cry havoc and -- no, sorry, opposite of that, please

[drowningking]

The apartment is more or less back to normal, apart from the rather large hellhound seated patiently on the floor exactly where it had been while eating Leander. It doesn't pant like normal dogs, but sits still and close-mouthed like sleek black statue, eyes smoldering, unblinking. It tends to watch Harvestman when he's around, but otherwise, it

Comments

[fireburned]

The staring didn't bother Harvestman. It should (probably), but he wasn't bothered by a lot of things that should bother him.

Even so, he was in Leander's bedroom when the door opens, staring hard at a print-out of an e-mail Joan Kiel had sent him. More were-child abductions, so bad that half the clans were ready to declare their feuds over to deal with it; others had already begun to tear into their nearest rivals because of it. More unregistered Hunters popping up, more magic being used against people. Vague rumors of something big going through the vampire families, though 'vague' described everything going on with the vampire families.

What the fuck was going on?

Ben's entrance had him rise silently and move to the doorway, wary but calm for now. He was still wearing Leander's sweatshirt; the shoulders were too broad for him, causing the sleeves to sag on his arms. Leander may never get that sweatshirt back.

"Huh," he says, studying Ben openly.

[drowningking]

Bedroom. Sweatshirt. If he hadn't already known, it would have been a(n) (unpleasant?) shock for Ben; as it was, he smiled sourly (self-directed) and strode forward to offer Harvestman his hand, ignoring the hellhound for now.

"Ben Westmore," he said staunchly, shifting the canvas backpack on his shoulder. "You're Harvestman, or an extraordinarily bold intruder. Lee asked me to take a look at your hellhound problem. Says you want to keep it. Sound about right?"

[fireburned]

Harvestman just manages to hide his smile as he shakes Ben's hand. He had a feel for Ben's blood now, whether he was human or not, whether he was ill or not. Magic was a bit harder to detect - it wasn't always in the blood, after all - but he already figured there'd be some of that.

"Lee's quite the damned troublemaker. I figure he could use something better than a chameleon to watch over his ass."

[drowningking]

Ben is human, and like Alain, he distances himself from the magic he uses, preferring to use books and runes, symbols and embedded spells over live casting. There might be a spark of it in his blood, but nothing more.

"Mmhmm." He looks at Harvestman alertly but silently for a moment, then jerks his head. "Come on." His step as he moves back toward the hellhound is authoritative, much more so than Leander's easy slouch. "Have you commanded it to do anything, and if so, what did it do?"