And just as quickly, the tiny flame is snuffed.

He draws himself up, brushing his long hair back over his shoulders, and lifts his chin. It feels as if his bones are still separated, as if he's been disassembled by a child, limbs thrown haphazardly into a corner. They do not belong to him, and yet he must propel himself through space with them.

The urge to turn to mist, or a cloud of bats, is strong, but he resists. He is a monster, but he is also a man, and he will walk off the field of battle, not be carried off on his shield. And he will not indulge the hunger here, not in his sight.

'As you wish.'

His coat is just a few steps away, and he retrieves it, shaking it out and slipping it around his shoulders, keeping his eyes down cast. He goes through the motions slowly, because these are the last few moments allowed to him, and they look, strangely enough, awkward on him. Like he doesn't know what to do with his hands, or where to look.

'I'm going into the bar, proper, now. If you wish to avoid me, that is where I will be, until a door opens to allow me to leave.'