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He's on his way home, and he's not bloody, so it hasn't been the best night. Then again, he's in one piece, and he supposes that any night that ends that way is at least halfway decent.
A few blocks from the necropolis he pauses, pulls out the pack of Neil's cigarettes that he'd stolen before heading out, slides one between his lips and flicks his lighter into flame. It's one of the first really cold nights in a while, and he watches as he exhales steam and smoke together into the night air.
He's hunting alone tonight, but more out of convenience than any desire to be so. He slides the machete into its sheath at his back and turns toward the busier streets. If he's calling it an early night, nothing says he can't catch a drink on the way home.
A few blocks from the necropolis he pauses, pulls out the pack of Neil's cigarettes that he'd stolen before heading out, slides one between his lips and flicks his lighter into flame. It's one of the first really cold nights in a while, and he watches as he exhales steam and smoke together into the night air.
He's hunting alone tonight, but more out of convenience than any desire to be so. He slides the machete into its sheath at his back and turns toward the busier streets. If he's calling it an early night, nothing says he can't catch a drink on the way home.