There are hundreds of run-down, abandoned, falling-apart little bungalows around the outskirts of Metropolis. Lived in by the well-off, then reclaimed by the carnivorous.

What's one more?

Local genius.

Overworked, oversexed and over by the kraken pond.

Imriel is sitting by the kraken pond, feeding Spots bits of pineapple.

He doesn't have his sword (though the daggers are present at his belt and his boot), and he looks entirely too self-satisfied.

Young love. Isn't it adorable?

These days, it's probably not too uncommon a sight to see a Villiers snacking on an apple by the kraken pool -- it's a nice little spot, and fortunately, Villiers is still unaware that there's a baby sea monster thing living in it.

So. Villiers. Apple. It's a nice day, and he could do with some company.

Imriel and Villiers are in the kitchen.

Imri is cooking.

Vill is sewing.

Interrupt the adorable domesticity!

There are rooms. Bunker-style, but there are rooms ( Read more... )

Imriel is sitting in the shelter.

Brooding.

It's a hobby of his.

So. It's just him and Imriel now ( Read more... )

So there really wasn't much he could do with the available food supply. A close search revealed cans of things here and there that showed some promise, but the long and the short of it is that post-apocalyptic Montreal is not Terre d'Ange and Imriel nó Montrève is not a master chef ( Read more... )

Imriel is not having a good day.

He hasn't been having a good week, really.

In fact, very little has been good since November.

Your mother sends her love, Canis had said. And then a loud noise, and a bright light, and a city full of strangeness and death in equal measure ( Read more... )