Moments later, Biffy entered the parlour, having already taken his hat and coat off and straightened out any crinkle that the evening's investigations had caused his jacket or waistcoat distress with. He can't do much about the smell, but luckily the general airing that the walk back to his master's house constituted as has removed most of it. A werewolf would still be able to tell, or someone stepping very close, but at least the former is not really a worry right now.

Which, surprising to say for someone like him, is indeed a worry.

Not because of the werewolves, of course, but it leaves the vampires in quite a pickle, too. A very rosy pickle. It is strange to see his master like this, as well dressed and manicured as ever and yet...

Only humanely beautiful, the supernatural beauty gone. Mortal. If someone decided to attack the supernatural element of London this night... He shoves the thought away. Unlikely; even with them less capable of defending themselves than normal, they are not without protection. Both private and public.

And he knows Lord Akeldama well enough to know that his master will breach the topic should he wish to. And that it must frighten him a lot, enough that Biffy does not wish to cause more upset and thus will not address it unless his master explicitly wishes him to do so.

So instead, he echoes his master's smile as he sits down, all mischievous gossip in his posture. "Oh, you would not believe what I saw just outside the Pickled Crumpet." With any other man of breeding or rank (or both), he would describe the area rather than name the pub in question, for no man of any standing would be found dead there.

Well, some roves could be found there, but that did not strictly contradict that statement.