Holy shit he was tired. He’d arrived in England this morning and was trying to settle into a routine, but the jet-lag was killer. Eben would have reported the time being somewhere in the mid afternoon, but instead it was ten in the morning. That meant it was time for a run, then a shower, then sleep. Why? He was working off of a nocturnal schedule. The middle of the afternoon was tantamount to the middle of night. Three pm felt like three am. Such were the hours of the vampire hunter. He needed sleep, but he’d sleep most deeply if his muscles were worked to their limit and then pampered.
The city was alive with sounds at ten in the morning. The honk of cars, the staccato of city life, and the pulse of living thrummed through the city as he ran through it. This was not just a morning run for him. This was the first view of his hunting grounds. Rook’s arrival into Heathrow two hours ago marked the change in atmosphere that would culminate in someone’s death. The plan was for Moira’s teeth to become the new SAM trophy. There were, supposedly, certain Magic’s that could be performed with vampire fangs ground into a powder. Whether or not that was true would be for the textbooks. Eben was more pragmatic than most.
The steady pace of his breathing provided he backdrop of his thoughts. What would the new environment bring? London had its high class touch. The accents flying around him on the morning mists were straight outta Shakespeare. Even the blue collar Joes heading to factory work could have been literary characters of some sort. Dickens? Whatever. It was what it was. This wouldn’t be nothing permanent.
He was half a mile in. How far would today’s run go? Probably only three miles through the down town area. He needed sleep. Tomorrow, he’d be seeing the real estate agent and getting a base of operations. Until then, his hotel stay was going to be just fine as far as accommodations went. The slim warrior slipped into his usual blank minded state as he limbered up. The run was perfect for dining out and shaking off he stupor of travel. The natural process of exercise also teased out his thought processes. He’d need to make contact with the magical side of London. That meant locating the Three Broomsticks and getting a visa approved for transit in country.
From what he understood, the current government was strict on imports like himself. He’d need to keep his head down and nose clean. He’d need to file for the right permits to hunt down the murderess and bring her to justice. Thankfully, he had the New York City Auror’s reports of Saul’s death and the signed affidavits for the destruction of that vampire deemed responsible. MACUSA approved of Moira Darking’s death. All he needed was the Ministry of Magic of London to give him a blessing before he went a -hunting. It shouldn’t be too difficult, right?
Rook continued his run, finishing at the pub not far away from his hotel. The Abbey seemed like an interesting spot to have a bite to eat before heading back to the hotel for a shower and rest. A bite to eat in a local spot could help him get assimilated to the culture more quickly. Hopefully, they wouldn’t mind someone in shorts and a tank top. It was summer, in his defense, and a rather muggy 85 degrees. He had his wallet and his bank card, so they had no reason to protest. He pushed his way inside in search of a sandwich and some water.