Sitting back on the softail's seat, she stared at the building behind the cover of wrap-around spell shades. Just an old warehouse in the slums of the West End, but it was home enough to suit her while she stayed in Rhydin. However long that ended up being. The refurbishments were all done inside, the gray brick exterior sealed. The sealer helped conceal where the ground floor windows had been bricked in. Made it look almost like it was built that way. The stone gargoyles jutting at each corner to spit water on whoever walked beneath while it was raining had even come with the building, though they'd needed some repairs. And a few old nests removed.
The bike purred forward like an overgrown steel cat as she moved nearer, headed for the smaller side door. Just big enough to fit her ride through, so long as she was on it instead of pushing. Those big double loading doors were firmly latched from the inside - not getting in that way. A humorless smile touched her lips as the side door slid open to let the motorcycle through into the building, revealing the virtually bare ground floor. That purr got a lot louder in a hurry with nothing more than a few near-empty shelving racks to break up the echoes. Got dark fast when the door slid shut behind, too.
There was a ladder up to a locked hatch, but with the bike parked on the plascrete slab she'd replaced the masoned floor with, she headed for the lift instead. That one took a key, but only to unlock the chain so it could be dropped down to the ground. No fancy electronics or expensive spells there - just a block and tackle with a counterweight rigged to a crank wheel on the lift. Made a clatter fit to wake the dead, though. Not that waking the dead was a hard job, around these parts. The cut lift edge parked neat and tidy under the lip made for it, leaving it flush top and bottom with the second story floor and the first story ceiling. She locked the chain off again before stepping off.
A glance around didn't show anything disturbed, and if it had been, the behemoth lumbering toward her would surely have let her know. Not hard to see if anything was out of place, either, with the second floor being almost as open as the first. Laid out into different areas, sure - the kitchen and a dining room with tile floor, a living room with carpet. Nice big open area all by itself where the wood had been left bare and sanded smooth, for working out. Nothing much in the way of furniture, though. Windows here, at least, to let in some light. Curtains at one end to section off the privy and bath. A stair going up to the third floor loft, where her bed and another small privy were, over the curtained section. Most of the area was open to the rafters, though. Not exactly homey, but it was home.
A grumble from the waiting behemoth recalled her to the task at hand, and she headed toward the kitchen area to unwrap the packages she'd brought back. Most of the items went into the chill box - yeah, unlike some of the locals, she did have to eat. And so did her impatient companion. A couple packages were cut open, spilling dry meat-kibble into a metal basin on the floor of the dining area, the only furniture there other than a matching water bowl, which she set about washing and refilling.
The mountain of muscle, bone and over-large skin grinned approvingly, tongue lolling out between droopy jowls, before starting in on her lunch. A ruffle to the mastiff's shoulders, and she headed for the 'living room', unclipping the shades as she went to drop them on a low table. A squint at the bright light was followed by a yawn, and, sprawling down onto the only chair, a battered old couch, she yawned. A few minutes later, the dog grunted and stretched out in front of the couch, just where dangling fingers could scratch at ears, with a sigh.
Yeah. Not much. But by Shell, at least it was home.
"Hey Beast, you wanna go try'n net a flitten for me? Your hide's tougher'n mine."
The bike purred forward like an overgrown steel cat as she moved nearer, headed for the smaller side door. Just big enough to fit her ride through, so long as she was on it instead of pushing. Those big double loading doors were firmly latched from the inside - not getting in that way. A humorless smile touched her lips as the side door slid open to let the motorcycle through into the building, revealing the virtually bare ground floor. That purr got a lot louder in a hurry with nothing more than a few near-empty shelving racks to break up the echoes. Got dark fast when the door slid shut behind, too.
There was a ladder up to a locked hatch, but with the bike parked on the plascrete slab she'd replaced the masoned floor with, she headed for the lift instead. That one took a key, but only to unlock the chain so it could be dropped down to the ground. No fancy electronics or expensive spells there - just a block and tackle with a counterweight rigged to a crank wheel on the lift. Made a clatter fit to wake the dead, though. Not that waking the dead was a hard job, around these parts. The cut lift edge parked neat and tidy under the lip made for it, leaving it flush top and bottom with the second story floor and the first story ceiling. She locked the chain off again before stepping off.
A glance around didn't show anything disturbed, and if it had been, the behemoth lumbering toward her would surely have let her know. Not hard to see if anything was out of place, either, with the second floor being almost as open as the first. Laid out into different areas, sure - the kitchen and a dining room with tile floor, a living room with carpet. Nice big open area all by itself where the wood had been left bare and sanded smooth, for working out. Nothing much in the way of furniture, though. Windows here, at least, to let in some light. Curtains at one end to section off the privy and bath. A stair going up to the third floor loft, where her bed and another small privy were, over the curtained section. Most of the area was open to the rafters, though. Not exactly homey, but it was home.
A grumble from the waiting behemoth recalled her to the task at hand, and she headed toward the kitchen area to unwrap the packages she'd brought back. Most of the items went into the chill box - yeah, unlike some of the locals, she did have to eat. And so did her impatient companion. A couple packages were cut open, spilling dry meat-kibble into a metal basin on the floor of the dining area, the only furniture there other than a matching water bowl, which she set about washing and refilling.
The mountain of muscle, bone and over-large skin grinned approvingly, tongue lolling out between droopy jowls, before starting in on her lunch. A ruffle to the mastiff's shoulders, and she headed for the 'living room', unclipping the shades as she went to drop them on a low table. A squint at the bright light was followed by a yawn, and, sprawling down onto the only chair, a battered old couch, she yawned. A few minutes later, the dog grunted and stretched out in front of the couch, just where dangling fingers could scratch at ears, with a sigh.
Yeah. Not much. But by Shell, at least it was home.
"Hey Beast, you wanna go try'n net a flitten for me? Your hide's tougher'n mine."