel her odor from their nostrils, followed always by snarls of disgust. She wasn't truly one of them, not a genuine werewolf. She was incomplete, half-made like a pup born before its allotted time, an abomination with no right place in any pack.

Her body stiffened, sapphire eyes wide and waiting on the verdict of this ancient wolf. Veti dared hope that for the second time in this life maybe, just maybe, there would be no suffering, no rejection. Incredulously, she watched the slow sway of the ancient wolf's tail peeking again and again from the back of her haunches, picking up speed as if... As if she might truly find her acceptable? True, the elder wolf was the last of Mr. Hoyle's pack, the Teachglach Mac Tìre - and he was exceptional in so many ways.

Veti took a deep breath, unable to still the trickle of disappointment that welled up when Aislinn Hoyle asked her questions. She did not know what Veti was to the wolves' world. So be it then. She would not lie, nor flinch from the truth - and then only pray that sweet, endearing wolfish grin wouldn't fall to a growl of contempt, nor the puppyish wagging of her great tail diminish.

"I'm Victoria Blasko, but most everyone calls me Veti. You may too... If you like, I mean. I have no line - I was neither born nor blooded a werewolf. And I have no pack... " Veti's hand brushed the cold fingers of the Reaper beside her, squeezing Daisy's hand swiftly, gently, before her eyes turned toward Nestor, and then Semyon, and then back to Aislinn.

"I have no pack beyond what I make for myself, and most all my pack are already here, to the last. It is so good to meet you, Ms. Hoyle. I respect and admire your brother like few others in this world. He is a very good man. As for a den circle... " Veti's voice trailed off as she chewed the inside of her lip thoughtfully for a moment, trying to imagine what it would be like to belong in a den circle, to speak and share, and laugh and reminisce with other wolves like herself. A den circle - a thing before this very moment, she would have sneered at, laughed off the very thought and sworn she'd have no part of such a ridiculous assemblage of fur and fang...

But that was too simple, wasn't it? Far too easy to despise what she'd never known; never imagined she could know, much less be welcomed to join.

"I've never participated in a den circle though... I should like to, I think." Veti's head nodded quickly, decided in that very moment. "Yes. Yes, I would. If you would have me."

She let out a slow breath, and then smiled, genuinely. "As for Ragnarök? Yes, I do know of it in detail, but... I honestly don't understand how this could be. None of the signs have been fulfilled for the coming of Ragnarök! There should be three continuous winters to come, with no summer to relieve the frigid cold. The god Baldr is murdered - surely that has not happened? This makes no sense to me, how the Doom of the Gods can fall with none of the proper portents or prophecies fulfilled? I have to admit, I'm at a complete loss."

A year? Thad froze. It was only the pressure on his chest and the feel of soft curls under his chin that let him close his mouth and think. His arms went around the small fragile doll who leaned against him. She was strong, he knew, and yet Siya allowed him to feel her delicate breakable self as she confided. Thad had a hard time taking in what she said. A year?

But even that did not seem as gut twisting as what she said of Veti. The idea that Veti pined for him, that she missed him that much was a surprise to him. For a whole year she didn’t move on? He didn’t really doubt what sweet things she had whispered under those covers but...a year? Even that didn’t hit him as much as the idea she, Veti, almost followed him. What? Followed him? Not Veti. Thad could not accept that. Not Veti. A Year?

With Siya’s head on him and his arms around her Thad looked to Atticus. He saw the truth in his eyes, the twists of his lips, the tone of his words. A year? They searched for a year to find a way to bring him back. All the powers of The Bain and Hoyle Investigation and Recovery Company took a fucking year. Not a great as advertised, Max snorted. deep inside. But Thad answered him quickly knowing that he, they, were back. It took them almost a year but he just made amazing love and felt more alive than ever. A year. And Veti had cracks. Maybe he really did have something to offer her. Maybe there was something Thad could do. For her. For Siya. He would make sure Veti would take care of those cracks. He would glue the three of them back together.

It was then Thad loosened his hold of Siya and looked down her to. Putting his finger under her chin he lifted her perfect face and those cupid lips. “I’m sorry I left you with all that. She is there, Veti, you didn’t let her go.” Thad kissed Siya’s forehead. “Thank you.” He tried to let her see the encouragement in his eyes. He was alive. He was here. It was only a year. “And what is a year to a princess of darkness who stands beside her dragon afterall?”

He let his arms fall from around her sure that Atticus could hold her better than he. Besides she gave him enough. A year. Thad took a breath and looked back to Siya. He let a small grin find its way to his face, “You let that hound and pink chick hang with you?” Thad shook his head trying to lighten the mood. But he was glad. “Now I know you care.” He tried a smart ass smile that Max found so easily but if fit harder on Thad’s face. Yet he wanted Siya to release any guilt. That would be a start. He wanted to see that smile.

“And you, monster muscles,” He smiled to Atticus, “have you ever not brought the times of tumultuous things? For once couldn’t we just get a fucking cat out of a tree or something?” He chuckled and raised one hand, twisted to stop any defence from the guy and shoot a quick glance back to Veti. He turned and smiled. “Save it all. I am starving.”

Thad took one step past the two, “Damn I haven’t eaten in almost a year!”

Semyon's attentive -if neutral- expression changed to concern as first Tamarind, then the other werewolf began to hack and cough from the smoke of the shared cigar. It was further aggravated by the steady glare emanating from the young reaper by Tamarind's side. But while that was definitely a cause for worry, Tamarind's sudden fit was what first grabbed his attention, priority wrought from timing and circumstance.

He had been the one to pass the cigar to her after 'smoking' it, so guilt was the first thing he felt. He was well preserved, and their tasks so far hadn't put much strain on the bindings keeping his form from rotting any further, but he was still an undead. Even in the best-preserved, disease could fester, and they needed everyone at full strength for this coming job.

Her hoarse words spoken through the smoke calmed him some, however. He might have been abrupt in his question, but at least she knew what they were up against now... and at least it seemed surprise had been the reason for her cough, nothing else.

The sudden, gravelly hacking from his other side brought further relief amongst the concern, a new wave of smoke curling out from the older werewolf. She had smoked before he, so likely it was the smoke and surprise, nothing else. Nestor was fine, but his was an... interesting form. He had also offered the cigar to begin with, and likely was practiced enough to avoid the fits that grabbed the other two.

Which left the final cause of concern.

Semyon tried to ignore the young reaper's glare when she first came over, instead focusing on Tamarind and then the other Werewolf. Quick glances as those two started to talk revealed many of his comrades involved in conversations of their own- nothing to interrupt. Nestor was here, but seemed involved with the werewolves as well... what was it people did when nervous, or trying to avoid eye contact? Check their cell phones?

Gloved hands slipped his free from it's case deep in his jacket, flipping it open briefly to glance at it's brightly-glowing screen.

27 new messages

Semyon regarded the screen for a moment, the quietly closed the phone and slipped it away.

Stepping quietly around the werewolf pair, the Wight approached Daisy beside them. It would be best to greet her respectfully -and officially, he still didn't know her name- as he hadn't done anything to earn her ire. She hadn't really done anything to earn his concern but that was... no it was pretty much the same. So maybe he could understand why she was glaring at him like that, but something should probably be done about it. Something done by him, in a way that wouldn't start a fight between a reaper of death and a soldier of undeath.

"Pardon me," Stepping in front of Daisy, Semyon offered her a slight bow. "Did I... do something to offend you? Miss...?"

Siya wanted very badly to have the ablution that Thad’s eyes offered her, a cessation of the guilt she felt for not going with Veti and getting him back. But she didn’t take it. She held onto the guilt even as she smiled at him as he walked away barking out about his hunger. He was a man of great appetites she knew from her long proximity to him, living just outside the light that he and Veti made. She knew she would cling to that guilt like cherished treasure because underneath it was a churning black morass of resentment. She did not want to swim in that mess, it would stain her and ruin things beyond repair. Guilt she could handle, the other she could not. So she let it stay, covered deep inside her and focused on that cherished guilt.

She knew that even burdened with guilt she could move on. She could begin to make her own life. She’d grown up living someone else’s dream and never measuring up and then she’d died just as she was figuring out her own dreams. It was time she lived for herself a little, maybe step out of the shadows cast by the fire of Max and Veti and figure out what she wanted. Maybe learn what the power inside her meant, what she could do with it and how she could control it.
But only after they saved the world.

Hadn’t they done that enough? She wondered idly thinking back to all they had gone through when they’d lost Max. Some of what happened after had been lost to her. She’d been in a daze, pain-filled and buzzing with power that was new after the oldest of her line had passed and she’d absorbed whatever it was she’d absorbed. When she’d come too herself she’d had to worry about Veti and keeping her alive. The thought made the darkness churn and she mentally pushed it away.

She looked up at Atticus and quirked a half-smile at him that plumped one cheek and revealed one sweet dimple as she dabbed lightly at her cheeks with the backs of her fingers. She moved in close to him, finding a space at his side that fit her well, slipping under his arm and sliding a soft arm around his hard waist.

“We should get you something to eat, my Dragon” she said to him. “You will need protein, lots of red meat and iron. Scotch is good and we should have more of that but you need substance to make up for what I took from you.”

She bit her lip and looked up at him with what she hoped was dark promise in her eyes, “what I will take from you.” She added. “And what I will give you, if we are given the time.”

There is a soft laughter at the old Werewolf's latest words, and – as if in response to her query – the Demoness crystallizes into view; hands laced primly behind her back, she makes one slow circuit of the creature – careful not to touch, but seeming intent on making an odd kind of whiffling noise, like air forced through the hollows of a glacier – and as best as anyone might tell seems to be sniffing. Though whether in mockery or in truth might be difficult to tell.

“But poor Nestor Dear already has such a bad habit...” here she pauses, shakes her head with a disappointed little frown: “of taxing his sad little brain with odd things. But invigoration! Mmmm...” She allows her words to trail off into silence, eyes shifting mockingly in Nestor's direction. The Demonspawn offers only a grunt, before remarking:

“It would fascinate me no end – consider the offer accepted; though I make no guarantees as to what might happen...” The Demoness offers another little chittering spate of laughter at that, before going quite silent as Aislinn turns her attention towards Veti and begins... begins wagging her tail.

A werewolf wagging its tail? Of all the wonders in this world I've yet to see! I even forgave her in that moment the slight against my taste in tobaccos; it was a sight that – even amongst all the strange and curious and truly astonishing things I have been privy to – will remain very well engraven in my memory. Perhaps it is that I just do not spend enough time around the creatures – the werewolves I had met in their more canine forms had all been either quite intent on eating me, or quite intent on eating someone not far away from me... and so... maybe my understanding was and has always been a bit skewed.

I took another sip from the glass and allowed the warmth of doing – well, doing absolutely nothing at all -- to slip in around me; drew a breath and was suddenly struck with the realisation that I had last woken in a drowsy stupor in the midst of a strange hospital, and that it had been god-knows how long before then that I'd had a decent shower. Still, I felt remarkably refreshed and well-rested – the Goddess was to thank for that, I suppose – even if there was absolutely nothing fresh at all about the scent I was currently exuding. (Perhaps why Aislinn had been originally drawn toward me, the smell, that is...) The old She-Wolf seemed to have lost some degree of interest, and – cigar and glass still in hand – Nestor makes a quiet, doubtless largely unnoticed departure from the gathered.

There was little to be seen in the way of change, as the Demonspawn slowly pushed open the door to his old room – well oiled hinges giving way easily, not so much as a sound to follow as he padded across the cold flagstones of the floor. The hearth was just as dead as it had ever been, only the charred remnants of a fire that had gone cold long, long ago remaining: remarkable, that they'd respected his wishes. Left it like that. Even allowed a few trailing cobwebs to form in the further corners of the hearth, a dismal nest of spiders serving as the only scrap of life in the otherwise barren alcove.

But as his eyes shifted to the painting something caused him to pause – his left hand to clench and release impulsively, his lips drawing into a tight line as he stared: the pair of figures were there still, but a great storm was now whipping the scene into a frenzy. A steamy froth hissed and boiled from the river's edges; the grasses were all but invisible beneath the thick mist and driving rain, nothing to be seen but the shimmer of silver as a new gust of air would send the knife's edge of the storm over the field, flattening the grass as thought it had been shorn close with a single blow.

A cold shower and the polishing off of the last of the glass served to drive the better part of the image from my mind, though I found that even after dressing (decently for the first time since... well... sometime before waking, I supposed) and preparing to leave my room, I kept avoiding glancing at the painting. It was with some relief that I finally slammed the heavy door shut behind me, and with it seemed to drive from my mind the sounds of wind and rain and impending dread.

Nestor returned to the common area to find little changed – and again, for the present, he seems content to take up a seat at a comfortable chair settled a good distance away from the fire. The still-visible demoness has elected to perch herself on the high back of the chair behind him, legs kicking softly to and fro, chin resting on her palm as she holds a rather unscrupulous stare in the direction of Aislinn; just precisely the opposite of Nestor's vague and absent-minded study of the tiles at his feet.

If anything could have pulled Daisy's attention from venting this seemingly unending font of annoyance and frustration, it was Veti. Of course it was Veti. Daisy didn't even know why she bothered being surprised anymore.

The Reaper didn't really bother with friends. Most of her kind didn't. She found birthday parties annoying and anything but ogling attractive men took entirely too much time and energy. And yet she'd willingly gone to live with Veti -- and even Siya, forming a silent, yet seemingly unbreakable bond with Tiny Vamp -- just to ensure her lupine friend didn't do anything regrettable. Because she would have regretted it. Daisy was certain of that much. Death was never what anyone expected. In most cases, that was a pleasant surprise. For Veti...

Anyway, it wasn't she was upset about it. It was sort of nice to put down roots somewhere, even if it was under the constant pall of death. And it sure felt like she did fuck-all to keep Veti from taking that final dive, but she seemed to like Artie, and Artie loved her. And Daisy and Tiny Vamp made a...team, no matter how ineffective. And now Veti was alive and smiling and laughing and joking, and it hadn't cost Daisy anything at all, or hardly anything, so why did she feel like roadkill? No pun intended.

It probably wasn't fair to direct all her ire at the Wight. It wasn't like he was the one who'd hauled ass out of Death, all secretly different and clinging to Veti -- and not sharing Veti, not like that fucking mattered to Daisy at all. But he had clawed his creepy way out of Death, really just fucking up loads more shit than he ever could have imagined. And then he had the nerve to walk around all innocent and polite, like he was doing everyone a favor, yet another of Death's inmate's glomming onto their group and pretending not to know why she hated him.

Daisy was just deciding that maybe Veti was okay, and maybe she'd be better off somewhere that was anywhere but here, when -- wonder of wonders -- she felt the werewolf squeeze her hand. She'd have blushed if she could, for no real reason at all, or none that she could understand, though it felt strangely close to shame...or pride. She looked quickly up at Veti, ready to intervene, though the older werewolf didn't seem threatening at all. In fact, the way she wagged her tail like that made Daisy more than a little nervous that Artie would try and play tug of war with Aislinn and Cornelius, and half considered telling the werewolf to just stop.

But then it appeared Veti was alright, smiling again, and when Daisy looked back...the wight was there in front of her.

She started visibly, and if Artie had been there, he'd have growled. As it were, Daisy had to make do with folding her arms imperiously over her chest, her scowl deepening with actual irritation at having been caught off-guard. Especially by this...thing.

Oh, and how decent of him to pretend he didn't know what he could do to her.

"Miss nothing," she snapped. "Do you want the short list, or the long?" Then, before giving him time to answer, "Look, just get the fuck out of my breathing space, Moldy. I don't share my air with zombies."

Or anyone, really, given that neither of the two were given to actually breathing. But that was neither here nor there.

He should have gone with checking his phone.

Seriously, he should have. Twenty-seven messages meant someone -or many someones- felt they needed to reach him. Someone could be in trouble, his boss could be following up that he was indeed gone for a funeral, or... anything, really.

He was in the middle of a job -a very big job, it seemed- so it was unlikely he could do more than give advice or answer questions. Even if there was serious trouble, Ragnarok probably ranked higher up that whatever his callers were facing. But even still, at least there was something he could do, even if it wasn't much, when faced with a phone full of calls.

What was he supposed to do here, faced with an angry reaper full of venom?

She didn't want him anywhere near her, that was readily, painfully clear. Not that he particularly wanted to be near her, either. He had no doubts about the choice he made so long ago, felt no guilt over how he and his fellows had escaped death together. It had always been their greatest enemy; the eventual, final end that haunted them at every turn. Following brigands, nesting in plague and famine, lurking under loose stones or cracking branches, always waiting for the chance to strike. Generations had toiled against it as best they could, maintaining a tiny fortress of life within unforgiving lands. And when the walls fell? When centuries of work and prayer finally failed them? Semyon and the others made a stand, and found a way to win.

The young reaper was a walking reminder that death still stalked them, all the more frightening because she seemed almost the same. Undying, yet not quite living, a being that followed a different set of rules than most were accustomed to.

Unfortunately, those similarities ended on the edge of a scythe.

It would be polite -and a relief- to walk away. Semyon could apologize and retreat, maybe busy himself with those messages before they got married and raised families. He wouldn't antagonize her any further that way, and he wouldn't have to worry as much.

So with that in mind, Semyon took a moment to regard the young reaper after the initial surprise of her words, then decided to reply.

"I wouldn't mind that... but we are working together." He remained perfectly still, deciding not to risk anything by making a motion that could be seen as threatening or cowardly. "So if it might help? I'd like the long list, please."

She was a comrade, much as it unnerved him, that fact remained true. He needed to be able to fight beside her, if it came to that, and to trust her to do the same. Walking away wouldn't help with that, he wasn't sure if anything would. But there were some things even a 'zombie' felt were important.

Honor your comrade. Never back down.

Semyon stood still and waited for the Reaper's response.

Zakhar looked up from his position amongst the boulders that surrounded the small island upon which Bain & Hoyle’s castle sat. The granite walls rose above him some five stories, ending in the battlements that crested their peak. Even higher still rose the keep, and the massive tower that housed the private residences of Bain and Hoyle. In the dim light of the coming night, the castle seemed menacing and imposing; a structure that symbolized power and a sense of almost palpable impregnability.

The werewolf felt respect for this power, and knew that the castle didn’t exude its prowess falsely. It was warded by powerful spells and totems, and guarded by ferocious and mighty beings. Inside of these walls Bain and Hoyle had shaped and changed the world for almost a half-a-millennium. Only twice since its construction had the castle been attacked, and both times its assaulters had failed.

In spite of this, Zakhar felt no fear. Only the tight hum of a mind occupied upon the imminent gravity of the present filled his head. He was a warrior, born and bred from generations of the violent and cunning packs of the Logovo Severnogo Vetra—The Den of the North Wind. A death upon the field of battle, in service to his pack mates and to the Lupus Naturae, was his spoken desire. And what a glorious end he would see, with the return of the god-wolf, Fenris, and the destruction of all the heretics that dared to dilute the ancient bloodlines.

But my death will not come this day, he thought, to many must still yet die before I return home.

Zakhar turned his head, his jaws snapping lightly, as the Reddick brothers stepped beside him. Each of the brothers was smaller than he, and they possessed a more lithe build of cable-like muscles. Their coats were a muddy brown, and their eyes were a dull orange when compared to the bright, silvery-blue of his own. He did not like the Reddick brothers, but that mattered not at all in the grand scheme. The pair of them were wily and stealthy, wolves of the shadows, and masters of infiltration. At the moment that was all Zakhar needed.

“Are we ready?” said Bodum, the oldest of the two, and the one with the missing top-right canine. He spoke in a thick North Northern Scottish accent that Zakhar had to play back through his head to fully understand.

“Aye,” said the other brother, Kade. “Let’s get this over with.”

Zakhar looked between the two wolves and licked with repressed annoyance at his long fangs.

“We will be ready when your pack-mates send their signal, and not before. These are your brethren we’re waiting on, so don’t burden me with your impatience.”

The brothers grumbled, but did not reply openly. Instead the three of them crouched into the tidal pools and pulled their strangely woven cloaks tighter around their bodies. As it was, no one could see the intricate pattern of cloth that covered them, as it was this very cloth that prevented them from being visible to any and all eyes. This included the many forms of magical vision so prevalent among the creatures of the Veiled World.

These cloaks, known as Wraithcloth, had been provided by the Ice Queen. A gift to ensure the successful fulfillment of their mission. From what little Zakhar knew of it, Wraithcloth was woven by woodland elves somewhere in the wilds of Asia, though he knew not where. It was imbedded and infused with so many wards that no known magical countermeasure had been discovered to pierce its cloaking effect. The only reason that the three wolves could see each other at all was the small painted runes below each of their eyes. He had heard that the eyes of a god were the only ones capable of seeing through the Wraithcloth, but Zakhar had little worry about encountering one in these walls. The various gods were so disinterested in the machinations of the lower creatures.

That would change quickly however. When the god-wolf was set free, and the events that would follow came to pass, the gods would pay attention… and watch the world erupt before their divine eyes.