[It's not an entirely serene experience to be the person lurking in the dark, either. Being alone in a strange place with poor footfall and a network full of people who'll happily profess to have been unrepentant murderers back in their own world and indeed - depending on your ascribed theory - who may even have been brought to this one to continue their line of work does not leave one precisely free of nerves.

And yet Prior has been in his chosen position for some time before Byerly arrives, watching the house for any sign of occupation and reminding himself that this whole experience is nothing compared to walking home alone east of Avenue B at certain hours of the night, and he's done that in heels.

That said, there is one trait common to all regular late night wanderers and users of project-bound bus routes. Avoid the goddamn drunks. So it's with a sinking heart that he hears Byerly's humming, shuffling approach, turning his face away to be as invisible and uninteresting as possible.

Until he speaks, and Prior's head snaps round toward him with not so much a shriek of terror as a particularly affronted squeak. Oh god he's so fucking relieved.]

What about you? Sneaking up that way, I thought I was going to be assaulted for a lengthy and incoherent conversation and a slurred request to buy some neat liquor, if nothing worse.

[He huffs, feathers ruffled enough to make a show of it, but then relents and beckons Byerly closer.]

Come here. And try to keep your tinny little heart from rattling too much, you'll scare it away.

[Said as he carefully loosens the top few buttons of his coat. A faint glow escapes from under the fabric.]