Just because inquiring minds want to know...

[ratb0y]

Krycek did not get underground in time to beat the rain.

But.

He did manage to find refuge in one of the more intact buildings, deep in the city. A few droplets of rain had burned through the ceilings and dripped onto his body over the course of the night, which only caused pain upon pain upon pain. He shook them off before they could break the skin

Comments

[harth_fray]

Harth sat in what passed as the public halls of the library -- he had his own hideyhole, far off, where he slept. Only one of the dogs knew where that was, his precious Thail.

Another dog, though, a misbeggoten mixbreed that glows blue is at his hip. Harth, however, is busy working turning what looks like a raptor's scytheclaws into a pair of daggers.

What, you don't think Harth doesn't use all of the prey? The meat is smoked (to feed to the humans he keeps now, who are looking worse for wear), the teeth are removed and the bones are being carved into everything from needles to buttons.

Seemingly in the grip of a memory, he sings some soft song; thank the White Doe, a Slayer herself, for both the skills at dressing a kill to the carving of bone. You can also thank her for the song on his lips, a prayer of thanks for a good hunt.

[ratb0y]

And somewhere in the distance, he will hear an angry, strained voice shouting "Harth! Where the hell are you?!"

Along with the stamping of feet, and if his hearing's particularly good, the gnashing and grinding of teeth.

[harth_fray]

The song gets a little louder; you're a vampire -- track the noise, Krycek.

[ratb0y]

Krycek gets the hint.

After an angry growl, he silences himself, then slowly but surely tracks down the source of the noise, and ultimately finds Harth.

The newb vampire does not look happy.