Anathema sat on the crumbling wall of one of the buildings, his tail tucked around his paws. He looked like a statue, unblinking, in the most unnerving of ways. He sat this way probably more often than he didn't, particularly since the League took the city. The city was a place of ghosts, and although it made his job easier, it also put him on edge. The city was where his father, Altaire, had been found, pulled away by Morgana. It was where he had created an empire, the one where he left believing that his first born son, the Egyptian Mau in which he left behind, Anathema himself, would take over. Anathema had found his way to the League as a way of following his father away from the city, and putting as much distance between himself and the city as possible. And then, next thing he knew, the whole group was back in territory very similar to the one in which he had once ran. 

Anathema let out a sigh, moving for the first time in a while, turning his head to the side. Someone had distracted him from his thinking, his analysis of the world and how it laid squarely on his shoulders. "May I assist you?" he asked in his low, gravely voice - he had been trained to keep his voice low and seductive, so that cats would flock to him effortlessly-, his eyes not quite yet training on the newcomer.