He was too focused on tugging up the railing in pieces and then using it to build a makeshift cage around the direwolf to acknowledge Old Laz’s request for mood lighting.  Kurby merely grunted, sweat beading on his forehead as he managed to tear another section free and then levitated it into place.  The last step would be melding the metal together and then placing what enchantments he could, in hopes that it would hold until help could arrive.

But the vampire hadn’t stopped talking.  Kurby blinked, momentarily looking away from his task after he dropped the second piece of rail in place.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his brows furrowing.  Was the vampire having some kind of freak out because there was too much blood around? “It’s not dead.  Even if there’s blood, it’s going to be fine.”

Lazarus withdrew from the pile of fur, bone, and foreboding.

"That's starting to look plain as daylight, mister. Hmm, yea, but his blood. Something not right about the blood that's pooling."

He hefted himself effortlessly onto the platform, the smell becoming uncomfortable. He drew a cigarette from his pocket and a plastic lighter. Get the taste out of his nostrils.

"Maybe this is something you should know in your business. Might want to write this down, but werewolf blood is unappetizing. Edible but eh."

Lazarus drew in a long pull and let the smoke fill his mouth and nose. He let is seep out slowly as he continued.

"Calling him unappetizing is charitable. Worse than rotting."

He gestured with the lit cigarette. "What is he, then?"

The vampire had a way of speaking in riddles that made his head want to ache.  Kurby tore himself away from his spellwork, finally focusing fully on his guide.

Evidently, vampires didn’t like werewolf blood.  That wasn’t something that he had encountered before, but then, he hadn’t exactly spent much time associating with any vampires before Old Laz.  It was interesting to think that one type of supernatural predator apparently didn’t like to feast on the other, for whatever reason.  He filed that bit of information away to mull over later.

So the vampire didn’t normally like to feed on werewolves, but this werewolf’s blood smelled especially —

The facts clicked suddenly into place.

Kurby grimaced, glancing back in the direction of the fallen lycanthrope.

“The Daily Prophet started callin’ them direwolves,” he replied, looking steadily back at Old Laz.  Now that the fight was over and the adrenaline was wearing off, the first burst of exhaustion was starting to sink in.  Kurby swallowed, trying to force the feeling back.  He had to stay focused until the damned thing was fully restrained and the rest of his team was here.

He shrugged in the vampire’s direction.  “They’re bigger and stronger than normal werewolves, and they transform for a full three days, instead of just at night during the full moon.  A bunch of purist terrorists managed to manipulate the normal werewolf curse and create them a couple of years ago, hopin’ they could surprise everyone with werewolf attacks during the day.  This is the first one I’ve seen in more than two years.” 

Lazarus leaned back into a band of shadow and moved his hat more to the back of his head.

"Now that's worthwhile innovation. I figure why not? Not enough chaos here that one can't set a clock by the tortured howls anymore," he spun, not shorting on the sarcasm. Purists? Nothing was pure. Nobody. Vampires in Lazarus's many years, either by curse or nature or boredom, slowly 'checked out' on the rapid cycling of mortal theatre and politic. Look what they'd done this time, he thought sadly.

He was quiet for a moment. The thrill from earlier in the night was gone. Lazarus wasn't entirely sure what he'd caused.  Two years seemed a long time to lose track of something like this. Was finding one a blessing or a curse? Would this change what would happen to the wizard under the blood and fur? It occurred to him only then that it could be a witch. A different narrative than the one he'd invented earlier - an inexperienced werewolf slinking about doing their best. The naivete of an ancient, maybe.

He waved a weathered hand.

"Well, there you are. Good deed done, I guess."

Lazarus coughed a laugh.

Kurby's eyebrows raised as the vampire...seemed to praise the creation of the direwolves?  By now, he'd been exposed enough to the creature's rhetorical speech patterns that he took it with a grain of salt.  It was possible that Old Laz was trying to be sarcastic.

"Good deed done, then," he agreed, giving the vampire a nod.  "Thanks."

Exhaustion was definitely starting to set in now, but he still had hours and hours of work ahead of him.  Kurby paused, glancing over at where the direwolf was still weakly moving, half-encased in the rail that he'd already levitated over.  As soon as he sent word to the rest of his team, this small space was going to become very busy.

Which begged one final question.

"You want to get out of here before the rest of the Ministry shows up?" he asked, his brows knitting as he glanced at the vampire.  "I don't want to detract from you doin' your civic duty, but I don't know how you want all of this to go over."

"Hm?" Lazarus lifted his eyebrows. He'd been watching the beast breathe, hearing its air rattle in and out.  The poor devil would come out of it.

Bagnold was opening up a window for him to flutter out of.  A comforting opportunity for the both of them, Laz didn't doubt. Lazarus wasn't inclined to participate in explanations, justifications or intercessions for that matter. Yeah, yeah, this was where this ended. Ended with Bagnold and his friends taking the werewolf to bed.

Any assurances he'd wanted before had already floated away through the chainlink fence in the breeze of a passing train car. For now he'd have to leave things to the professionals.

"Might as well," he said.

He flicked the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it to snuff its tiny light. Lazarus clapped Bagnold on the shoulder as he passed.

"Don't mention it."

Fin