It was well passed midnight when Titus pulled his Charger behind the house. Sliding it under the carport with quiet ease, he stepped out, encumbered by his "raisings" kit and a twelve pack of Yuengling's He was in scuffed and dirty jeans, his typical combat boots and a simple black T-shirt. On his side was his handgun. Dead folk couldn't be dropped by handguns necessarily, but in Louisiana graveyards and mausoleums often had unruly live folk that could.

He slipped into the back door of the house and immediately kicked his shoes off to let his feet dry. It was turning into a hot summer and New Orleans wasn't known for being kind with humidity. On the second raising of the night, (which annoyed him because it was just a lawyer asking a dead client for payment...typical) his feet were swimming in sweat and by the third he pronounced them legally dead. The socks, jeans, and shirt immediately went into the washer as he slipped on some gym shorts. He left his top bare to cool off in the hard working A/C.

He luckily had the rest of the week off for some strange reason as he popped the top of one of the beers and drained it instantly. He'd have to eventually go around and start getting a lay of the supernatural land, but he could save that for now. Right now, he simply sat back and got the lay of the city. He'd lived here before but New Orleans was constantly changing.