The Village. That's a world away from Rhys's existence, a tiny, mostly concrete loft in the industrial side of the city.

He sighs, shaking his head with a mournful look. "Sounds nice. I was thinking about moving north if work didn't get better. Then, well, this." He shrugs, then looks down at the carpet, suddenly fascinated with the stray threads.

He hadn't really been planning anything, but it sucked to realize that.

"In my world, Central Park's supposed to have one of the highest concentrations of supernatural creatures in the Northeast, y'know."

There. That's a more comfortable topic.