The Calling pulled him like iron to a lodestone. His pace picked up as the pull grew stronger, like a fishing line hooked beneath his ribcage. It was an intriguing sensation, simultaneously sweet and agonizing. He had to make his contract. His Bondsman needed him. Nobody paid attention to the man sprinting down the street, all long limbs and dark, wild hair. They were all to encapsulated by the pulsing, glowing, verdant shade of the sky. He slowed to a jog as he passed a reporter, and her camera crew reporting on the strange phenomenon covering the sky. "-and some seem to think that the discoloration of the sky is due to a weakening of our ozone-" Up his pace picked again, as the tugging in his chest demanded action. The pulling took him to an apartment building, although the direction of the tug changed. His Bondsman would be found on the floors above him. He made a quick circle of the building, seeking entry. Luck found him. A wizened old woman with arms full of groceries was hobbling up the stairs to the entry of the apartment complex. Slowing to a jog, the familiar approached. Offered help gained him entry to the building. He itched to set off again to find the upper floors. Instead, he followed the little old woman up to her apartment, and laid the groceries down on her counter top. The woman left him with thanks, and folded a small slip of paper into his broad hand, as he took his leave. Glad to be free to pursue his Bondsman once again, he found the stairs. He took them two at a time, up to the fourth floor of the building. After a few minutes of frustratingly similar hallways, the Familiar found the door that was between himself and his Bondsman. He lifted a hand to rap on the door solidly. He was a tall fellow, six foot four or so, and lean. He wasn't scrawny certainly, but he did look long. He had curly, brown hair atop his head that didn't look to be styled, and only barely brushed. A goatee circled his mouth, and the long tuft hanging from his chin was braided for about an inch before it stopped. He wore a black tee with some punk band splashed across the front, and a pair of ill-fitting jeans that slanted rakishly from one hip. A fist was tangled in the waist of his pants to keep them up. He wore no shoes at all, and his bare feet kept shifting on the carpet outside of the apartment.