#like yeah sure you're an Abomination Against Existence but Hallowrove cleans those up on the regular dhfksjd

[peliginspeaks]

That sound was not a part of the normal night-time hum.

Hallowrove does not stop. To the outside observer she might not have heard, but her senses now prickle with awareness, and her breath picks up with her steps in spite of herself. She is armed, of course - the usual bone knife at her belt and revolver in her coat in case of incident - but the noise still sends certain old fears trailing her steps like a man stood uncomfortably close at a soiree.

It might have been nothing.

It was probably nothing.

Counting the number of storefronts before the next well-lit street corner (five) is still a reflex, not a choice.

Three of those storefronts pass with nothing more than the muffled clump of boots on wet cobble. A lone hansom-cab passes, darkly lit water pouring over its wheels like dirty tears. In the wake of it, unmistakably, a footstep. It is the only one, but there need only be one. He is definitely being followed.

~

In which my two characters share a surprise meeting in the middle of the night, because nothing is more fun to me than letting my guys interact as weirdly and tangentially as possible. :)