﻿Reggy sighed as he stood beneath the entrance awning and watched Miss Treble drive away, wishing for the millionth time he owned a vehicle of his own. He glanced skyward at the onpouring rain and shuddered at the thought of having to pedal his old second-hand 10-speed home through this deluge. Still, he couldn't bring himself to feel<em>completely</em>horrible; talking to Miss Treble had been less painful than he'd anticipated, and he had a sliver of hope that he'd get to keep his job. Final say, of course, lay in Amundson's hands, but while the old man could be a serious hard-ass Reggy had always considered him a fair man. However, he'd already resigned himself to the fact that his paycheck would almost certainly be lightened this time. Allison was absolutely right that he wouldn't be able to buy any extra sympathy by playing the victim, and to be honest Reggy didn't have much desire to try. He fucked up, he allowed himself to get robbed, and he would do his best to face the consequences.<br/><br/>His fingers were still a little cramped from filling out the requisite paperwork, and he flexed them a few times as he gripped the strap of his book satchel over one shoulder. Reg sighed again, then started to dig in the bag for the key to the makeshift lock on his bike. There was finally a (slight) lull in the storm, and he withdrew both the key and a tightly rolled-up, bright yellow poncho. He unfurled the thin plastic and slipped his head through the center slit, smoothing the slicker out over himself. He'd modified the thing a bit so he could wear it while on his bike, and better than half the material was cut away so that it only came down to a little below his chest. It didn't offer much protection, but it allowed him to keep his satchel dry and didn't risk getting caught in the bike chain.<br/><br/>Miss Treble's dim taillights were almost out of sight, and Reg was about to make a mad dash of his own for his bike while the rain wasn't quite so torrentous, when a soft squeak near his sneaker caught his attention. For a moment he thought he'd stepped on a crushed can or empty soda bottle, but when he looked down he spied a sizable brownish rat nudging at his shoe. A moment of instinctive revulsion washed over him and he was about to kick the bold little creature away when --<br/><br/><em>Rat.<br/><br/>Not brown.<br/><br/>Red.<br/><br/><strong>Silas</strong>!</em><br/><br/>"Eeyaagh!" Reggy cried intelligently as he stumbled backward a step. He blinked rapidly for a moment and tried to corral his heart out of his throat and back into his chest, then dropped to one knee on the wet concrete. "Um...S-Silas? Is...that you?" He asked, struggling heroically to ignore how stupid he felt talking to a rat even despite his earlier experience. Reginald's mind may have been slowly coming to terms with the reality of talking with a naked man who'd transformed moments before from a giant, furry aberration, but apparently it wanted to draw the line at conversing with actual rodents.<em>'I am going to need <strong>so much</strong> therapy some day...'</em><br/><br/>With the sort of care usually demonstrated by scientists dealing with highly explosive chemicals, Reggy leaned forward to get a better look at the rat's injuries, and reached under his slicker to dig through his bag. "Uh...are you, are you hurt? You look hurt...oh jeezus, yeah that looks really bad, um...are you, I mean, oh, can you even understand me? I've got, I think I have...yeah, I've got some Band-Aids, and let's see, a half-tube of Neosporin," he said, holding up the meager items up like sacred treasures in front of the wounded critter.<br/><br/>After another moment's hesitation, Reggy finally managed to screw up his courage and was about to risk trying to pick up the (magic?) rat when the sound of footsteps splashing towards him reached his ears. He looked up and saw a girl, perhaps his age or a little younger, standing a few feet away in the downpour. She looked, if possible, even more wretched and miserable than the rodent at his feet, and Reggy's eyes widened a little at the sight of her clothes -- or rather, her apparent lack of them.<em>'Oh god, what if she was attacked or something, looks like she's in shock, maybe she was <span class="bbc_u">raped</span>, omigod omigod omigod omigod...'</em><br/><br/>Reggy looked back and forth between the rat and the girl for two seconds that felt like forever, desperately trying to decide who to attempt to help first. At last he reached down and scooped what he hoped with all his might was Silas into his hands and rose to his feet. "Miss? Um, excuse me, miss..." Reg called out, his voice raised to compete with the heavy rain, "are you...are you alright? Are you injured, do you need help? I'm sorry, I don't have a cell phone, but we can use the one insi- oh, no, wait, Miss Treble locked the doors, but I can...I could get help, or...something..." he finished weakly, his worried expression visible by the backwash of the marquis lights above. In the palm of his hands he cradled maybe-Silas, squeaking loudly, and Reggy wondered just how much more of a train-wreck this night would become before he ran out of track.