The Humanica

Somewhere in the same city, a great man stroked his worn, silver ring as he disappeared into his own thoughts.

He had a deeply furrowed forehead that when he frowned, it gave him a hawk-like appearance.

In the same moment the footsteps of two well-polished shoes approached him rather slowly.

The great man turned to look. Then he looked away just as soon, smiling with quiet recognition.

His mansion was the only place where he could walk around unprotected, and thankfully there were countless acres to walk.

Here he could be just a man, a man who took walks, and fished, and drank tea.

Anywhere beyond the boundary that separated them from the ravening outer world, the Winchesters were surely a target, for the downtrodden, bitter, vengeful, and desperate, members of society.

"Jared," He called to the man.

Only when the man had got close enough did he respond, "Yes, my Lord."

The man had blotched, blonde hair that was thick for his age.

He had cut it low at the sides, lea