The morning was young enough that the sun’s pale rays still struggled to banish the wispy fog that always seemed to pool around Lutetian early mornings as Ragenard drove up to the warehouse at the abandoned tracks. Who he procured the oversized camper trailer attached to the dingy pickup from, and how he was in so early were questions that there was no one around to ask yet, for he had arrived several hours earlier than the expected pack members.
Once again the twin boons of the curse of Ragenard’s diminished need for sleep borne from the unholy sources within, and the connections of a misspent youth, were bearing fruit.
He parked the dubiously acquired vehicle on the side of the warehouse, partly screened from casual view of the street and got out.
He spent half an hour going over the place, making sure the preparations he had commanded had started to get underway the day before. Afterwards, he walked up into the camper and after rummaging for a bit walked back out with a collapsible beach chair and a beer. Sat down with alcohol in hand, he pulled out a cigarette and settled in to wait.
Once again the twin boons of the curse of Ragenard’s diminished need for sleep borne from the unholy sources within, and the connections of a misspent youth, were bearing fruit.
He parked the dubiously acquired vehicle on the side of the warehouse, partly screened from casual view of the street and got out.
He spent half an hour going over the place, making sure the preparations he had commanded had started to get underway the day before. Afterwards, he walked up into the camper and after rummaging for a bit walked back out with a collapsible beach chair and a beer. Sat down with alcohol in hand, he pulled out a cigarette and settled in to wait.