Atticus smirked at Thad, remembering back to his brief stint decked out in leather, courtesy of the warlock. 

“I would’ve worn them more, but I kept wanting to watch Easy Rider and smoke Lucky Strikes.” Atticus joked.

He watched the resurrected man, now in the visage of the tall and bright Thad, briefly greet Siya before scooping Veti up in his long arms. As the pair turned towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms, a genuine and knowing smile split his beard, and he laughed quietly. Those rooms contained a special place in Atticus own heart as well, and as he felt Siya slip beside him and pull him close with her arm, he directed his smile down to her.

His mouth opened to speak to her, but Atticus stopped when he saw the look in the pretty vampire’s eyes, and traced the intent of her gaze over to where Daisy stood. The reaper was cradling the lovable hell-hound, and Atticus made a mental note to warn Cornelius before the hound decided to give the rubber-ducky butler a good chewing. His eyes creased with concern, and he bent down to whisper to Siya.

“Are you alright, [i]petit prédateur[/i]?”

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/vDOqGRW.png[/img][/center]
[u][i]Aislinn Hoyle[/i][/u]

Aislinn Hoyle walked on wolfen legs out from the hallway that led to the private quarters of her brother, and looked around the expansive and richly appointed room. Her muzzle scrunched as she sniffed the air, taking in all the multitude of strange and foreign scents. The mottled brown, red, and gray fur upon her head rustled lightly as she shook her head, trying to shake free some of the pungency off the smells that permeated the room. 

The ancient werewolf had not set foot inside of a traditional structure in decades, and as such her heightened senses were woefully unaccustomed to the lingering scents from hundreds of years of food, cleanings, visitors, and even more cleaning. She snorted and repressed a growl. This was not where she belonged, and she did not understand why Reginald had chosen a life free from the natural comfort of a pack. Her choice had been made for her, almost a thousand years ago, but it was not one she wished to continue willingly. 

Her giant clawed hand came up to rub at the recently healed slash mark that denoted where the Nixie’s blade had almost drawn the life from her body. It now appeared as a bright white smile of fur across her throat, one that contrasted sharply with the other dimmer colors of her coat. Aislinn knew that she would never be able to be in a pack ever again. The blood in her veins made that certain enough. She did not possess the untouchable prowess of her brother, and thusly the Lupus Naturae would never allow her to ascend to any kind of status. To the world of the werewolf she was a pariah, and she would never know true peace until the day she drew her last breath. 

She snarled to herself. That day may be coming sooner rather than later, judging by what she felt was coming. The entire world was not long for the sunrise in a fortnight if something wasn’t done. Ragnarök was beginning, and it was being accelerated by someone who was in a position to benefit. Aislinn was putting her stock in this Ice Queen that the Siren had spoken of in the cave. That coupled with the betrayal of the [i]Solas na gealaí[/i], the tooth of Fenris, was the final clue. The end was coming, unless something was done to interrupt it. Bain and Hoyle were discussing even now how to go about doing just that, but Aislinn needed to get away from their machinations. Though she would never admit it, she was also distinctly curious about the individuals that were in her brother’s employ.

She stepped further into the room, her attentions being first drawn to two individuals standing somewhat apart from the rest. The first was dressed in a mismatch of clothes, drinking a tall glass of liquor, and smelled of both human and demonic aspects. The second was a hard looking individual that smelled distinctly of old death and rot, despite his relatively normal appearance. 

Aislinn moved between the two, and in turn stuck her black nose close to each, sniffing in deeply. The gesture was purely natural, like that of a dog smelling new visitors, but the strangeness of a large werewolf doing the same did not dawn upon the old wolf. The bulk of her years had been spent in hiding amongst the wild creatures of the world, and manners were not something that Aislinn took much value in in the first instance.

“You two,” she grunted in her rough wolfen voice, “you are here to help stop Ragnarök, yes?” A giant hand came out to clutch the clothing of the one that smelled of demon and human. “The manner of your dress, it is strange.” 

Still holding onto Nestor’s clothing, Aislinn bent her head down to lap at the tumbler of whiskey he held in his hand, her eyes moving between the two men as she waited for them to answer her.