No brutal murders tonight, no bodies floating in the mermaid tank. It was a good thing, yes, but also tremendously boring. It was not something he owned too, with as much as he enjoyed the mortal world, but Silas appreciated the excuse to return to the Fae Otherworld with bodies as offering. Not to be so tonight, it seemed.
He was making rounds, just to be sure, when he spotted a silhouette outside the Ice Garden. Conor. Silas diverted his path towards the faekin. "You have such a February face, so full of frost, of storm and cloudiness," he rasped in the balmy dark, amused to share one of the Shakespearean insults discussed earlier in the day that for Conor, might have been a compliment. The Barghest's voice was nothing if not distinctive; gravelly, deep and accented, like a whisper in a megaphone. But not unfriendly. "Keeping vigil over your territory, friend? Or pressing your limits?"