Jade exhaled deeply, letting out a long stream of thick smoke into the air. A chunk of ash fell to the ground as he brought the cigarette away from his mouth, tilting his head back until it hit the cool brick wall behind him, tousling his already matted black hair. He shoved his free hand deep into the pocket of his thin, dark grey hoodie, crossing one leg in front of the other casually while his back rested against the wall. Opening his resting eyelid, he brought the half-way finished cigarette to his lips, let it hang there, and ran the hand that previously held it to run through the knots at the back of his head. His eyes darted around the street, once in a while staring at some of the people who passed by him, on their way to god-knows-where. It wasn't too much longer before he let his eye slip closed again, his head drop back to the rough, cold bricks, and his hand take the cigarette from his mouth to exhale once again. That's all he wanted to do today, really. Stand around half-dressed in just a comfortable sweatshirt and loose-fitting jeans, not bother with anyone or anything, smoke a cigarette or two (or more), and just relax. He didn't want to go back inside to his lower mid-level apartment. Didn't want to put on some intricate outfit. Didn't want to comb his hair. Didn't want to check with work. Hell, he didn't even want to put shoes on, remembering his completely bare feet. He inhaled again, the same process repeating itself.

JAAAAAAAAADE.

Oh dear god. The cigarette nearly dropped out of his hand with that one. Damn, she was being quiet. Well, he couldn't expect her to stay that way forever, could he? He sighed out a puff of smoke.

What, Thea? honestly, its too early. Go back to being slightly less irritating, he thought at her, trying to mask his agitation with her that had begun to creep its way across his calm face. He stared out at his cigarette. He was one more annoyance from needing another one of these this morning.

We both know that isn't happening, she replied. Thea seemed to be equally as agitated with Jade's defiance to what she wanted him to do. And I'm already tired of this. We're going to be doing something fun today, right?

No, Jade answered plainly. F*ck no. Though he sort of understood the answer would be yes. Well, fun for Thea, anyway. Not so much for him. He rolled his eye, flicking away the butt of his cigarette and turning to scurry up the front stairs to his apartment building. He stopped at the door, pulling his other hand out from his pocket with the door keys, and wiggling his toes against the chilly cement while he unlocked the door. He quickly slipped inside and pulled the door closed, slipping both of his hands into the big pocket of his hoodie. You wanna take over in the meantime, then? You know I sure as hell aren't in the mood to go about picking out some stupid outfit, let alone get ready at all.

Thea didn't even have to answer. Within milliseconds, Jade could feel himself sink back, Thea pushing herself forward to control his body. He just let himself relax down into that darker place of 'look but don't touch.' Thea flexed Jade's body, every muscle felt tired and just wanted to lie down, but it was still just the after effects of Jade not wanting to move. She quickly got him into motion, smiling and opening his eye more fully, pulling his hands out of his pockets and running up the stairway. Avoiding the elevator of course, because she'd never hear the end of it if she stuffed Jade into that kind of small space. She stopped to huff on the third floor, the tired body weighing her down a bit, but quickly got back into step, skidding to a stop at the fifth floor apartment to unlock the door and step inside.

It was as chilly in the apartment as it was outside. After all, the windows all remained open, and one or two had even been shattered. It had been more on accident than anything else, but Jade hadn't bothered to get them fixed, of course. It just hadn't been necessary. As for the lack of doors on their hinges that would have lead to the bathroom and bedroom, well, those had been removed when he moved in, and burned in one of the back alleys. The landlord hadn't approved, of course, but Jade assured him that the doors would be replaced and everything would be as good as new when he moved out. Not that it would happen very soon. Jade was comfortable in his crappy apartment in his very lower-average level of the city. Why change things? For now, Thea focused on moving him into the bedroom to change into something a little less lazy. The outfit he'd selected was far from flattering. Jade drowned in big clothing, with that less than bulky frame of his. Not to mention he just plain looked like he was going to lay down for a nap, although he probably would have hoped that was what he would be doing today. She got moving to picking something a bit more decent for him, opening up his drawers and rummaging through.

In the end, He wore a white button up with a loose, dark red sweater over it, showing just the collar. She selected a different pair of jeans for him as well, picking another dark pair that simply fit him better, and pulled his black, mid-calf high boots on. After ripping through his hair with a brush for a good ten minutes, she felt herself pushed out of the way, Jade eager to take back the reigns and toss the brush back into the drawer where it belonged.

Damnit, Thea, you're going to tear out all my hair at this rate, he thought, tousling it with one hand before putting his eye patch back over his empty lid quickly and walking out of his bathroom. He stuffed his phone, cigarettes, and lighter into his pockets before heading back out again, jogging down the stairs to be outside sooner rather than later. Whatever, she responded. That't what you get for letting your hair get so tangled in the first place.

Jade ignored her, pushing out the front door and onto the street. He pulled a cigarette and popped it in his mouth as he walked, lighting it quickly and breathing it in. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and let out the usual thick smoke into the air to mix with the other people on the street. A couple people gave him some looks, but he barely noticed aside from hearing their negative thoughts a bit louder than the usual murmur of people's brains. He simply focused on pulling out his phone and checking for messages from work with his free hand while continuing the droning motion of inhale and exhale, occasionally letting it hang in his mouth. The way things were looking, he'd have at least most of the day before he got any calls from the piece of sh*t that replaced him as hunting leader, but no one would trust a contractor, even a contractor who'd been raised since infantry to be a hunter, go around calling the shots. He simply had to wait around for orders, otherwise he'd be under lock down until his actions were fully investigated, blah blah blah. Honestly, he couldn't care. But this simply meant he had to find ways to occupy Thea all day. This was really just going to suck.

Do you really need to keep smoking? You already had one!! Thea bothered. She wasn't really interested in having to sit through his stupid cigarettes all day. The taste wasn't even good. She figured the only reason Jade liked them was because it was bad for him, and other people disliked it. Oh wait, she didn't have to figure. SHE MOTHER F*CKING KNEW. Wonderful part about sharing a brain, and being a psychic type; no need for guess work.

F*ck off, I can have as many as I want, Jade retorted, stuffing his phone and the hand that had been holding it into his pants pocket and focusing back on his cigarette. And if you even think of throwing this one down, I'm just going to pull out another one.

Thea would have grumbled or something, if that was even a thing that you could do without like a mouth and throat and stuff, but of course, not having Jade's body currently, she settled for doing... nothing... Because she wasn't in the mood to grab hold of his body while it was still only half-awake, and figured she'd mess with Jade more while he was less compliant. For now, she just let him walk to wherever. If he didn't decide on something soon, she promised herself she'd take over the show.

Valentine slipped down the street quietly, head down with his hood pulled up all the way. His all black clothing covered every inch of skin that it could, and keeping his head down would account for keeping eyes off of his face. A bit depressing, but that was just how it had to go. He didn't want to draw any attention, especially from the kind of crowd that would stop and stare and cringe at the result of what he did everyday. He didn't need anyone staring to remind him of how terrible he looked. But it wasn't like he had much of a choice. He needed to use his abilities, and it just wasn't as easy for him than it was for others. So keeping something sharp handy was just a necessity. No going around it. And that just meant staying in the background.

He put his hand down into his sweatshirt pocket, feeling around for the crumpled up dollar bills in his pocket that he'd scrounged out of other people's pockets. Its not as if he had a job, or was even accepted in demon safe zones. He had to take care of himself, even if it wasn't easy. But he tried to convince himself that was what being a guardian type was all about; being able to do things on their own. He didn't need some stupid contract to be able to do things. It was just unfortunate that he couldn't really do much in society, BECAUSE he used his abilities. Sort of a give and take, but there just wasn't much of a choice there.

Looking up briefly, Valen scanned the area for one of the smoke shops on that he normally went to around this area. It wasn't a very good area, being second to last before being on the ground, but he honestly didn't care much. It was higher than he would have expected to be living, even if he wasn't exactly living with permission, or as a rent-paying citizen. Not that a lot of demons dealt with that kind of sh*t anyway. Most utilized demon safe zones, which gave places to stay for "law-abiding" demons that still followed the rules set by the treaty with the hunters, or they stayed in their contractor's homes. Others actually got jobs and lived like humans. Unfortunately for Valentine, he'd been bullied out of the last safe zone he tried to stay in, majorly because demons pride themselves on perfection, and he was far from it. As for acting like a human and getting a job, it was doubtful that regular humans would want to be around him with such a terrible appearance. That left a contract. But he wasn't very interested at this point, not with the kinds of things he'd put up with in other contracts in the past. He had figured that perhaps it would be easier to just go by that idiotic treaty for once, but it didn't seem to be doing him any favors. He was on the fence about looking for some new sucker who wanted a little more protection and fire power, but the whole thing always seemed like selling himself to slavery. Just sitting around and doing what a human wanted all the time? And for what? Some lousy deal? He wasn't even quite sure that a human had anything he wanted anymore, aside from their blood. Not to mention that the older ones tended to see themselves as being above him, and not just because of a height difference. Children were more admiring, and he normally liked that kind of attention, like he was some kind of big hero. Too bad.

He sighed, licking his lower lip and feeling the sting of a slice the ran right in his tongue's path. He didn't like splitting his lip, normally, but it was too late to decide on a different place for the cut now. It simply would hurt for a while and take longer to heal, but he had to deal with it. Nearly bumping into someone, he slipped inside the smoke shop, not paying attention to any sort of greeting the worker might have given him. He simply slunk down the isles, picking up a few, cheap, less than healthy snacks and a drink and made about paying quickly. He paid no mind to the worker's staring while he grabbed the white plastic bag quietly and left as quickly as he had come. No need to dilly dally in a place where he wasn't wanted, which, in his case, was pretty much everywhere. Valen simply began the short journey back to the small building he resided in regularly; an old, condemned church that people had stopped acknowledging long ago. There was only one entrance, and certainly not a traditional one; a broken basement window that a person simply needed to be small enough to fit into, or not get in at all. Every other window and door was boarded up completely, and none of the original stained glass even remained. The inside was disheveled as well, but he wasn't about to complain. It was the best he could do for now.

Valentine brushed shoulders with another person and nearly fell, the other person being greatly heftier than he was, but he managed to remain upright with only a minute stagger, muttering a quick apology. He supposed he'd hide out for the majority of the day, though. It wasn't as if there was much else for him to do, unless something came up.

Talhnir sat by the shadowed table in the far corner of the restaurant, far away from the eyes of other patrons, while having a perfect overview of the entire restaurant. He had requested that his contractor, the cook of this particular restaurant, put a table right there. He wanted to observe the people of the restaurant, as he was doing now. The restaurant was full, overfull even. Patrons were eating by the bar and even on the ground. This breech of table manners was accepted, even by the rich and powerful who visited the restaurant, after all, the food here was the most delicious ever tasted.

Talhnir leaned back in his chair as he took a sip from the glass of wine in his hand. He was suddenly filled with memories as the other patrons of the restaurant had begun to do away with all table manners and even the table ware, now eating with their hands. It had been only 5 years ago when he wandered into this very restaurant, to find a crying cook on the floor. The cook said nothing, but his subconscious had cried out to Talhnir. The desire the cook had to fulfil his one dream was overwhelming. So all Talhnir could do was stretch out his hand and vow to make this cook’s dream come true.

The restaurant, called ‘little restaurant of heaven’, was located on a upper-middle level of the city. A perfect location really, where both the average and the rich could visit without shame. Yes, the fault lay with the cook himself, who, despite having more passion for cooking than all the highest level chefs had put together, was simply a terrible cook. Talhnir smiled at that memory as he watched the patrons of the restaurant once more. They had begun shuffling down the food with reckless abandon. In fact, they were eating faster than the cook and his help could prepare the food. Many in their impatience had begun chewing on the plates.

Talhnir was pleased. The cook’s dream had come true, the people loved his food. It had been a stroke of genius to allow the guests to decide on their own ingredients. ’Let the guests choose what they eat, let them eat what they have always wanted to taste, but could not!’ Talhnir had said, spreading his arms wide and smiling with bliss. It had gone better than even he expected. The guests had first desired simply unusual foods, but the more they ate, the more they wanted. They wanted more unusual tastes, more and more until they could no longer contain their desires. It had not taken long before the patron’s began ordering rats, beast from the wild or even other people. The cook had resisted at first, but even he came to realise that he could not deny his guests what they wanted. Now the cook only smiled a mad smile, while preparing the most gruesome food imaginable. In fact, the cook had begun to eat these dishes himself. It wasn’t long before the cook had tasted every type of food, even those which were conventionally not considered food. The madness that went on in this restaurant had not gone unnoticed by the hunters. But even they had not been able to resist the lure of the food now that Talhnir had begun to help with preparations. Most that had come to investigate had eventually joined the feast that took place in the restaurant every night. And those that didn’t, became part of the feast. Such cannibalistic interests suited Talhnir, it was easier to infect people with the madness needed to drive the patrons into a taste induced frenzy than it was to infect simple food with the same madness.

And if this was no frenzy, he did not know what was. The busboys were bringing the food out unprepared, yet they could not bring it out fast enough. Talhnir realized today would be his last day in the restaurant. The patrons had reached the ultimate level of madness. Day after day of infecting them with a little more madness had worked up to this. The patrons desire had reached a maximum, but the food in the restaurant was running out. One plate left. No plates left. Silence descended on the restaurant like an unwanted fog on a beautiful day. Talhnir found he was holding his breath as he looked at the guests of the restaurant. The silence lasted but a few moments, until it was blown apart by mad laughing. Talhnir, and the other guests of the restaurant, looked in the direction of the laughter to see a woman standing of the still body of a man, blood rushing from his skull where the hard wooden plate had broken it open.

Talhnir saw in that woman’s eyes a realization that was now dawning on all of the other guests. The food had not run out yet. Now that the realization had hit, the other patrons begun laughing as well, even as they tore into one another to get just one more bite. Talhnir smiled widely, this is what he had worked for all this time. This may not have been the cook’s dream, but he would still be pleased. Madness was both their masters now. He looked over to where the cook stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his apron and butcher’s knife red, still smiling that mad smile of his. It took a moment before Talhnir realized the cook had killed the busboys and assistant cooks, likely to feed to insane mass that was even now tearing into and devouring itself. After a few moments the cook moved in, ready to fulfil his dream as well.

The writhing chaos lasted but a few moments after the cook stepped in. His cleaver swinging this was and that, he quickly silenced the madness in his restaurant. And now, in the midst of the chaos and carnage stood the cook, his contractor, his friend, who had so happily accepted Talhnir’s madness as part of his own. He stood there smiling his mad smile, before turning towards Talhnir. As he looked down at his hands, his smile grew wider and he said: ’There is still one thing I haven’t eaten…’ And Talhnir could but nod and smile himself. Had this not been the true dream of the cook, who spoke out loud the dream of preparing delicious food, but in the deep corners of his mind had but one dream. To eat something no one else had, or would ever eat. And so the cook’s madness and hunger turned on itself, as he began the feast. Talhnir smiled once more, after all, who could say they had ever eaten the body of a man who had eaten everything there was in this world?

Talhnir walked out of the restaurant when his contractor finally succumbed, his smile wide and a skip in his step as he said out loud to the empty streets around him: ’What dream to fulfil next?’

"From fairest creatures we desire increase, that thereby beauty's rose might never die. But as the riper should by time decease, his tender heir might bear his memory."

The cacophonous voice in the back of his head recited a sonnet with ease. The voice was spinning smooth silk that led into beautiful disarray, metaphorical fingers hitting the deepest piano keys which reverberated against the auditorium of his mind. It made the movement under his skin turn, an acid stuck in his throat burned with the desire to continue on. Rory's hand tightened around a decorated metal handle, the dark, solidified shadows twisted to create vines from the Garden of Eden. He smiled, his vocal cords vibrating until a demented laugh split past his lips and into the room before him; his stage to preform a resplendent art.

"But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, making a famine where abundance lies. Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel."

Her screaming tickled his eardrums, filling him with ecstasy that soaked into his brain, a pleasure that only few would truly understand. Steps forward followed the rhythm of hands banging on a chestnut door, the woman's hair was clumped together with blood and her skin pale, reflecting the whites of his eyes. He pulled the fire from his marrow, traveling through his veins and infecting the metal in his hand - turning black into bright, excited orange and red. "My lady, my contorted lady of thorns and rotten petals, is it right for you to be deny this fate?" She gave no proper response, only the continuation of begging, pleading for her life as she yelled with vigor, reaching to grab the attention of those that walked the streets above.

"Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, and only herald to the gaudy spring. Within thine own bud buriest thy content, and, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding."

No, this woman had no right to live, not after she displayed herself to be so willing to abandoned her children. Rory turned the fire poker in his hands, calescent from the fire of vengeance and deformed justice, he didn't move from his spot inches behind her until she looked back. It was taken as an acceptance of punishment, and his swings of assailment dyed her skin in not only purples, but blistering, thick, peeling red burns. A stench filled the room, familiar and welcome was the smell of searing human flesh, paired with the song of dying agony. Wounds were opened and cauterize simultaneously, pointed edges pierced into fragile organs and spilled blood onto the wooden floor. Flames licked at the body as her last cry echoed against his soul, and they died with her; leaving traces in the blackened wood, the mutilated flesh.

"Pity the world, or else this glutton be. To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee."

Rory smiled, dilated eyes admiring his work as waves of relief and joy washed down his spine. The quiet the followed the final act was just as beautiful as the performance itself, only being interrupted by his uneven breathing and squeals of delight. What glorious radiance he was blessed with seeing today, every molded smile and practiced word had given him the ultimate reward; a conniving rat atoning for her sins against her own kin. "Such a fan of Shakespeare, are you so sure that your repugnance towards mankind is so definite?" His body lead him away from the crude corpse, taking him up the stairs towards the ground floor of her own home, a building on a a lower mid-level, where no one cared for the dying last words of others.

Neberius wasn't going to answer him, he had only played the part of a dutiful narrator, giving his maniacal orchestra a hint of class. That was fine by him, he could stay silent, Rory had gotten what he wanted regardless if the demon acknowledged him or not. His body was shaking, vibrating with adrenaline that moved from his head to his toes, yet he knew better to linger around a scene of a murder, and let himself out the backdoor. What would become of her family? Where would become of her children, who had no father? There was no care or concern about them, instead he melted the weapon used to put a stop to her excessive breathing, coating her back stairs with thick, black pools until his hands were liberated from lugging the object around.

His records weren't deleted though, he couldn't let a house where his fingerprints and DNA lied to stay standing, he would leave his business card instead. A flick of the wrist and a bright flame, it grew in his hand and flew towards the building, latching on and devouring the exterior in a fast, mad frenzy. A chuckle and a last look back would end this tale, another chapter was finished, and he would move onto the next section. All he had to do was walk down the street as the house fire grew in size behind him, oozing heated rage. Would he make headlines again? The voice in his head would handle everything, reassured by his whispers of 'Leave it to me', giving those that actually wished to hunt down a serial killer with a contract only a thin path to follow. They were moving up, leaving behind fires and dead bodies; leading those that got too close too soon in capable, ruthless hands.

"What a day, I wonder if it'll be put in history books?" It wasn't until he had traveled the distance of forty five minutes that he spoke again, musing his thoughts out loud after triggering a ring in a small cafe. Music played in the background, a violin accompanied by ivory and licorice keys, accented by the smells of pastries and liquified coffee beans. Today had been near perfect, if only he had something to remember it by. A photo maybe, but the taste of a dark beverage would have to do, and he sat not far off from the other patrons that rested with ther hands clasped around plastic cups. He sent the girl next to him a friendly, make-believe smile and he realized, that his day had hardly even begun.

It isn't only on earth that Demon Contracting was illegal, it is also outlawed in both heaven and hell. You see, the one they call Satan isn't actually evil at all. He is just, if you think about it, the mayor of a very large town of murderers, rapists, and pedophiles, and the idea of people sacrificing children in his name actually makes him sick. Hes actually a very well spoken man, and likes to read on his days off. From a political aspect, Demon Contractors put out a bad reputation for him. When a contract is signed with a demon, it condemns the contractor's soul to hell. So, without doing anything wrong, these contractors are condemned to suffer for the rest of eternity. Hell itself is a prison, made for those who have done something evil in their lives to put them there in the first place, and not for people who simply wanted to win the lottery, or live forever. Because of these Demon Contractors, Mr.Satan has a bad standing in the minds of most humans who think he just allows these contractors to run free.

Being the mayor of hell, like the mayor in any city, has limited power over the denizens. There will always be those who wish to undermined his power, much like a gang will in a real city, while the Demon Contractor's are like the drug cartel. The only reason Mr.Satan cant stop all of these illegal actions is because there's simply no police in his town and he is only one man with so much power.

Satan and the Creator have a little deal; As long as Satan keeps his demons out of the Earth, the Creator will keep all of his angels from destroying them. There will always be those who slip through the cracks, but the angels will find those demons and destroy them. Over the past 1000 years demons have been getting craftier, and have found ways to avoid angelic detection while on Earth. But there will always be plenty of ways to find demons hiding on Earth. The easiest way to find one, is to just open your ears. Demons love to talk, so when ever they seal a contract, they love to go to bars and boast about how they "Gave William Shattner eternal life, for his soul when he finally turns to ash." For demon hunters, bars are the best possible hunting grounds. But the only problem is, it's almost impossible to find a demon in a bar because they can smell a hunter from 100 miles away. The best way around this, is to have bait...

Mathew had heard somewhere that a powerful Demon Military Contractor was skulking around in the city somewhere in the city of Khaol. Demon Military Contractors are especially wanted, because instead of taking the souls of the contractors to hell, they consume the soul of the contractor and, after they die, put a demon soul inside of them to be used for an army. According to the source, this Demon Contractor had scored 104 souls in under 48 hours. If any demon was a threat to the balance, it was this one. He had heard the contractor was going to a bar that had just opened in the city.

The bar itself was some shit downtown club called pLace. Any sense of grace about this place was thrown out the window. The girls who danced on stage weren't very attractive even with them shaking their tits at anyone who cared to look, the drinks were none to good either. The stake out Mathew was on had lasted 4 hours so far, 4 hours of sitting at the same bar, waiting for this demon to show up and take the bait. The only thing keeping Mathew sane was the fact that it was a smoking bar, which meant he could light up all night long and no one would care. Smoking had always been a bad habit of Mathew's, ever since about the 1700's he had been lighting up every day. After about his 19th cigarette of the night, he had found his target.

With his back hunched over the bar, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, Mathew watched a large man came through the door. Turning away from his drink, Mathew looked at the massive man and smirked, knowing that "man" was his target. The man walked in alone, dressed in a pair of black pants and a black polo shirt, looking like a typical clubbing douche bag. His black hair was cut short to show his scalp, and black sunglasses covered his eyes. The moment he walked in the gagging smell of sulfur filled Mathew's lungs, a dead giveaway to demon kind. Despite the demons ability to take over mortal body's, the smell of sulfur can still be detected by trained hunters. Trying not to cough, Mathew simply sat at the bar watching the hulking man walk and sit down next to him.

The large man turned to Mathew and for a moment, the two of them looked into each other's eyes before the man spoke: "So you are the famed Mathew of Jerusalem, huh?" He asked with a thick Australian accent as he towered over Mathew. After deeply inhaling from the cigarette, he blew the smoke into the giants face, chuckling a little before responding. "That's right big guy, in the flesh. So, how about you tell me about these 104 humans you tricked into joining your little army...?"

The man took a several moments before replying, in which time a dark smile crept across his face. "90 of them are strong able-bodied men, 12 were women perfect for breeding, and 2 were children who will grow to be excellent breeders for my army..." At this point Mathew could feel his blood boil. Using humans for an army was bad, but using children for breeding was even worse. It was apparent to Mathew that the child comment was meant to make him angry, and cause attack in haste, which was something Mathew wasn't about to do.

Mathew smiled and moved his hand to the handle of the shotgun on his back, the Holy Trinity, making it apparent to the demon that Mathew was ready for what ever he was going to do. With a nod Mathew responded: "Good for you... So, beast, why did you accept my invite, but only come alone if you have a little army?"

To retort, the demon answered: "Because I wanted to see if it was true, to see if the Holder of the Spear was here, in Khaol. As I can see, it's true... So I will say this once, give me the Spear of Destiny, or I will simply kill you, along with every other human here."

With a shake of the head, Mathew dropped his hand from the shotgun, and picked up his lighter from the bar. After taking a quick drink of the vodka on the bar he sighed, picked up the bottle, and responded. "You know I cant do that, and you know you cant kill me with all of these people watching. Angels would find you within a day, and you wouldn't even get a chance to use the spear."

"A risk I'm willing to take..." The demon stated as he took his glasses off to reveal his deep blood red eyes.

With a final sigh, Mathew brought his foot up and pushed the stool the demon sat on over, knocking him onto the dance floor of the club. Standing up Mathew took one last hit of the vodka before turning it over, pouring its content all over the bar. While the loud and repetitive club music played, Mathew took his lighter and flicked up the flame. Before the demon even had a chance to stand up from the kick, Mathew touched the flame of the lighter onto the vodka-covered bar, engulfing the bar in flames. The bartender, after noticing the fire, ran to the fire alarm and quickly pulled the switch to turn on the sprinklers.

The music shut off, while the people on the dance floor ran off of it and out of the door, leaving only Mathew and the demon on the dance floor. Standing up, the demon looked at his water-soaked cloths and growled deeply at Mathew, but that's when it hit him. Over the entire demons body, he felt his own flesh started to melt off of him as if the water itself was burning him alive, which it was. Mathew stood with a smile as he watched his plan take shape. Before meeting the demon, he had already broken into the pump system for the bar, and treated the water with 6 prayer beads, making the normal water into Holy Water.

While the demon screamed in pain from his flesh burning, Mathew pulled the Holy Trinity from his back and aimed the massive golden shotgun down at the beast, now exposed from the Holy Water. While the demon writhed around on the ground in pain, Mathew cocked the shotgun and aimed it right for the creatures head. With the cocking noise, the demon looked up at him with his flesh falling off, letting out a low and evil growl as a gun shot rang out through the club, and the slug from the shotgun found its mark in the demons skull. With a thud, the demon's body fell to the ground in a pile of melting flesh. It wouldn't be very long until the body simply melted away from the Holy Water.

Walking out of the club, Mathew hooked the shotgun onto his back once again, and walked to an ally across the street, before the authority's even had a chance to show up.

It had never been one of Chriselle's virtues to be organized and neat in the slightest. She never quite grasped the entire concept of being orderly, nor had she ever had the time to even contemplate why others bothered with the abstract idea in the first place. Perhaps her lack of time was why she sat on an isolated bench along the sidewalk, a little boy listening to music sitting to her left, and one of her pale hands rummaging through the mess in her brown messenger bag. The bag itself was worn, tattered, and gave the all-around air of being passed along for ages, the ripped strap hanging loosely from the rusted accents attached to the bag. Nonetheless, Chriselle seemed to pay no real mind to the state of the carrier, her brows furrowed to a point above the bridge of her nose in what seemed like frustration.

"Where...where...where..." She whispered to herself, a quiet mantra that continued in her distress. "Where is it..." By now, the small boy that had been sitting beside her was being dragged off by the arm, a woman who could be assumed as his mother whispering fiercely to him. The teenage girl noticed this, and shook her head. She needed to find it, she had no time to be distracted by these things. The brunette could feel her heart thumping, the sound echoing through her body as anticipation overtook her. At least, that's what she thought the feeling was - it could have been anything, like dread or dispair. Maybe both.

"Mistress." A cool voice emerged from nearby, breaking the young girl out of her reverie and startling her. She whipped her head around to face the man standing behind her, eyes darting to the small book in his right hand. It was a leather one, brown with a small clasp holding it in place. A sharp contrast to her bag, the book was clean, no tatters or rips; it could have easily passed as a newly-bought item, if she hadn't known better. Chriselle lifted a hand to take it from him, cringing at the mark that appeared on her own hand, and she snapped her arm back to take the book from him and stuff it unceremoniously into the pocket of her bag. "Perhaps we should go and eat something. You are on edge again, am I correct?" Her head moved on its own in a nod, and she soon found herself walking alongside the much taller being.

A ring sounded through the small cafe she had entered, a greeting being said from one of the workers, and Chriselle at least had the ability to nod her head politely before taking a seat with the man in tow. It was mildly chilly outside, the warm and toasty atmosphere in the small cafe pleasing her, but obviously irritating the man who sat across from her. Usually if they went anywhere that served food, he did not eat. Apparently, he had no point in doing so, as it would not make a difference anyways - he had told her that many times before. She parted her lips to whisper something to herself, something that he heard loud and clear, and her attention switched to the door of the cafe.

A boy walked in - he looked about the same age as her, if not older by a year or so. He took a seat next to her, his strides missing her eyes as she surveyed him. It was an odd habit she had come to realize she possessed; she was quite the analytical teenage girl. Perhaps it was to trigger any lost memories that had been thrown into an abyss during the few hours of sleep she had acquired. His hair was unkempt, an opaque black, and his eyes were dark. They seemed to be fairly calculating, as though he was thinking of something. Concentrating.

"You're staring." Chriselle jumped, startled at the man's smooth voice. Her attention faded from the boy to the being across from her, his own eyes curious and slightly amused. "Do you fancy him, Mistress? It would be an odd choice, but I have no say in what your preferences are in terms of choosing a lover." She shook her head at him, frowning tightly at his deductions. Though he was a serious man, Murmur was never one to pass up the opportunity of poking fun at her. He wasn't even human, barely understanding the structure of jokes or teasing, but he tried anyways. It just got under her skin more often than not. He stood abruptly, excusing himself for a moment before wandering off somewhere in the cafe. She would admit to being curious about where he was headed off to, though she knew that it was his own business and she shouldn't stick her nose into it - she knew better, anyways. Chriselle noticed the boy from before send her a wry smile, one that she found quite odd on him, and she felt her lips quirk into something near a smile and near a frown. The girl had the strangest feeling; one that told her that the stranger's face would be one that she would always remember, and not in a good way.

Beeep... Beeep... Beeep... Beeep... Thwack!

Kaleb slammed his alarm clock on the head in their customary morning greeting. He snapped his eyes open, flung the blankets from his body and jumped down from his corner bed. "Yikes!! It's cold!" He almost screamed. He had went to sleep in his boxers and left the window open a crack overnight. The winter chill had crept in during the night while he slept, safe in his blankets. He dove back into bed, trying to salvage what little heat was left. When he was safe in the gentle warmth of his blankets, he looked around. His small, untidy apartment was just the way he left it last night. Clothes littered the floor, dishes filled the sink, and dust coated the shelves and furniture. Perfect. Keeping the blankets pulled over his body, Kaleb jumped down once again, his cold feet numb against the wooden floor. Padding over to the drawer, Kaleb pulled out the last nice-ish outfit he had. A pair of faded blue jeans that fit him well, a white t-shirt, a cream colored sweater with a quarter zip, some wool socks and a pair of sneakers. "Alrighty! There's no way I can leave before I clean up my mess. I honestly can't believe I let it sit this long. Gross, well, let's pull our sleeves up and do this!"

Kaleb did just that, he pulled his sleeves up and cleaned for a good three hours. He cleaned his whole house, sweeping, dusting, doing dishes and laundry, making his bed and rearranging the furniture. His house was finally clean. It was a small house, but it was his. He bought it with his parent's life insurance and made enough money with the widow's and orphan's fund to supply himself with food and some clothes. Today he'd find a job, the next day, he'd really start his personal mission. He had to find her. He had to find the one who called herself Lixtradiis. She'd saved his life by granting him power and he needed to find her. He had to know why she did it. Why him? "Enough heavy talk for now. Let's find us a job!" He got up from his couch and walked over to the closet by the door. He tied the black blindfold around his eyes and pulled the black stocking cap over his horns. He pulled on a black wool pea coat and stuffed his black gloves and white scarf in one of the pockets. He strapped his cane around his right wrist and an empty sheathe to his waist. A gentleman needed to protect himself after all, a town like this would eat you alive if you couldn't protect yourself, not with the demon quarter so close to his home. There were some really scary people there. After turning off his lights, and putting on just a little bit of incense, so his house would smell nice when he got back, Kaleb locked his door behind him, put his keys and wallet in his front left pants pocket, and headed out the door.

As he wandered his way around town, with no real destination in mind, Kaleb made sure to "see" as much as he could. He was paying specific attention to shops with “Now Hiring” signs. His eyes could no longer perceive visible light, but since he'd made the deal he could feel the presence of other things around him. His power over light allowed him to "see” a combination of thermal and electromagnetic energy in a radius around him. It even allowed him to feel what was in his blind spot. He must have looked very strange. A blind man, "looking" around town. It didn't matter, he wasn't screaming and dancing the whole way, so he must have looked just like any other blind man. Regardless, he couldn't find any jobs close to home, and walking around this part of town after dark was never any fun, so he just decided he’d be fine without for a while. He could always check back later in the week, there would probably be a few openings by then. With that decision made for him, Kaleb didn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day. He just meandered down side streets and walked around town. He had no real place to be, and being home by himself was boring. Plus, if he could meet people, he could make friends. He'd moved in only a while ago, but he hadn't met any new people and made any friends. It was lonely, Kaleb wanted to meet people.

Solomon Kitsner stepped out of the café with a fresh roll and took a sip of his tea and a bag full of groceries. It had only been a week since the contract with Corbaire. Solomon had payed off the money lender, bought back their house and hired a crew to move everything back in and clean the place up. Corbaire used his time to purchase a penthouse as well as make some business calls concerning stock prices. Corbaire had purchased several hundreds of thousands of stocks in several key businesses involving resources and technology.

Solomon walked across the street to a restaurant and sat down with his grocery.

"Excuse me, Sir," came the voice of a waitress. "You can't come here witho-" Corbaire looked at the girl dropping his shades down. He smiled with no signs of arrogance and he stood up and looked down at her. He was a little taller but it was more of a pressure that he exuded as he calmly placed a a hundred in the palm of her hand followed by another, and another.

"I do apologize but if you could be so kind as to take these to the kitchen and ask them to make me a fresh vegetable soup with these ingrediants," he said as stopped putting money into her hand and handed her the bag. "I will give an equal amount to those in the kitchen that assist you as well as giving you more when you deliver it." To Corbaire the girl was at best plain in appearance, but he noticed Solomon's interest. It was quite small but Corbaire knew it was because Solomon had never had the time to actually strike up a conversation with a girl before. Corbaire liked Solomon's work ethic and was amused at best, by his lack of experience.

--------------------

Corbaire withdrew after the waitress left after delivering the soup letting Solomon get his body back. Solomon tried to the soup.

Solomon tried to hold back his bulging eyes. Corbaire had warned him about keeping his head collected. The soup was delicious.

'See, boy?' said Corbaire mentally smirking. ' This is going to be your new life.' Solomon enjoyed the soup as he kept his eyes open and watched those that walked along the street. Solomon had promised to help those like him, demons as well as contractors. So their plan was to spend the days outside and observe those around them trying to locate any others. Solomon, with the help of Corbaire had picked out several suits and phones, IPad, rolex , as well as got Solomon cleaned up with the help of a barber.

Solomon and Corbaire watched the streets as they enjoyed the soup.

Brown thread cascading down the sides of a bone structure sculpted into a heart - or was it an oval? Her lips pulled into an expression that reminded him of a statement of equivocation, neither wrong nor right; hesitant, reluctant. The bag by her side was dilapidated, and he pondered whether it was a reflection of the owner's psyche or from a state of economical distress. He guessed it could of been either, this wasn't exactly the wealthier part of the city, nor did the majority of it's tenants uphold a level of sanity and stability. She could even be some sort of thief, a beautiful girl who wove together fairytale lies to lure in chumps, saps and stooges. A millions archetypes existed on this particular level, and a trillion more clotted together when you mashed the entire city together, let a lone the world.

"It's advised that you don't underestimate this girl, she's a mirror image of yourself, holding promises to a tenebrous being not unlike myself." The coarse voice spoke inside his head, prying his attention away from the girl and his musing to the half full coffee cup in his hands, which his fingers starting picking at. Rory's mind ventured to the mark of his own contract, black and on the back of his neck, a place that was too vulnerable to make him feel comfortable. The seal of Neberius was easily revealed, even if his hair and the hood of his jacket did a fine job at hiding it, he could only consider himself lucky that other people didn't make a habit of looking at one anothers necks.

Right now his hood was down, lying in a layered heap of navy blue material sewn together by factory workers that got paid with nickles and dimes. He would have to be more cautious in the presence of another demon contractor, they could be ever so unpredictable. "Do not insinuate that we're so similar. There is not one person out there that is like me." His mind echoed his reply, irritated if nothing else. The voice known as Neberius went silent, but Rory knew it wasn't because he had won some sort of petty argument, nor was he the victor of a battle of wits. This demon simply didn't care, he treated mankind like science experiments, wooden pawns on a chessboard. It wasn't that Rory had a problem with it, since he was given great power thanks to this domineering individual, he just knew enough that if he stayed out of his way that Neberius would do the same - even if he mocked him in both shadows and light.

At least the marquis had told him of the girl's connection to a separate entity, if he hadn't than he wouldn't have been able to figure it out so easily. Did all demons have the ability to sense their own kind like that? He wasn't exactly sure, and disregarded the thought, it wouldn't mean anything to think over something that couldn't be changed. It'd be a cold day in Hell if he was to ask Neberius about it too; he could handle himself against a Demon, he didn't need to go running in the opposite direction like some wounded animal. The girl had seized his interest, and resisting wasn't something Rory was good at. In fact, you could almost call him infamous solely on his near inability to deny desire and hunger.

So he turned towards her, a charming smile in place; the same glorified, false expression that has been practiced many times before today "Sorry to bother you Miss, I'm Rory." His voice did not shake, so unlike the words he spoke to the woman he killed only hours ago, which was filled with poetic malice and abhorrence. To many the transformation between a monster and a normal, teenage boy would be uncanny, but those types no nothing of the minds of killers. There wasn't even the evidence of blood marred on his skin, nor a hint of regret reflected in his fibrovascular tissues. His lips pulled into a thin line and he looked downwards for a moment, as if he was thinking something over and was weary of speaking those thoughts aloud. This was only an act, his praxis that Neberius helped him achieve, the cheese at the center of a mousetrap. He look back at her, meeting the dark color of her eyes with his own. "It's just, you seem familiar, have we met before?"

Rory.

The name lifted off of the tip of her tongue, escaping the confines of her lips as she stared at him, wide-set eyes trying to remember anything about the strange boy. Murmur would have told her anything before he wandered off if he was important - or perhaps she had met this 'Rory' before she had formed a contract with the other being. With a clumsy movement, Chriselle dug into her tattered bag, pulling out the neatly-kept notebook and unclasping the strap attached to it. Her fingertips met the crisp pages, delicately though hurried, and her eyes scanned the chicken-scratch writing on the parchment. After a moment's time, she turned to him, shaking her head in response.

"I...don't think we have..." Chriselle responded, her voice soft and filled with obvious nerves. She had been practicing on interacting with other people, a trait she lacked, and one that Murmur had told her was an important aspect in her 'new life.' A recluse, inverted young girl, communicating never was one of her virtues from the start, anyways. "Ah, I apologize, I'm...Chriselle." Her movements were a bit sloppy, nervousness wracking through her body as she held out a pale hand for him to shake. Did people still do that, she wondered. It had been a while since she had engaged in conversation with anyone. With the other hand, she grasped her book, tucking it quickly into her messenger bag with a nervous glance. The boy was someone she couldn't trust, it felt that way at least, and she pondered if forgetting about him would be a good thing. Nonetheless, she made a mental note to add his name and information into her notebook as soon as she got time.

Eyebrows were raised curiously as thin fingers turned bleached pages in a note book, it's state of being the stark opposite of the bag it was kept in. His eyes watched, examining cells under a microscope, as she turned the pages with swift care. Was Neberius watching this as well, or was he busy connecting imaginary strings to various mental notes and images? "I...don't think we have..." Lips curled into a smile, eyebrows resting in a gentle arch. For what reason did she need the notebook to confirm whether or not they had met before? Was she a woman that met many in her days, a busy socialite that had 'so much to see, so much to do'?

Or was the reason behind graphite and ink scrawl of something else entirely? He stored the information away in the corners of his mind, a stick note to be remembered, and later connected to the truth if he kept his eyes open - or if he was lucky. "I must of been mistaken. Regardless, it's nice to meet you, Chriselle." The name fell off the curve of his tongue with ease, spoken like smooth liquor pouring down the throat of an alcoholic. Chriselle's body language and was anxious, not like his own, whos movements were confident and arrogant. Rory didn't find it to be an irritating trait, instead, he remained perplexed and analytical. Was she nervous out of fear for herself, or was she worried that secrets buried six feet under would be revealed? In this movie, was he the detective hunting the criminal, or the villain trapping the damsel? His toes curled, it was a revelation he was excited to discover.

Rory's rough fingers ran across her palm, barley touching her skin, but enough to feel the small sparks of electricity that came from separate human flesh touching one another. A fire was lit behind his rib cage; maybe in his stomach, his lungs, or within the valves of his heart. Those fingers wrapped around her hand, creating a gentle grip, thumb pressing down to match their similar pale complexions. The contact was over soon, but seconds were counted as if they were hours, and after the traditional motion of up-down-up-down was over his hand returned to the side of a still warm coffee cup. He lifted it to his mouth, drenching the space between them in observant silence, as his eyes continued to look straight ahead.

The coffee, sweetened with two sugars, was lessened to being half of being half full, or half of being half empty. One fourth full, or three fourths empty, he sat the cup down with no clear plans on finishing it. "I'm not about to grow a second head, you know." He smiled, pointing out her nervous, messy behavior. "You can relax. Are you in a rush?" Casual conversation, people liked to talk about themselves. If you let them talk about themselves they'll forget about learning about you; they'll get wrapped up in their own tales and slowly trust someone they know nothing about, a friendly face carved from their own misconceptions. He leaned back in his seat, hands still around the coffee cup in an attempt to capture the phenomenon known as normalcy in a single stature.

ut A spark was what she felt. An electrifying shock that wavered through her body abruptly, though not so abruptly that she would be startled by it. Rather, she was surprised at what she felt when Rory's skin came in contact with her own, but not enough to jolt as she normally would have. For a moment, Chriselle took time to ponder whether or not there was such a feeling caught in between the calming feeling she had grown to and the emotion of pure anxiety and cautiousness - whatever it was, that was what she was feeling. The spark she had experienced earlier on was another story. Something so abstract to her before had happened so suddenly; this 'spark' was supposed to happen when meeting your soulmate, or some ridiculous thing like that. The shock was nothing near that, she simply felt at ease and on edge at the same time. She had the strangest emotions around this one stranger, and her eyes darted around. Where in the hell was Murmur...? It wasn't like him to leave her like that; he had said it wasn't exactly in his 'nature.'

"You can relax. Are you in a rush?" The corners of his lips were curled upwards into a smile, the same one that seemed so unbefitting of someone like him. Someone who seemed so...distant. The smile he possessed gave her a hint that he was interested in who she was, what she was doing, and where she was going - perhaps that wasn't even it at all. Perhaps this 'Rory' was one to watch others for enjoyment; a psychopath. Chriselle almost laughed at the thought - she had no right to talk about people like that. Not only was it rude, but it wasn't like she was all there either.

"Oh, erm..." Her eyes drifted around, meeting his for a brief moment before she averted them to her previously clasped hands. "No, no...nothing like that." She shook her head, frowning before turning to face him, forcing a smile - or whatever she could manage anyways, she probably looked like a complete and utter fool. "What...what about you? Are you headed anywhere?"

Stupid question. He was so calm, so smooth with his actions and speech that he obviously couldn't have been rushing anywhere. And then there was her, who acted anxious and nervous in every way possible no matter if she needed to go somewhere or not! Chriselle only asked the question because she felt uncomfortable in the first place. She blabbered when she was uncomfortable.

Every one of her movements were thoroughly studied; he was the eyes behind deciphering ancient poems, the art major ripping apart the meanings behind paintings of oil on canvas. The unfocused eyes that refused to meet his for more than a few fleeting seconds, the downwards turn in her lips, an awkward, possibly forced, smile - What did they all mean? What did they say about her, the girl with a tattered bag and a neat notebook, who called herself Chriselle? His mind worked at picking them apart, simultaneously keeping up with the conversation at hand. What were the reasons behind her neurotic display, were they leaks from her mental state or were they parts of a scripted performance?

Rory's eyes flickered downwards for a moment, he had the feeling that the answer lied within the former. "No, I'm not headed anywhere." This time he did not smile, instead his expression was drawn in serious lines, eyes shifting towards the window before they found their way back to the girl before him. "But I'm not staying here, either." The corner of his mouth twitched, however the movement was not false, it was a mistake of his true emotions breaking free. The anticipation of the journey ahead of him, the mysteries of where his feet, and Neberius, would take him. For all he knew he could wake up one day on the ground level, where monsters stalked you from behind. Just as easily he could find himself at the top of the city, where the monsters hid underneath shadows. It was a life of surprises for him but a life of premeditation for Neberius, and it excited him just as much as it unnerved him, just as it had before he met the demon.

The cafe was filled with the noise of reverberating chimes, the bells nailed to the door shook and alerted the employees of another visitor. Rory only spared them a glance, long enough to look over the group of three, but too quick to determine anything about them. Two men; one slender with dark skin and dreaded hair, the other stocky and pale whos hair was nonexistent, with a face of bitter aging. With them was one woman, with short hair cut into angles, whos single lidded eyes were nearly unblinking, and freezing cold. Later he would discover it was a mistake on his part to spare them not a second thought, and he would promise himself not to be so foolish again. "Do you know where you're going?" He asked her earnestly, fingers tightening around the cup. Why was he reacting like this? Was she really that interesting, so much that he would speak new words instead of stringing her along in a manner that was identical to all that came before her?

"Or, perhaps, your destination is also hazy?" There was no smile on his lips, and his eyes turned to stone, voice flat. Stupid, he was acting stupid, there was nobody like him. There was no one that would understand him. No one could save him, and he couldn't save anyone else. The group of three scanned the cafe with hostile eyes, examining customers and picking apart their appearances and behavior. They were searching for those that made deals with devils in exchange for power, sacrificing control. Rory's head craned downwards, looking to the floor, his hands running through his hair in a way that was both frustrated and embarrassed.

He lifted his head upwards, and the barrel of a revolver pressed into the back of his head. "Bùyào dòng。 Qiáo，tā jiùshì qízhōng zhīyī。" Foreign words struck him, monotone and unfeeling; he could feel eyes staring at him like he was nothing more than an animal. The people in the store slowly quieted their chatter, one by one they fell into silent, until the room turned into a panic of bodies bolting and rushing towards the door - being bold enough to run despite the two men holding guns to the crowd. His eyes widened, and then narrowed, mouth twisting into a animalistic scowl before his lips wrenched into a smirk. Fine, if they wanted to treat him like a beast, then he would do as they wished, and act like one.

The twitch of his shoulders, and the swift movement of ducking downwards, the woman fired her weapon. The bang bounced off the walls and broke into his eardrums, the bullet ate through the air and missed Rory, missing Chriselle's head by only a single inch, and landing inside the opposite wall. The women cursed in her native tongue and Rory's legs moved, in a blur the boy stood and whipped around, moving a hand coated in fire. Flames that jumped from his palm and into the air, painting a large single stroke of violence across the woman's face. She reeled back in pain, falling onto the floor with her hands covering her red, blistering face, screaming; "Wǒde miàn! Wǒde miàn!" over and over and over again.

He didn't need to study her to know that her face was ruined, perhaps even blinded, instead he rushed forward and grabbed onto Chriselle's wrist. He had just found her, and there was so much he wanted to ask of her, wanted to do to her. His lips mouthed the words; "Come with me.", but the sound of his voice was drowned in the song of gunshots and anger, yelling voices and terrified shouting. Rory's arm pulled at her, eyes focusing on the back door that would lead them outside, with full intention on dragging her out of here if he had to; the man that she was with earlier be dammed.

"No, I'm not headed anywhere. But I'm not staying here, either." The frown on his lips tugged tightly at them, dark eyes darting to the side quickly before returning to her. Chriselle noticed it. Of course she noticed; she was too concentrated on him not to. Her voice remained silent, pale lips pursed slightly against her pale skin, almost as if she was calculating how he acted. In truth, she indeed was - his previous actions were some that sparked a curiosity in her. His physical appearance alone told her loud and clear that he was not one to act friendly and kind, sending this random stranger a smile; how he was now, that was how she expected him to act. While he was not on edge, Rory was most definitely acting cautious, something that she supposed they shared. Did they share it, really, she wondered.

The bells of the door in the cafe echoed throughout the bustling area, escaping the confines of all the combined noises of chatter, sipping, and quiet little clinks. There was a group there, one that seemed to give her a bone-chilling feeling and a burning sensation on her hand; two men and a woman. The woman met her eye for a second, and the younger girl hurriedly looked back to Rory. It looked like he had noticed the group too, his fingers tighting on his cup; she noticed that little motion, too. His muscles tensed up all of a sudden, before he spoke again. "Do you know where you're going? Or, perhaps, your destination is also hazy?"

"I have no set destination..." She mumbled, her eyes cast downward as she folded her hands in her lap. Though she sounded quite sullen when she responded, Chriselle had grown completely used to it. Eversince she and Murmur met and made a contract, he had told her that their destination was not set. It probably never would be, was what he said. At the time, the brunette simply didn't mind it; she was getting an opportunity at a new start, any choices she made during the process were decided without a clear thought process.

"Bùyào dòng 。Qiáo，tā jiùshì qízhōng zhīyī 。" A gun - a revolver to be exact - the barrel was pressed up against the back of Rory's head, dark locks folding against the metal. The cafe soon fell into an eerie silence, eyes darting in the direction of the weapon and Chriselle's companion. She felt that they stared at him like some kind of creature that had grown double the limbs on his body, and for some reason, it frightened her and angered her. Chriselle rarely felt anger, maybe being too terrified to be angry with anything; but the looks they sent Rory were of pure disgust and terror, and it got under her skin like nothing else before. In a flash, everyone in the cafe began to run, their bodies scrambling and shrillish yells escaping the lips of female patrons. Rory had moved too, head ducking quickly and body moving so fast that she missed it. A gunshot rang out through the chaos, through the screams and rapid footsteps, and Chriselle gasped as the bullet whizzed past her head and buried itself into the wall opposite of her. Her body froze, the fear taking over as she remained still and unmoving. The only thing she saw was a flash, a mix of orange and red, burning and prickling from Rory's hand as it embedded against the lone woman's face. Her high-pitched screams in her native tongue frightened Chriselle even further. She lay, crumpled up on the floor, hands covering a blistered complexion as she screamed over and over again, shaking from the pain.

"Come with me." His fingers clasped around her wrist, tightening as his arm jerked, pulling her along. They were headed to the cafe's back door, and for some reason, Chriselle ran. She ran a little ways behind him, still in shock over what had happened, but she ran nonetheless. The contact they had suddenly caused a burning in her right hand, but she pushed the feeling aside.

Talhnir had wandered down from the higher levels of the city to here, the lower-average part of the city. It had been on a whim really, he didn’t even particularly like this part of the city. It had none of the lavish over-indulgence of the higher parts, nor any the self-destructive apathy that ran rampant in the lower parts. Yet here he was, buying cigarettes from a lady who had been jumping at voices only she could hear ever since Talhnir came in. It was a short and delicious distraction from the otherwise oppressing mundanity of this level. For a few moments he had thought to plant a few suicidal thoughts in her mind as well, perhaps even push her over the edge. But no, today there was no time for such indulgences, no time to follow her around and see the conclusion. After all, he had finally found something of interest on this level, perhaps even the reason for the hunch that brought him here.

The human child he had, at first glance, nothing that would interest him. He was clearly a boy of fashion, a boy that conformed to the average masses, unwilling to express himself in any meaningful way, the only daring part of his attire that eye-patch he wore. Talhnir had grimaced when he noticed that boy who had seemed so deliciously apathetic before would be a slave to fashion, in fact, he had though to kill him then and there. But the voices had disagreed, so he waited and watched, hiding his presence as best he could. And that’s when he noticed something. A slight tic, nearly invisible, when he lit up that cigarette. Was he talking to someone only he could hear? A contractor, in this city that had banned such interactions between humans and demons? A human who still dared to stretch out his hands to the brightly burning suns and grasp a handful of the gods forbidden fire? If it were, he had stumbled on an interesting creature indeed. He had thought to invade the boy’s mind, tear out the secrets, but if he did have a contract with a powerful demon, such a thing may become too much trouble than it was worth. No, instead he would test him. As he stalked the boy, he slowly stopped hiding his presence, revealing , bit-by-bit, more of what he truly was.

Talhnir smiled a smile that showed neither humour nor a good nature. 'Maybe this level won't be so mundane after all…'

A gun shot pulled Solomon away from his soup as he stood up and tried to discernn the direction.
'It was too the left,' responded Corbaire. He was aware of Solomon's tendency to help others, and knew he if stopped him from doing this he jepordized Solomon helping other contractor's and demons.It wasn't a big deal. Corbaire had Solomon take precautions in case he was in any danger.

The screaming was easier to follow. Solomon stopped by an alleyway as he saw through the window that there were two armed men near the entrance. Corbaire's calm washed over Solomon as he became aware of the holstered gun in his vest. It was Corbaires idea to give Solomon protection. One of those ways to protect him was a firearm. The second approached right behind him. One man and one woman. The man was dressed in white shorts and a festive yellow shirt and the woman was wearing denim pants and carrying a large designer bag that Solomon had bought for her. The man and woman were ex-military body guards that did not come cheap. They moved forward to get a good look at the situation.

Solomon watched when the back door of the restraugnt bursted open. Corbair's senses seeped into Solomon's
'They're contractors,' Solomon looked at them wondering if they would come towards the street and run further into the alley.

His feet hitting the floor matched the pulse of his heart; loud and fast. Epinephrine was released into his body and clocks began ticking backwards, just by the seconds. He was running through air; and the only thing he could feel was the heat of animosity, the thin wrist around his hand, and the queer pickling feeling that arabesqued across the back of his neck. Rory's free hand wrapped around the doorknob, world in black and white, key points highlighted in red. Text that read 'Avoid this' and 'Go this way' blinked underneath the faces of guns and exits. These were all characteristics of panics, but he was not afraid, instead he used the responses of his body to stay focused on his goal - getting out of here, and making sure that these hunters don't follow him.

Out the door and into the alleyway, his shoes skidded across the gravel, throwing him off enough for his hand to release it's hold on Chriselle. He wore are scowl on his face, regaining balance but losing composure. His irritation was chalk screeching against a chalkboard, fingers curled and eyes pernicious. Sparks attacked the floor below him, he was losing grip of the power within him, and Neberius would do nothing to prevent him from setting fire to everything around him. How he wanted to turn the air into flames, however that would kill the tattered girl as well, and in this rare occasion Rory displayed restraint.

Another flick of the wrist, sudden and without concentration. His fire was not controlled, it burnt on fuels of emotion and passion, having no defined shape and having only one purpose - to burn everything in its path. Tails of red and orange engulfed his hand, his skin made of translucent gasoline. They trailed up his wrist, not leaving behind scars nor blisters, as if it was nothing but a trick. For him they were gentle animals, never to harm him, and their smoke filled his lungs with warm invitation. They jumped, digging their claws into the wooden door, running through wood and into the shop. Turn everything into ash, leave nothing behind. If the innocent were to die as well in the fire, then let them pass away as well. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, yet their lives weren't taken in vain. They were his sacrifices; sacrifices to a hungry boy who wanted to play God, giving their lives to hinder the three that looked towards tearing off his wings.

Rory grabbed her wrist again, and he held onto the hope that she wouldn't run away from him. He had protected her, right? She wouldn't be afraid of him, not so soon, a lot of people made deals with demons, they could stay like this for a little longer, he had no reason to worry. Don't worry, don't scare her, not now, don't worry. Those words repeated themselves in his head as he pulled her along, upsetting loose rocks as his feet pushed away from gravity repeatedly. Behind him were the sounds of screaming people pushing their way out of the cafe and the crackling noise of flames licking at everything they could fit their mouths around.

They past a small group of people, his eyes staring at the man that seemed to be the center of the ring of adults. He couldn't have been too much older than himself; he had a face of youth, kind features, the type that lonely women often pinned for, their proclaimed knight in shining armor. But Rory knew that appearances meant nothing of how morally good someone was, his eyes narrowed as they past by the group, rushing towards the other end of the alleyway. For their own sake, they better be a couple of bystanders, and not people that wished to get in his way. If they were, he wouldn't hesitate in ridding their flesh from their bones as well.

Again, his hand found its way around a doorknob, heating the metal until it destroyed the lock. Still, as he pushed her inside the building, he didn't utter a word. Giving one glance back to the buildings far behind him, the fire in the distance, he went inside, satisfied when he didn't see either of the hunters chasing after them. To say the this place was in bad shape would in an understatement. Frayed red rugs and coffee stained light brown wood, the old floral wallpaper smelled of mold, cigarettes and was peeling at the corners. There were spots in the ceiling from water and the floor creaked under his feet as he walked through the old apartment building. It was dim, with flickering lights that blinked on and off, dying and coming back to life again. It would have to do for now. He sighed and pulled his hood over his head, a wave of self-awarenesss hitting him, making him feel vulnerable and exposed. He didn't say anything, eyes locked onto looking forward, into the blinking lights and amateur oil paintings of rhododendron flowers.

She hadn't seen much, her eyes and sight leaving her as her mind wandered, thoughts flying in an attempt to simply explain what had happened in the cafe. What she had seen, however, was the fire. The red and orange flames that engulfed the small cafe, prickling with heat and charring the exterior of the building with ease. Chriselle was sure that someone would have been injured, or possibly killed by the flames, and it frightened her as well. She thought it did, anyways - she was already scared out of her mind, so being frightened again would only feel numb to her. The fear rumbling in the pit of her stomach startled her, breaking her out of her stupor and bringing her back to reality. They were running still, footsteps against the pavement and gravel mixing with the loud pounding of her heartbeat - and perhaps his as well.

Chriselle remained silent as they rushed past a group of people, and she noticed Rory narrow his eyes at them, almost scrutinizing them and warning them not to get in his way. She saw pale fingers curl around a doorknob, hissing noises emitting from the contact as the lock burned with a click, burning to ashes. There was no time to talk for a fleeting moment, as she was hurriedly shoved into an unknown area, the door shutting as Rory joined her. The household was shabby, matching the tattered appearance of the bag that was slung along her shoulder, light dimming before flickering off and back on a second later. The silence in the damp and cold room was eerie, sending chills against her suddenly pebbled complexion, the girl rubbing her arm through her sleeve. It was still in the room, no words being uttered, and the only noises being the creaking of wooden floorboards and the occasional drip of water from the ceiling. Was there a running water source here, anyways? Chriselle felt her shoulders relax at the thought, but she tensed up again when she remembered who was with her.

With a clumsy, stumbling movement, she sat onto a chair. The wood was a mix of dark and light, creaking underneath her as she pulled her notebook out and began to jot something down with an old pen buried into the spiral of it. Colorful tabs and folded piece of paper stuck out betweent the crisp pages, circled and highlighted sections visible even in the unstable lighting. It took a moment for her to finish writing, hands shakily holding up the book to read it more clearly.

Name: Rory
A boy, about my age. He's got messy, dark hair and dark eyes - his skin's really pale, matching my own to the T. He smiles at me, but it looks weird on him. Taller than me. When he's upset or stressed out, he frowns a lot, which looks better on him and fits his appearance better. Controls fire.

"...Contractor..." She mumbled, shutting the leather notebook and tucking it safely into her messenger bag. Her eyes bore into his own, something that she only found the courage to do for a split second before she glanced back down at her lap. "Those....were hunters...you're a contractor too..." Her quiet talking decreased in volume until she reached complete silence, pondering for a moment before she tilted her head, dark orbs still not meeting his own. Chriselle wanted to ask him why he had formed a contract, why he needed to - but she decided that if she wasn't comfortable speaking about her own reasons, there was little to no way that he was comfortable speaking to her about his own.

So he could control the element of fire, like how Murmur could control water...that was interesting, she would admit. Murmur...he would definitely find her. He always found a way to get to her, always. But if Rory had attained his ability through his contract like she suspected, then she wondered how their meeting would go. To her, elements like fire and water never mixed well, and she briefly wondered if she should run from him. Would he chase her? Kill her for trying to escape? Perhaps. She had no idea what he was fully capable of, nor did she have any knowledge of what his intentions were. But he saved her life. He could have easily left her there, and she would be burning in that building amongst the debris; she owed him enough not to turn and run away.

Kaleb continued to wander around town. He hadn't found any new job offers. People were hiring, but no one wanted a blind man in their shop. It was mean, and Kaleb felt kinda sad about it, but it was understandable. To make matters worse, Kaleb hadn't heard or seen any sign of Lixtradiis, the girl who was responsible for his his transformation. The holder of his contract, and by extent, his mortal soul. Kaleb felt kinda bad, but it was to be expected. She wasn't the kind to stick around for no reason. She even told him herself, "I'm done with you for now little boy, so I'm leaving." "Wait! Don't go!" he'd said "If you're strong, little boy, come and find me yourself. If you can, if you can make it to where I am, you will have earned the right to see me." It was disheartening, you know? To want to see someone so badly, to thank them for everything they've done for you, but to not know where they are. He had gotten slightly lost, and was unaware of his surroundings. Everything was so new and unfamiliar. Kaleb looked around, getting distracted by the sights and sounds and smells. It was hard to believe a place like this could even exist in a world of demons. It was almost incomprehensible. Kaleb was ripped from his musings with a thud. "Looking" down, Kaleb saw he'd completely bowled over some poor boy. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and I must have knocked into you. I'm so sorry, are you ok?" Kaleb knelt down and let go of his cane, offering his right hand to the boy. Kaleb smiled, flashing his white teeth in a goofy grin, "Can I ever make it up to you? I know a great place to eat, and I dunno about you, but I feel kinda hungry. It is about dinner time. What do you say, can I treat you?"

As aged ink marked paper behind him, Rory stepped forward, sending the noise of creaking floorboards to mingle with the sounds of the words she wrote. He muted his curious thoughts of what she was writing down, and pulled away the curtains filled with holes, looking in between the cracks of wood that was boarded over the window. The street was crowded with people who had came to see the sight of destruction and his lips twitched, amused. That was an interesting thing about people; so many tried to take the higher ground by claiming how they thought such things like carnage and ruin were absolutely terrible. Yet, they still gathered to view it all, the fall of the world around while they stayed standing. They could deny it as much as they wanted, but Rory knew it brought them pleasure.

He let the material fall back in place, his shoulder relaxing. They were okay, for now at least. But those hunters hadn't gotten lucky, they must of been following their trail, connecting bodies and fires into a map that lead them to his general location. Others would follow suit, and Neberius would have to set up a few red herrings for them, with booby traps and guard dogs. Rory's wrist raised to his face, eying a watch. He still had a couple more hours to himself, and then the demon would probably take control of his body, forcing him into pitch black subconsciousness. The pretentious voice hardly ever let him have a peak into what he did during his hours of control, and he rubbed his arm to sooth his nerves.

"Those....were hunters...you're a contractor too..." Rory was yanked from his thoughts and his head turned around, staring at Chriselle with wide eyes. Here he was, worrying now that the girl know he was a contractor, filling him with anxious fears to how she'll, and in turn him, react. "Too?" He questioned, speaking as if he could hardly believe what she was suggesting. Was the girl sitting in front of him really a contractor too? That's what she was getting at? He wanted to walk forward, grab onto her and search for her mark, to find sort of proof that would make him believe that the fragile girl in front of him had made a deal with a demon.

Instead he stood in place, his legs feeling like heavy lead, keeping him stubbornly in place. "You're a contractor..." He tested the phrase on his own tongue, and it started to click. She always seemed as if she was on edge, hiding secrets, and not like a normal person. Normal people hide their secrets with smiles and laughter, pushing them away, but in his eyes it looked like she held onto those secrets; tucking them under dilapidated folds in her messenger bag and in paper and ink. Had she been running from hunters? His eyes traveled upwards, nearing exasperation. With each revelation came a thousand more questions.

"Then, it only makes sense for us to become friends, don't you think?" He insisted, wearing a visage of impassiveness; mouth in neither a smile or frown, brow neutral, eyes not twinkling in delight, nor hostility. "I don't want to be your enemy." Rory stated, folding his arms over his chest, voice quiet and controlled. That was true, he'd rather not tear apart a girl made up of inquisitive beauty. Or at least, not so soon. She was a contractor though, having power that could even match his own, so she was either with him or against him. He had to be weary, watch her every move, each breath; lest she betray him.

The slow, dull murmur in the air seemed to spike randomly; an odd sort of mental state that seemed slightly more malignant than the usual hustle and bustle of mundane noise that came from regular people. Jade's stride slowed slightly, before he noticed the reaction and sped back up to his regular pace, eye darting back and forth around the area while he attempted to focus in on it. He strained, but could reach nothing. Whatever it was was staying masked from him, trying to hide, at least for the moment. Jade lifted his cigarette to his mouth, inhaling a bit more deeply this time. After a moment, using his free hand to dig a finger underneath his eye patch to scratch his empty lid underneath, he dropped the hand and brought the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling the thick smoke into the air.

He kept his mind on the masked consciousness for a while, paying close attention while the guard slipped lower and lower. Whoever it was, they had enough ability to hide themselves, and Jade figured they'd be able to detect him prodding at their head as well. There were quite a few demons who could detect tampering once it started happening quickly, and even some humans who trained themselves to notice. Jade stepped lightly around the new mind, trying to remain subtle, now only beginning to hear the kinds of murmurs that a brain would normally put out... except... different somehow. Something seemed more dangerous, more powerful. He didn't even have to focus in specifically to tell. But he didn't suspect just a human borrowing some powers, either. This was a demon, there was no denying it. Jade knew what a mischievous demon felt like mentally at this point, after having the job of detecting them and snuffing them out along with their contractors when on jobs. For now, he tried to ignore this new demon, placing the cigarette back in his mouth to sit in between his lips and continued on his way.

His focus is on you, you know, Thea interrupted. Her tone suggested that she had noticed the other demon long before Jade had, but hadn't cared to inform him. That was just like her, paying attention and expecting others to do so as well. Anyone who wasn't constantly alerted for fluctuations in their environment would surely have been deemed an idiot in her book. At the very least, her interest was piqued. Thea would never be one to pass up the chance to play with someone. Demon or otherwise. It was true, she didn't care much for demons - not most of the lot, anyway - but she enjoyed the idea of interaction, and any person was worth meddling with.

Yeah, yeah, Jade responded, pulling away the cigarette and letting the smoke spill from his nostrils before eventually parting his lips to allow the rest to mull into the air. I could tell. I'm just not sure I'm quite as interested is all... He pondered the idea, twisting his head around to give his remaining eye a better view, to attempt a visual while he mentally relocated the source of the new mental sensation. The sight of the demon's pursuit was certainly nonchalant. A typical person would not have thought much of the tall blond - aside perhaps from his handsomeness - and that he was simply just one of the crowd. Someone well off, here strictly on the business of hassling renters who didn't pay their bills, or something along those lines. Others discarded the mans presence, their usual mull of hustling and bustling on their ways far to important to bother with paying attention to the little details. Someone who couldn't detect his intent, would have been completely unaware to his stalking nature and piqued interest. Jade's dull expression, piercing, pale blue eye, landed on the sight, his lid relaxed on a narrow glance. He brought his body around to be facing taller boy's direction, taking a few more strides backwards - or, the same direction he had originally been facing - until stopping at the corner. I suppose I have nothing else to do as of yet, He thought, not even in particular to Thea.

For now he stood still, waiting for the demon to catch up to him. His gaze was expectant, his expression bored. Jade seemed as if he were already tired of the interaction before it had even taken place. He was quite interested, curious to understand what the demon's interest was, but there would be little to allude to such a concept. His detachment from the emotion certainly didn't help, or, it did, perhaps. Part of him believed that people seemed so much weaker when they expressed exactly how their feelings fluctuated every moment of every day, but the concept of getting how he felt across to others didn't seem to compute very much either. Thea had often stated that Jade had a personality much like some of the demons she knew. All great big sticks in the mud. And she hated them. Honestly Jade couldn't have given two shits even if he wanted to. Her point exactly.

Jade stretched his thoughts out to the approaching demon, a bit too impatient to wait for the demon to approach for beginning the exchange. Did you want something? He asked, pushing the idea directly into the demons range of senses, sure that he would hear it. Jade's tone sounding irritated and impatient. He wanted the point and he wanted it now. No use in beating around the bush. That certainly didn't mean Jade didn't have time for some fun and games, of course. But that was an activity saved for second.

Valentine narrowly dodged a workman, hefty and looming above him, from plowing straight into him. That was one of his major problems when he went out; dealing with the amount of people who seemed as if they would crush him, and didn't have enough mind to even notice that the small demon was even there. He hated cities, and that was all that was left now-a-days. Condensed and mulling, and everything seemed to rush on without noticing him. He didn't want to be noticed, of course! Not with a face like his, not being what he was, but at the same time... Well, he couldn't help it. It was simply in his nature to crave attention. Revel in it, even. The only issue being that it more than often came from quite negative sources. Even other demons made fun of him. His own attention was only momentarily distracted, eyes and on the bulky, grey-suited figure hobbling off without another thought of whom he might have crushed beneath his grandeur frame. Valen's free hand tugged at the hem of his hood, pulling it forward before turning his attention back to where he was go--

His small fame collided into another, his distraction having kept his eyes off of where he had been going just long enough for the next unaware person to pile drive him down to the pavement. He landed with a soft thud, but hit harder than would have been expected. Hands flying down to try and break his fall, the grit of the sidewalk scraped its way into his palms, stinging and becoming raw. He regained himself with just enough time to watch as the plastic bag from the smoke shop hit the ground and tore open, it's contents running into the path of people's steps, one falling into a rain grate, and the one can of soda rolling into the line of traffic. He felt his heart sink. Valen only had so much money he could waste from pick pocketing, and he had nothing left for food stowed away in the run-down building he called his home.

He sighed, turning forward and....

Valen stared wide-eyed at the boy leaning down and looking concerned. What.... What on earth? No one ever cared if they had knocked him to the ground in the past. They'd mutter a sorry, but they'd keep walking, give it not a second thought. But this boy was peculiar, as well. Perhaps his peculiarity could account for his different response? Under quick examination, Valentine could determine blindness; he carried one of those fancy canes, and wore a blindfold over his eyes. Though, wearing a blindfold seemed unnecessary? What did Valen know of being blind, of course, but something seemed off about the boy regardless. He seemed to be... more aware than a typical blind man, regardless of the fact that he'd just crashed into him.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and I must have knocked into you. I'm so sorry, are you ok?" The boy's concern showed, and Valen could only stare, still keeping his head tilted downward slightly, despite the concept that the boy could not see, as of his deductions. The other boy offered a hand to help him up, flashing a friendly smile. "Can I ever make it up to you? I know a great place to eat, and I dunno about you, but I feel kinda hungry. It is about dinner time. What do you say, can I treat you?"

Feeling even a bit embarrassed at the sudden interaction, he hunched his shoulders, ducking his head a bit more. He began extending his hand to accept the help, but quickly retreated, remembering the blood, and, pulling his sleeves down over his scraped hands, nudged the boy's offered hand away, standing up on his own and nudging him once more to stand up as well.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Valentine murmured. He chewed his lip a moment, considering the boy's kind words. They were the first kind words Valen had heard in a while, but that was the consequence of hiding away. At least if he hid, he didn't hear the bad one's either. But the idea of food struck him, his attention drawing back to his meal that had been lost in the process of falling down. "You don't need to make anything up to me, I-" he stammered through the sentence, feeling a tad bit awkward about wanting to accept. "I just.... If you're offering, I mean... I've just lost the meal I was taking home. I dropped it."

He bit his lip, crossing his arms so that his hands rested under the opposite arm, though he tried to keep air circulating at the scrapes on his palms. They still stung a good deal, and all he really wanted to do was put ice on them. "I guess if you're offer still stands, and you don't mind....."

Friends...friends? Chriselle could almost laugh at the thought, if it weren't for wanting to stay polite. Laughing would give him the impression that she was perhaps laughing at him, making a mockery of him in some way - it was silly. In truth, she would only be laughing because he didn't know. Sure, Rory may have had some personal issues of his own, and such would maybe drive her away, but the fact that she would forget him in few hours would be...devastating. Then again, Chriselle had no idea how to react; he was like life itself, incredibly unpredictable. Like how he thought of her, she thought the same - he would either be with her, or against her. That was simple enough to understand on both parts.

"Friends..." The word was dripping with a careful slowness as she peeked her tongue out to swipe them against her lips, frowning lightly and mustering up enough courage to stare at him again. "Sure, we'll be friends." The statement was simple, but was it true? Perhaps to some extent, yes, but she didn't know what promises and dangers came with agreeing with him. Chriselle hadn't met other contractors before, and before now she had no interest in them - but they could be capable of different things. Rory was capable of manipulating heat and flames, causing destruction where ever and whenever he wanted to, while her own demon had the ability to get rid of that destruction. Life and death, black and white, destruction and repairment - completely different things, and yet Chriselle felt nothing but curiosity around him now. She lifted a pale hand, turning it to show him the simple yet intricate design embedded into her flesh. Two crescents on both sides, connected by a line that met with two intersecting ones, enveloped in a circle.

"Murmur...is his name." She whispered. "In case you were wondering if I spoke the truth. He is the man you may have noticed back at the cafe." One leg crossed over the other briefly, before the girl stood and continued to stare at him, her arms crossing over her chest to mimick his current position.

Talhnir kept smiling as he followed the human through the crowd. The boy had most definitely slowed a bit a few steps ago, had the boy noticed him? Or had he simply stepped in something? The voices had trouble deciding. Talhnir kept his eye on him, the other humans around him slowly turning into a blur, creatures of such insignificance their presence was barely worth the effort to register it. And then it happened, even as the voices debated amongst themselves whether the boy had noticed or not, a slight presence danced around his own. In his mind the already blurred forms of the humans around him faded, even the streets and the buildings disappeared like snow before the sun, leaving only Talhnir and the boy. This was not a trick humans could learn, it belonged to demons. Talhnir was nearly brought back to reality as the realization struck him, humans are not psychic.

His grin widened, as he stared at the boys back, so clearly visible now that the obstructions had vanished. He was definitely a contractor then. Either that or a demon like himself. With his back turned he could not tell whether the boy displayed any tics indicative of a conversation with a presence known only to the contractor. This puzzle was becoming interesting, was he a human or a demon? And if he was a demon, what sort? If he was a human, why did he reach out for the forbidden fruit of power? The voices had yelled human before, but now weren’t so sure. Figures, they were always useless when their input could have been helpful.

As Talhnir intensified his stare on the boy, as if staring with such intent could simply reveal whatever secrets he might have had. It didn’t work, of course. He needed to use his power and enter the boy’s mind for that and it was not yet time, why waste a great puzzle by looking up the solution? When the boy suddenly turned Talhnir was knocked back into reality, humans that were invisible previously returned as blurred forms all around him, dull and grey buildings shone once more with their incredible lack of artistic inspiration. Talhnir found himself looking straight into the one eye of the boy for a moment. He was definitely noticed then. The voices were talking all at once now, suggesting a million and one ways to proceed.

‘Did you want something’?

The voice pierced the thousands other voices he could hear. All at once they were silenced, their wise council wisely help back. Talhnir found he had stopped dead in his tracks. Simply looking in the boys direction. It struck him he had never met anyone like himself. Never met another psychic demon. For a moment his entire body tensed up, this meant he was not unique. With a sigh he relaxed again, the voices were right. Being the only one of your kind is lonely. Better to have others who understand the pain. With renewed confidence he walked towards the boy, before stopping again a few steps away from the boy. With a smile he bowed before he looked in his directions and opened part of his mind, let the answer to the boys question flow out.

‘I was just wondering if you hear voices that no one else can hear?’

It did not matter to Talhnir that the voices escaped together with his message and now sought refuge in the minds of the humans around him. All that mattered was solving the puzzle he had found.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," The boy murmured. He chewed his lip a moment, considering the Kaleb's offer. "You don't need to make anything up to me, I-" he stammered through the sentence, there must have been something bothering him. "I just.... If you're offering, I mean... I've just lost the meal I was taking home. I dropped it." "Oh no!" Kaleb thought. "He must have dropped it when I bumped into him."

He really wanted the boy to accept. It was almost like that feeling of asking someone out for the first time. Kaleb was so nervous. It would be so great to have made a friend on his first try. He'd moved away from his old home, so he had no other friends in this big city. It had been so long since Kaleb had had friends. Not since Lixtradiis had changed him. He'd lost all of his friends overnight. Just to save his parents. He'd traded his world for them. But... What if... Oh no... What if the boy found out? What if he saw the horns, the teeth, or the mark? He'd have to hide it. It'd be ok, he could leave his hat on, but he'd have to take off his gloves to eat. Contracting with a demon was illegal. People said mean things about contractors. They said even worse things about demons. What if that scared him away? The thought of losing a new friend was heartrending to Kaleb. But still, it was better to have tried and failed then to have never tried at all. He had to try.

"I guess if you're offer still stands, and you don't mind....." "Oh my goodness... Oh my goodness! I can't believe it!" The boy had accepted Kaleb's offer. He'd never been so happy. Not for a long, long time. "Uh-oh..." Now came the awkward part. "Well, see, the thing is, I'm a bit strapped for cash at the moment, but I did just buy a whole lot of groceries. So... if you'd be ok with it... we could go back to my place, and I'll make you something nice. Whatever you want as long as I can make it. I don't mean to brag, but I'm a pretty good cook." Ryan chuckled a bit when he said it. "So what do you think, does that sound good?" Kaleb smiled when he said it. He had completely forgotten about his dilemma with him being a contractor, he was so happy. He didn't even care anymore. All Kaleb was focused on was the boy's next response. He couldn't wait.

(OOC: @Ashes, if Val agrees, feel free to take them back to Kaleb's house. Obviously he'll show you the way. That way you can have a meaningful post instead of a one liner. XP)