Canto looked at the miserable-looking facade of Muirwarren Castle. He'd been able to hitch a ride to the middle of town, but walked the rest of the way in the freezing rain. His leather jacket had given him a bit of protection from the elements, but his red hair was plastered to his head and there was rainwater running down the back of his neck. These kinds of cases never seemed to happen in pleasant locations. So instead of sleeping in front of a warm fire back in Virginia, he was banging on the door of a Scottish castle with nothing but a violin and a few supernatural weapons.
We're all in the gutter, but some of us look at the stars. ~Oscar Wilde.