Subject: Waking the Sick Where: George Edgar's Home Warnings: None Open to: Adith Lloyd
The servant had come down the stairs quickly, almost slipping on the runner that took up the centre of the wooden staircase, and George looked up from his paper expectantly. "Master Lloyd?" He asked, shutting the paper- he'd avoided the the Chronicle and was now reading the London Telegraph although he disliked the editorial style.
"Awake, sir, and hungry." The young man said, and took the folded newspaper from Lord Edgar as the man moved towards the stairs. "Have the kitchen make up some consume for him. Quick as they can. And some tea." He told the servant, already half-way up the steps, keen to see Adith, to talk to him, to reassure himself the attack had not addled the boy's wits or set him into gibbering insanity. And now, he hoped, he would be able to see if the wound on the young man's shoulder had already turned him into a snarling sub-human beast, or if the boy had been spared his humanity for just a few weeks longer. "Quick as they can!" He repeated for empathis, before dissapearing from sight as he stepped onto the landing.
If he's a werewolf, you best put him out of his misery, his father said, He'd not want to be one, and you have too many of the blitters running around the city as it is. Get rid of him, he'd thank you for it. Silver bullets, they say, but anything will do.
"Be quiet!" George snapped, before knocking on the guest room door. "Master Lloyd? Adith?"