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Chriselle Edison

"So in your heart, you truly believe that I will believe the ridiculous tale that you have spun? Do you take me for a fool?"

0 · 395 views · located in Khaol

a character in “Borrowed Strength”, as played by Noodlelord

Description

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Name: Chriselle Edison

Age: She simply recalls a total of seventeen long, repeated years, and she supposes that it must be how old she is.

Gender: Female.

Sexual Orientation: She cares nothing of it, and nor does she bother considering her situation.

Role: Contractor.

Personality: A wide-eyed, terrified looking teenage girl would never catch the wandering eye of a man or woman roaming the city streets; or perhaps she would, what with all of her mumbling and shaking. A girl with only a mind for worse-case scenarios and a voice for stuttering and frightened warnings, Chriselle is more than just an odd ball. She is diagnosed with anterograde amnesia, a type of memory loss that occurs day by day - she awakes each morning with no recollection of her thoughts or the events of the previous day. Each morning is just a haze, and each day she is constantly freaking out over trying to remember things. She used to keep a notebook with notes on important people, events, and dates that she must remember. Chriselle found it irrelevant by the time her contract was made, and has thus forgotten all about it.

No matter what, she will always worry, always freak out, and always distance herself. The girl may suffer from more than simple memory loss, though she finds no proof of it and dismisses any other illnesses as silly and unrealistic, though I digress. A melodramatic, self-pitying and impulsive teenager, she is more than prone to having her own little episodes. Chriselle, though she obviously is flawed to an extent, she does have a few good qualities - or something near good, in the least. She wants to get close to people, and she wants to make friends with others, but knows that she will forget them in the next few hours anyways. She is honest as well, and has never told a lie - as far as she knows, anyways. Her honesty could be a complete sham in itself, so she always leaves it out if she ever needs to talk about herself.

She is already seventeen, a girl almost becoming a woman, and yet she has the appearance and air of a small child. She is a nervous, clumsy, stuttering mess who knows near to nothing about friendship or family. Add that to her amnesia and her own personal issues, and you have the wreck of a girl with the name of Chriselle Edison.

History: It was a simple mistake. She never meant to do anything wrong or hurtful, she never meant to be mean, and she never meant to make such a horrible mistake. It wasn't her fault. She knew that much, at least. Or whatever she knew...she didn't know much. Or did she? Did she? She didn't know. She didn't know what she knew.

All she could see was darkness. All she could taste was the unmistakeably copper-like taste of blood dancing across her tongue. What she heard was the sound of metal hitting a surface known to be skin. She felt...pain. Pain, and then numbness. The stinging, the heat, the blistering pain against her pebbled skin faded once, came back, and then faded again. A vicious circle, a repeating set of events; it had an uncanny resemblance to her life, as cliche and uncomfortable as it sounded. It took maybe an hour, a few minutes, but she had lifted herself off of the ground. Her feet padded against the ground with soft thumps, and she softly closed the door as to not aggrivate anyone else. Her eyes met the ones in her reflection, and she grimaced.

Blue, black, purple, and green blotches decorated her pale skin. There was blood running from open cuts and from her lip, which had broken due to her teeth breaking through the tough skin. Chriselle was not okay with how things had gone on. So many things, transpiring in a blur and a mess of colors, a mess of senses; she hated waking up every morning, and forgetting everything else but the abuse. The torture. Her bruises, cuts and scars were enough notes to jog her memory - of all the damned things to forget, why couldn't she forget something as horrifying as this...? Why couldn't she be strong? Chriselle knew fully well that she couldn't fight back, she couldn't protect herself, so she had to just stand there, and watch it all fly past her.

She could have been perfectly happy the previous day, or week, or month - but she couldn't have remembered it. She never could have. As she stared at her reflection, marred and bruised, a sound echoed throughout her mind. A sound that reminded her of promise, of safety, and of...well, whatever the hell else she didn't have. The sound changed into a voice, one that spoke to her clearly and calmly, tone smooth. The name was Murmur, one that sent shivers down her spine, but a calm sensation over her body. He told her that he would watch over her, protect her, and give her strength. He could not grant her the fortune of regaining her memories, but he could protect her and give her a will to fight. Chriselle knew of what she was to do, and accepted in the blink of an eye.

Likes:
Bubblegum - She loves the stuff. It calms her down in times of an episode.
Warm weather - She would rather be warm than freezing her ass off.
Waking up - It's bittersweet; she can start all over, but forgets every happy thing that might have happened the previous day.
Butterflies - They distract her.

Dislikes:
Soda - Too acidic, and it irritates her throat.
Cold weather - She hates cold weather, it makes her uncomfortable.
Going to sleep - Forgetting anything exciting isn't a very happy thing, now is it?

Secrets: "I'm not telling you! W...why would I - I have nothing to hide!"

Fears: She knows that spiders scare the ever living shit out of her. That and lightning.

Crush: If she had one, she wouldn't remember.

Boyfriend/Girlfriend: Irrelevant.

Do you have a Demon?: Yes. One named Murmur.

Contract Details: The payment for her protection and strength was simple; whatever bits and pieces of her already shared sanity. She doesn't view herself as insane, but she no longer has her human morality, and does not know right from wrong. She does not know what to think when she witnesses a crime, and nor does she know what to do - thus, she walks away from it and says nothing at all.

Height: 5'9"

Build: Lithe and a bit fragile-looking.

Contract Mark: Image The seal of Murmur found on the back of her right hand.

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So begins...

Chriselle Edison's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: .Murmur
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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.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: .Murmur
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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?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: .Murmur
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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.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison
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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.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison
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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.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: .Murmur
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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.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison
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"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.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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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.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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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.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Murmur
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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.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison
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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.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Murmur
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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.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison
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A grin broke out on his face, creating a visage of childlike happiness. This was great, she was his friend, now all he had to do was make sure she didn't stab him in the back. His eyes found the mark on her skin, reminding him of his own seal; a black design within a circle. The mark only meant one thing to his human mind, it was the mark of a contract between a demon and a human, proof that her words were not lies. Rory's fingers curved against the sleeve of his jacket, pressing against the material in restraint, preventing him from acting on the impulse of reaching out and touching the oil that was trapped underneath her paper skin.

He nodded in comprehension, smile faltering as he did so. He had already seen the demon she had made a contract with, one with their own body, and it was both comforting and nerve wrecking. It meant that the girl before him would always be Chriselle, opposed to a creature piloting her body, although it also gave her demon independent control. Murmur, what was he like? Was he a guardian, or did he lend his power? If Neberius knew anything about the other being, then he wasn't speaking up. Rory pointed to his cranium, looking to the girl who mirrored his position. "Mine is in my head." He stated, letting his hand return to the crevice of his arm.s.

"A parasite, he calls himself Neberius. He's," The boy paused, pressing his lips together, at a loss of how to exactly define the monster that literally lived inside of him. "You won't have to be afraid of him." He settled on that, letting the words escape from his throat and hang in the air. He was a pain, but he didn't kill without reason, and Chriselle hadn't proven herself to be much of threat. She was like him, not a copy. However, they were similar. It filled him with a sense of hope that he wished to stay with him and leave him at the same time, especially because he didn't know what exactly he was hoping for. What did he want from Chriselle, anyways? Companionship? He already knew how that song ended; with a blast of fire, a pained whimper, cruel laughter following afterwards and then nothing at all. His eyes flickered across her, studying the folds in her clothes, the eyelashes surrounding her eyes, as if something would tell him the answer.

Drawing a blank, Rory turned around, right hand finding it's way to his neck. He pushed his hair upwards, letting his own mark be seen without obstruction. His lips parted, and closed soon after, not knowing what to say in this moment. Was there anything to say? There was just a dark circle, curved lines and smaller circles within, the seal that approved their deal. It had been foolish for him to not hide it better, if he hadn't been so careless those hunters would have never picked him out. On the other hand, his eyes drifted downwards, it could be considered a blessing in disguise. After all, if it wasn't for those violent dogs, he wouldn't be here with Chriselle, showing off the marks of demons like school kids that shared petty secrets.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison
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"A parasite, he calls himself Neberius. He's," the raven paused, pale lips pressing together as he seemed to think for a fleeting moment. She rose an eyebrow despite herself, and nodded her head as he continued his sentence. "You won't have to be afraid of him." Chriselle then took a moment to ponder on what her new 'friend' had said - a parasite, meaning he had no independent body like Murmur. The demon had told her that there were multiple types of demons, rather than just one like himself; but she was under the minor impression that most demons had their own bodies. Obviously, the impression was wrong.

Her eyes flickered to his pale hand, of which mixed against the opaque black of his locks, pushing them in an upwards motion and surprising her. A mark had been embedded there, one that matched the intricity of her own and caught her off guard. Rory had said absolutely nothing, the mark on his skin simply a reminder to him of his contract, though it sent her spiraling into awe. She went slack-jawed, and despite her internal protests, she stepped forward and brushed her fingers against his skin. Chriselle's touch was light, simply a feather barely brushing against a surface, and porcelain met porcelain. It was simply a moment of shock before she yanked her arm back, frowning.

"I'm...sorry..." She muttered, shaking her head. She couldn't even understand why she had touched him - though they were 'friends', Chriselle knew full well that her touch may have made him uncomfortable. "I...couldn't help it."

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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Solomon knocked on the door where the two contractors had entered.

"Uhm excuse me," he said quietly not wanting to get too much attention over in this alley. He looked down at the entrance as the body guards seemed to causually be on the phone and reading a newspaper keeping an eye out for any trouble. "I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time. I was hoping you two were doing alright, but more importantly. I was wondering if I could help you with anything. I know what you both are." He stated and he left the words in the air so that they would sink in.

Solomon was careful around the handle seeing as it still gave off quite a lot of heat. One seemed to be able to manipulate fire. He took out his phone and started to text. He had practiced to write with one hand but it was a slow process. Luckily it seemed the two inside weren't excited to talk to him. He pressed 'send' and soon one of the body guards phones beeped. The male read it and nodded to the female as he left walking down the street.

"I'm not sure what that whole thing in that café was about but I have a feeling it had to do with you. I'm not only willing but able to help you." He wondered if he should tell them why it was that he could be trusted, but too much information is never a good thing in the wrong hands.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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The sensation of skin against skin, hardly there, but enough to throw him off guard. His breathing ceased, stuck in his throat, or maybe his lungs had collapsed because of the contact. Her fingers against the back of her neck was gentle, not like the hands of people that had dared to get this close before. For a fleeting moment, Rory had thought it hadn't happened at all, just a trick of his mind. Rory turned and faced her, facial language surprised in parted lips, that sealed together in a thin line when he noticed her embarrassed reaction.

Chriselle spoke in mumbled apologies, despite them being unneeded. He reached forward and grabbed onto her right hand, moving his own fingers against the mark on her skin, barely tracing it. This was easier than telling her that he didn't mind what she had done, instead he wanted to show her that he was okay with it, even if might force her to reel away from him. Rhythmical knocking broke the scene, and Rory dropped her hand, eyes narrowed towards the door and feet hitting the ground with hostility. Flames licked at his outsoles, threatening to eat away at this building as well. They disappeared as soon as they came, leaving only burns on the floor.

He reached towards the door, heart pounding with rage and violence, prepared to waste away the present nuisance. Someone had seen them, had the audacity to follow them, comfort them. To Rory, it was clear that the owner of the voice had a death wish. If he was feeling so suicidal, then he would bless him with a homicide. "I'm not only willing but able to help you." He froze, arm outstretched, and flames disappearing. Blood that had rushed in his ears had drained away, unable to control his body anymore, paralyzed.

"I advise you to hear this man out." The voice of death and persistence spoke to him, preventing him from dropping another body so soon today. "He may be able to actually help us. Behave." Rory stumbled forward, using the door to prevent himself from falling down, knees shaking briefly before he regained his composure. He glared at the floor, the malice directed at the voice in his head. He didn't like this, but if he disobeyed, then Neberius would only take over, and he didn't want the demon to do so right now. Not when he still had some time to himself left, and he opened the door.

With narrowed eyes, Rory looked at the man, recognizing him from the street. "Then say something of use. How could you help us?" He demanded, stepping away from the door entrance, allowing some space for the man to enter the desolate apartment. He glanced over to Chriselle, and then returned his attention to the man. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now." Voice low, whispering and callous, his gaze was unrelenting. This man must be playing some sort of game, stuffing cards up his sleeves, none out of good intention. He didn't trust him at all.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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"Well to be honest, I have the resources to keep you hidden and living quite well."

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now," came the voice from the other side of the door. Solomon sighed as did Corbaire. Neither of them liked hot heads. They chuckled slightly at the unintentional pun. "Listen the longer I stay out here the worse it is for all of us. Either let me in so we can talk or at least let me get you two further away than just the other side of the street."

Corbaire had explained things about the Hunters but hiding across the street seemed like a .... horrible idea. If they can track you randomly then across the street was not going to help.

"Look i have a place uptown and it should be far enough away." Solomon started to explain. "I am not saying you have to stay with me. I'm simply saying I am here to help if you ever need it, and right now I think you need it. I can get you both some money and a place to stay of your choice and you can contact me whenever you need some more money or have some sort of request."

"Is that a good enough reason?" he added for good measure as he stepped away from the door and looked at the flower dressed body guard as his limo pulled up in the middle of the cross way between this alley and a perpendicular one behind the building

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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Rory's palms and the pads of his fingertips were callous, rough compared to her own. Though they weren't the daintiest and smoothest, her skin wasn't comparable to the raven's own. Chriselle stared at their clasped hands rather than his eyes; she wondered if he was telling her that it was okay to come in contact with him. It was okay for her to touch his skin. But, despite his unsaid explanation, Chriselle remained a bit wary. They were 'friends', yes, but being friends came with trust issues. She knew that her own problems were going to get in the way of her new found friendship, and by the looks of it, Rory had his own little secrets as well.

The knock at the door startled her, snapping her back to reality only to see that Rory had headed back to the old door. His footsteps were angry, flickers of red and orange light at the soles of his shoes, leaving blackened marks against the damp and creaking wooden floor. She herself was a bit annoyed at the sudden presence of another, as the girl had opted for staying alone with Rory for the time being - at least until the next morning. Perhaps he would let her go by then; but she had a feeling that it wouldn't be that easy. "I'm not only willing but able to help you." The voice at the other side of the door did not startle either teenager, but it did cause both of them to freeze abruptly. Chriselle simply was surprised that anyone who had followed them wanted to help them - afterall, Rory had just burned down a small cafe and probably killed a few innocent people as well. She thought that whoever it was only came to arrest them, or bring them in, or something that was of the norm in their situation.

She stood farther off, only hearing snippets of their conversation until she stepped forward. Her footsteps were nothing like that of her partner's, for they were nervous and shaky, cautious and careful. Her eyes peered out from underneath dark lashes, observing the man slowly. "...You...want to help us? Why?"

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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Dust hung in the air, lingering in an atmosphere thick enough to drown in. Rory inhaled his spite, biting down on the corner of his mouth in attempt to focus on building up his fragile mental wall. He could feel the curved fingernails of time and destruction; the self-interested of the demon inside him, chipping away in attempt to gain hold of the reigns. The man in front of him was perplexing, and complexity wasn't a trait often admired by him, not when it displaced itself in a way that could become hostile. Was the man planning on pulling the rug away from underneath his feet, to undermine him? His gaze glanced to Chriselle for a a split second, returning to the man who had claimed to be on his, their, side.

Or, was Chriselle on his side instead, making this out to be a constructed charade? "...You...want to help us? Why?" Rory pressed a hand to his forehead, pain splitting inside his mind, turning him numb. He had no reason to trust either of them, both too variegated, and conflicting arguments bubbled inside of him. Chriselle had claimed to be his friend, and now this man was making the same statement? He had helped her, but had done nothing for this man. What was his reason? The boy's glare faltered, and his consciousnesses slipped away in a smoke that smelt of paranoia and dangerous doubt.

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Without flames came the smell of burning coals, smoke from the soul of a creature neither human nor God. Rory's eyes opened, eyebrows relaxed, smile pleasantly arrogant with straight posture. Though it was Rory Chamberlain's body, it was not the owner that was in control. Another piloted in his place, a voice who had lived too long and simultaneously not long enough. "I too am shrouded with a flicker of ambiguity, sir." His voice was course, deep and held no stutter, only confidence and eloquence. Eyelashes obscured him for a moment, stepping forward in smooth, thought out movements opposed to the behavior nature to his host; impulse, running on deceitful emotion and malice.

Neberius turned his attention to the girl that Rory was so curious of, lips curling in false fondness. "We all have our reasons, and they will reveal themselves to us at a better time. For now, let us accept his offer, and leave this repugnant hideaway." He looked away, stepping out of the building that had once housed humans with dreams, only to be crushed by the weight of reality. He stopped to stand directly in front of the man, mere inches away, eyes studying him for any sign that would warrant his execution. "Only a foolish coward would turn down the offer of who could prove to be a powerful alley." His words carried a hint of humor, mocking one that couldn't see them or hear the words spoken. The farce continued in the chuckle that exited his throat, the noise of amusement and footsteps hitting the walls between them.

He stopped beside the limo, pushing the fringe of his hair away, only for it to fall back. Neberius sighed, he would have to do something about the mess Rory had turned himself into, and get him into more respectful clothes. "I am waiting." He announced, looking to the man and woman, both that had made agreements with those like himself. His tone held no anger, or impatience, as if he could stand here waiting for all eternity. His pale hands slide inside the pockets of Rory's jacket, shoulders held back casually. This could have gone better. However, beggars cannot be choosers, and he would make do with what was presented to him.