Karsten was finally done with the tourist woman's broom. It had taken longer than anticipated, but not because the broom itself had presented a special challenge. He'd taken ill over the weekend, and not only because he was nursing one of the worst hangovers he'd had in recent years. All Vita's fault. Clearly. Apparently getting absolutely trashed on spirits didn't agree with lycanthropy. The only thing that had seemed to do the trick was going out to the butcher's and buying a kilo of ground beef. He'd glared all the way, but everyone in Todesfelde was used to his sour demeanour. He'd gone back home, and had eaten the raw meat. Only that had helped any. Karsten wasn't especially thrilled by his new liking for steak tartar.
He'd sent the woman an owl to Marquardt's house, as instructed, and was now once again working on the Cleansweep, having a monosyllabic conversation with Vita, who had come over earlier.
'He was the one dancing next to me,' he explained his choice. He didn't have a much better reason. Karsten had needs, and didn't want to get too close to anyone. Of all the people he'd ever encountered, Vita was the only person he could tell these things to, and he felt she understood. No one in Todesfelde did.
Baa-baa, black sheep, have you any wool?