quicklog: atticus/matt
[Matt made it to the farmhouse in less than an hour. It was getting on evening, but he had no specific plans. There was a mission set for the next day, if the weather held and flying out still seemed feasible. For a short time, his time was his own.
He expected that Atticus was just fine, but keeping an eye on him couldn't hurt anything. He'd lost more blood than a community at a blood drive, and if the vampire's teeth had any lingering effects, they might only start showing themselves now. There was no way to know, without a vampire to ask. If only he was bitten by a werewolf. Then Matt could have referred to an expert.
He knocked on the door to the farmhouse, then tried the knob. He was dressed warmly in a short, thick coat, utilitarian and grey, and boots that looked like they'd seen worse than the thin dusting of snow outside. His long hair was kept more clean and neatly these days, but it hung loose around his face. It was cold, after all.]