[phone; morning]
Y'know, it's funny. Turns out waking up covered in blood isn't something you get used to. Look, I don't know who or even how many people I killed earlier this week, but...it wasn't me. I mean it kind of was, but I wouldn't do that. I couldn't anymore if I wanted to, anyway.
Look, the short version is that Mayfield screwed with the wrong person. But if anybody wants to try and return the favor, I'm not a hard person to find-
[Those of you with good hearing may have just heard what sounded remarkably like a horse outside.]
-...the hell was that?
[A; action; 1335 Benny Rd.; morning]
[Of all the things Lancer had expected Mayfield to give him, this was not one of them.]
[There was
a horse grazing on the front lawn. His horse. One that had surely been dead for a couple thousand years.]
Liath...Macha...? [What the hell, Mayfield?]
[Surprised as he was, Lancer was at its side in a second with a bright smile on his face, scratching behind its ears and speaking affectionately in a quiet foreign language.]
[B; action; around Mayfield; afternoon]
[Lancer may or may not be walking about Mayfield with the aformentioned large gray horse at his side--man there was a whole list of shit he had to get somehow. Maybe he could convert the garage into a stable. It wasn't like any of them were using it.]
[So that just left where the hell in a semi-modern human city to get a whole truckload of food. Man, he'd probably need someone to help him out with that much. Or at least to help carry all of it.]