There was a definite pleasantness to the end of a day's work, in John's opinion.

He mused to himself as his cigar lent a trail of smoke lazily upward, undisturbed by any wind. He watched the late afternoon sun as it played with the dust just inside the windows of his house, wondering why the beggar pleaded for coin when he had working legs on him. He reached with his other hand to touch the blade he'd finished engraving just before. How could you not enjoy this feeling? He traced the line, pleased with its edge. How is creation not addicting?

He stood, his muscles vaguely sore as he gathered up the sigil books he had been borrowing magical symbols from. Into a parchment-filled closet they went, with the engraving tools following soon after. His shirt, soot-covered and haphazardly sewn together, went into a basket in his bedroom, and he went back to his oversized chair, cocking his head to the side to watch the sunset as he sucked on the cigar.

How can you not enjoy this? John thought. He briefly wondered where Jamie was, thinking to himself that he might ask her to move in. She was a good woman, she deserved better than her profession, he thought. He smirked, tracing a finger along one of the burn scars that crossed his torso and arms. He imagined for a moment her, standing behind his chair, tracing one and commenting that he really shouldn't take any more mercenary work.

It was nice. This was a good evening, and though he was a little rambunctious at times, Vincent was coming over to chat and have some 'brewskies'.

Whatever that means, John thought as he watched the sun begin to disappear behind the trees.