Sergei Bjarnarson was not sure why he was here. To the contrary, he knew only that there was a problem, the weight and emotion of it echoed in his mind like a shout from a mountain top, a sound that reverberated with the wind and pierced him as if he were nothing more than a vaporous specter. His mental safe guards, its shields, they were shredded by this and while he could not yet get a vision, he knew the other, whomever, whatever, it was most assuredly in pain. Ah, but he could not tell whether the pain was physical or mental, or even a mixture of both. Instead he was left all but blind as he moved through the rain, his light umbrella the only thing shielding him against Thor’s fury.

Strolling as he was through the zoo, Sergei was not at all inconspicuous. No, he cut quite the figure. The vampire had been on his way “home”, not home, for home had been gone too many centuries to count. But rather he had been headed to the safety and comfort of his lair, and perhaps would have found it, for this night at least, had he chosen another way home. However, perhaps things were as Sergei was given to believe, perhaps all of this was destiny and the man was doing only what the gods would have of him, but whatever the case the vampire thought little of deities or fate at current, instead he focused on the whimper of a voice in his head, that which drove him onward toward its source.

Strolling down the zoo’s main path, dressed in Italy’s best; a gray suit that seemed well and truly poured over his wide shouldered, lean waisted, warrior’s body, he listened carefully to the sounds of the night about him. All about he picked up the sounds of animals, all of which giving varying degrees of opinion on their captivity, their accommodations, the rain, or whatever else it might be that animals would give voice to sounds for, yet still Sergei heard nothing to let him think that any human beast, mortal or immortal was about.

Still searching, the man walked on, that was until he reached a cage unlike many others. A cage that looked to hold, well they reminded Sergei suddenly of the mountain cats he had heard whispers of as a child. These however were so massive that they put the imagination a child once had to shame, and only after a few moments did Sergei remember these beasts for what they were.

Tiger. Yes, that was it, what they were.

It was then that Sergei paused. A sound so full of grief that it hurt him to his very heart assaulted him, and the man took in a breath that he had not needed in a long time before proceeding toward the sound and the figure that he could now finally pluck out of the stormed darkness.

For a moment he consider that his eyes played him for a fool, but then he was sure and Sergei spoke without thought.

“I am Sergei Bjarnarson. My sister in the blood, I have come to your aid, allow me to help.”

He approached then, carefully, oh so carefully.

Sergei regarded the woman with carefully concealed thoughts and actions that were pondered over a thousand times in the milliseconds that it took him to make them, searching for any hidden hostility that he might mistakenly impart upon the other. Sergei had no wish for violence and he sought nothing of this woman, however he was careful, he had lived too long not to be. Sergei had run into all manner of blood drinkers. He had met the proud and violent, the kind and noble, and even those totally and utterly given into madness and the latter always made him watchful of all he met. With the way she answered him, Sergei didn’t think this woman mad, but one could never be too careful.

Keeping his eyes devoutly focused upon her slight form, slighter than he at any rate, he smiled brightly at her. And quickly he waved away her concerns with a wisp of his gloved hand, as he took in her disheveled state. She had said he could not help, and perhaps that was true as of what had brought her out into the rain and about the foul cages and concrete that made up this beast’s prison, but Sergei could help the physical even if that was meager salve to a possibly mortal wound.

His eyes alight with sudden concern, he spoke pensively and pertly.

“You have not disturbed me, and I am yet sure there is some manner of good my presence may provide. I give my oath upon the blessed spear that I wish you no harm, and the world of mortals is not so observant yet that they would pick out two of our kind, let alone twenty. We are safe as time yet dictates…so please, allow me to assist you, if it be nothing but a hot bath…I wish my hospitality on you.”

Sergei wasn’t sure she would trust him, but then again he wasn’t sure that he should trust her, but that part of him, his heart perhaps or whatever it was that remained near still in his chest, urged him onward. This was what life meant, to risk oneself upon others. Risk free was no life at all. Even for the undead.

His thoughts echoed in her aching head, and she still felt weak. She carried herself in a courtly way despite the ill feeling, the light-headedness. She tried to ignore them, and the pity wrankled on her nerves. She turned and narrowed her eyes, shoulders shaking a little.

She opened her mouth, but closed it again on the sharp retort that sprang to her lips. She was not a pauper needing aid, nor a poor Mortal woman who had no better sense than to stand in the rain.

No, indeed - she was an ancient vampiress, who had no better sense than to stand out in the rain and weep like a lost child.

Swallowing, she looked down, mind still a bit clouded, but finally registering the wreck that she appeared. She was not the most... mentally stable of people, no, and it came and went, leaving her rather frighteningly sane one moment, and a whimsy sort of insane the next.

"I can hear you... I can hear the pity..."

But at least it was not mocking, not like those damned flowers...

He did not seem to be a predator, not that she would normally be concerned for that... God save any who tried to prey on her tonight. A woman's seat of emotions, whether a living, beating heart, or the shattered remnants of one that a vampiress possessed was still something to be revered, especially when in turmoil.

She breathed deeply, trying to think... Her head pulsed vaguely, and she still felt faint from blood loss... She would have to remedy that, though she lurched inwardly at the thought of feeding now... Maybe she could put it off.

Her eyes looked tired, but the youthful blue looked about the rain-clad concrete and iron... It would not do to return to the Catacombs tonight, not to move among the Amman... It were better to find a place to rest elsewhere, to sleep through the daylight. She owned a house - discreetly bought under another name, well-kept and on the outskirts of town, but she rarely went there anymore. It had been quite a long time... Perhaps she should revisit it.

She tilted her head towards Sergei.

"Thank you... You might see a lady home, if you have the time?"