Semyon found himself drifting further and further off to the side, and not really minding at all. Those gathering together had more to talk about, without needing to be interrupted or distracted by him. Likewise, he had no reason to try and speak when there was nothing for him to say. So he stood apart, soon finding himself near the seated Nestor, who like him seemed less interested in discourse -though in his case, drink took the place of silent standing.

The Wight pondered striking up conversation, if for no other reason than to ensure the man's shoulder was okay, but never managed to find the words. Nestor seemed content in his drink, most of the others seemed content in their speech, and the others who weren't either seemed to busy to interrupt or... happened to be a Reaper of death.

He probably should actually speak with her at some point. Maybe tomorrow, or after their next task was done. Probably sometime between those, actually. Maybe.

But not now, at least. Max (Or whoever he was, were they calling him something different suddenly?) was alive once more, and Isis' request had been finished. But Atticus hadn't said much about what Mr. Hoyle needed. It seemed everyone who didn't follow Miss Tamarind was here as well, so had the task been finished? Surely not, why call so many if it had been that simple? Where they moving on, then, continuing with more information? If so, Atticus would share it with them soon. Or if not, then Mr. Hoyle w-

The sound of someone sniffing the air beside Semyon brought a sudden halt to his thoughts.

The Wight didn't reach for his gun, sure in the security of the Company Headquarters. He did, however, turn sharply, pivoting on the ball of one foot to directly face the figure that had approached him. A werewolf, like Hoyle or Tamarind... but neither? Mottled fur, scarred neck, a powerful yet venerable build. She stood between him and Nestor, attention seemingly focused primarily on the latter.

But her question was meant for them both. And it took more than a little while before Semyon could answer.

Not through any desire to be rude, or because he thought the werewolf was ignoring him. No, it simply took his mind a while to make sure she had really asked what he heard. It had been a long time since he chose undeath, and many of his senses had already dulled to nothingness. Loss of hearing was a dire portent in a being such as he, so any possibility of it arising had to be taken with grave consideration.

But his hearing seemed fine, if the jaunty words of a returning Henry Grimm were any basis for judgment. In that case, he had likely heard correctly, which was worse, but at least he wasn't falling into feral mindlessness quite yet. 

He would just likely die for good in the near future, along with everyone else.

"Ragnarok... " Finally, Semyon found the words to answer the werewolf. "Yes. If it is truly- Yes, yes I am here to help." 

Once more, he ran one hand over the pale flesh of his head. No wonder so many members of the Company had been called out. When Hoyle needed help with a job, it would turn out to be a [i]very[/i] big job.