The thick pitter-patter of rain echoed off the the tin awning that hung over the edge of the big white house in the graveyard. Well, the house was more of an off-white now, years of damage and mold peeling the paint and rusting the shutters. Water pooled at the edges of the awning where the gutters had long since broken, almost flooding the porch.

Sitting on a rickety old rocking chair on the porch, drinking tea, was Lisitsyn. He rocked back and fourth gently, his sharp eyes scanning the graveyard. Most people who passed through thought that Lisitsyn was a ghost; the older man did fit the picture. Pale skin, sickly thin frame, and sunken in eyes often scared away all visitors of the graveyard.

Well, except you.

You were the bane of poor old Lisitsyn's existence. The old man never showed that he liked or disliked you, but judging by his grumbling he likely felt the latter. You often came by and had tea with the old man, tormenting him with your stories and gossip. So, Lisitsyn didn't think much of it when he saw you hauling your ass through the rain and around gravestones without an umbrella, up to his porch to have tea.

"Mh." A small grunt was all you got as a greeting from Lisitsyn, and a small flick of his ankle to motion for you to sit in the other chair on his porch. He watched you with narrow eyes, not friendly nor unkind as he patiently waited for your damn rambling to start.