by a route obscure and lonely, haunted by ill angels only...

[ushered]

[Open to threadhopping, but no Roderick tags, please!]

The Kashtta is deteriorating. The signs are everywhere, and have been-in the way the walls seem to be cracking more each day, the paint fading and flaking; in the floors that creak and moan; in the air itself, so dank and foul, just hanging in every open space

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[askthemoon]

Not long after the sun comes out, Remus can be found sitting on the ground outside the Kashtta, grim and pale and chain-smoking his way through a pack of cigarettes.

He's still tired -- he's let his schedule slip into late hours, and he only got to bed around three in the morning, so lucky him, he only had a few hours of nightmares before the sun came up and he managed to find his way back to awareness. But there's no way he's going to try to sleep again any time soon. He's not even sure he wants to be near his room any time soon.

There had been dreams. They'd started with running and blood and his own death, and those had been the better of the dreams that the night had offered. The worse ones, he's still trying to stop thinking about.

Every so often, the fingers of his free hand goes to his face, his neck, his chest, checking to make sure he's still in one piece, that there's no blood there -- his or, worse, anyone else's. Sometimes checking his nails, to make sure that claws aren't growing.

He's going to be there for a few hours, working through this pack and, if he's not ready to go back inside after that, the second and third he'd bought -- well, Confunded the store clerk into believing he'd bought, anyway. It doesn't actually help, but it's a familiar habit, something to do with his hands, something simple to try to focus on. He used to do this during the War, when there was something going on he couldn't help with for whatever reason, spend the time smoking until he'd gotten word that his friends were alright. It's not the same situation, but it's the first way to kill time that came to mind.

[princerat]

Saul had slept too much today. Though morning is when he should be getting to bed, he's still very awake. And a bit out of it, which has become a normal state of mind for him this week. He'd really rather not go back to sleep, not with the dreams he had earlier.

Daytime is not normally a comforting sight to him, but he heads outside to see it anyway, bringing a cold box of beer with him. At some point during the night he'd decided beer was necessary, so he'd gone down the street to the nearest shop and took a couple of boxes without paying or being seen.

There's already someone sitting out here, which is fine by him. Smells like wolf, this one. Unusual. Saul himself smells like rubbish but mostly, to those with a good nose, he smells like rat. "Good morning," he greets in his strange too-deep voice. When he does so, be becomes visible to the other. He sits down and wordlessly offers the man a beer.

[askthemoon]

Remus is too wound up not to jump when somebody suddenly turns visible near him, but it only takes a moment for him to get past it. It's not like people appearing from thin air is new to him, between apparition and James' cloak -- though it doesn't seem likely there are any invisibility cloaks floating around Chicago. Then again, one could have fallen out of a rift for some lucky person to find.

He's beyond the point of putting anything past Chicago.

"Morning," he responds quietly, watching the other as he takes a seat. The drink is taken with an equally quiet, "Thanks," and examined for a minute before he pops it open and takes a drink. He pulls out another cigarette and offers the pack and the lighter forward towards the other man, and asks, after a moment of contemplation, "Is that a present from the rift? The reappearing act?"

[princerat]

Saul's very accustomed to startling people at this point in his life as a rat. He'll be impressed with himself if he ever figures out how to not startle people.

He doesn't smoke-- well, not tobacco that is-- but he takes a cigarette out of the pack and lights it anyway. It's a social thing, and he's feeling social. He hands the lighter and the pack back and thanks him.

"No," he answers. "That's from home. Rat magic," he says those last words carefully. He had debated for a moment whether or not to even mention rats. Though he can be talkative, he likes to keep his secrets. But this is a wolf he's talking to; he's assumed that a wolf nose can smell a rat for what it is and so he doesn't give that another thought. "I can't be seen until I talk to the person who's supposed to see me. Scaring the fuck out of people is an unintended side effect." He smiles apologetically.

[askthemoon]

He tucks the pack away in a shirt pocket, listening thoughtfully, and gives the other a small, but friendly, smile in return. "I would imagine that could either be very useful, or very annoying, depending on the situation," he contemplates out loud.

He takes a drink, still considering, before he continues. "Is that the extent of what rat magic entails? If you don't mind my asking," he adds quickly, and now it's Remus' turn to look apologetic. He asks a lot of questions even when he's not trying to get his mind off of something, but he generally tries to avoid prying. This could definitely be considered prying.