The numerous ravens occpuying Flamia's abode is the only signal of the return of one particular barber-surgeon. It's been months, perhaps years, since he last promised of returning. The vampire peels back the wool cowl that does poorly in the rain, but it does not sour his mood, instead, she's there. He can see her clear as day. And he slowly approaches, the old tongue and namesake rolling off his tongue with utter devotion, "mi'ushil!"
Despite a lingering distaste for ravens, with the years she's learned to appreciate them more, if nothing else, as a herald of her loved one's arrival. So the murder taking her kitchen by siege isn't as bad a sight as one might think.
When the rain finally delivers Regis back home, wet as a chick out of the egg, she's less than deterred from running up and tossing her arms around his neck. "Mi'lumi," she grins in his ear, kissing it. "Welcome home, dear."