It was raining. A deceitful rain, fittingly enough, that resembled little more than a clear spittle and yet had quickly soaked the humble Lord entirely.
The coastal city bore an icy chill that day – trickles of fresh rainwater tracing the pallid colour of the Lord Cedric's pallid cheeks as he exhaled dense mists out into the night time. He didn't concern himself with whether his companion felt the cold, though subtle changes in throughout the day suggested that Vathek had tired. The volume, for instance, of warm, cloudy breath exuding from Vathek's nostrils had grown considerably from hour to hour. By this time, whence the gloomy skies had darkened to an opal grey, the thug's collumphing heel would lift and drop periodically – causing a sploshing spatter where he obediently remained despite the pooling of water. Lord Cedric had noticed, but offered no sympathy or resolution to the beastly brute's discomfort.
And so they stood, both of them, watching the passers-by slowly dwindle into the array of surrounding shelters. Occasionally coming by in a huddle of interlocking umbrellas or dashing past with a tenacious grasp on the collars and hoods of their tightly fastened rain coats.
The Lord had chosen this place – initially finding shelter beneath one of the many co-ordinated trees lining the sidewalk. But that was hours before… The branches now guided fat, persistent droplets of water onto their sodden shoulders as the icy cold threw a blueish tone over the city of Heatherfield. In fact, Cedric himself felt a nagging soreness along the back of his damp neck which had begun to quietly irk him. That was, at least, until the quiet of the evening was disturbed by a sound of tearing tyres on the wet road.
The wheels of the red station wagon squeaked a little pulling into the roadside. Cedric's thin, colourless lips spread into a smile of satisfaction. "I knew she would come, Vathek."
Vathek's frame stood, stoic. He would not comprehend the occasion he bore witness to on this evening. Lord Cedric breathed anticipation steadily. Watching.
Her sickly figure slid aimlessly from the right of the vehicle. She looked weak and brittle and ignorant. Her thick, uncomely brows furrowed as she looked and took in the street corner, grumbling loudly, "This is Heatherfield?"
The vessel's mother answered in a trill voice that's words escaped Cedric's ears. He only briefly acknowledged the tall woman with his gaze – as she popped the trunk open, eagerly thrusting boxes from within it to her daughter.
"She detests this city, but she'll survive." Cedric's gaze followed the boxes' contents: it spilled out from the fragile cardboard onto the asphalt and her mother's laugh bounced merrily off the wall of every building like a sweet chime. Cedric released a humoured breath. "It will be a pleasure to destroy her."