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He'd had the date marked in his diary, a battered leather thing that he kept in his satchel. Saturday the 27th had 'shopping' marked in a small, neat hand for as a catch-all for preparations, and so Remus had gone out to markets and wandered London and again found it a far more bustling, alive and angry city than he remembered. For that night he had simply written 'attempting to have a life!!!' and underlined it several times.

Because he was.

It had been a hard stretch, recovering from his transformation the previous week: he still felt tired a lot of the time, and his strength came and went in unpredictable surges, but he could usually summon what he needed through simple, stubborn strength of will and deal with the exhaustion later. That had always been his habit: to deal with it later. The night found him preparing dinner in the kitchen of his large apartment, all cold white walls and bland beige carpet and modern black leather couches, the better to show off the obscenely large television that he didn't watch that much and the even larger windows that opened out to the city, which he did. London looked gorgeous at night, free of the cool grey of winter wear to take on light and colour.

And with the sauce simmering and the pasta ready to go, Remus enjoyed a glass of water and waited for Hex to arrive and use the intercom thing downstairs so he could buzz him up.


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Mr. R. J. L., Esq.

June 2017

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