"Ahhhh, fuck. Forgot my manners." Otis set the cup of coffee down and took the blade and water from his hand. He took the silver blade and cut the back of his wrist. A small amount of blood began to pour from his wrist, and there was no unnatural sign of pain. He took the vial and poured it on the wound, it causing no unnatural effect, and simply washing away the blood. 

"Now your turn." He cleaned the blade up with a small cloth he had withdrawn from his pocket, and passed it to his friend. Then he withdrew a vial of holy water of his own and handed that to him. "I do still have an antipossession tattoo you know. I hope you've invested in one." 

He withdrew a mirror from his pocket and took a quick look at the reflection of himself and then his friend. "That should take care of the introductions. Everything seems to be in order." The older hunters took more lessons from the generation that came before them. This recent generation was viewed much lesser than the other generations. Too many pricks who thought too highly of themselves and wouldn't except help from other hunters, thinking they had to be loners, at least that was Otis Yates Opinion. The older ones had such a wide ring of connections, and they relied as heavily on it as they did their weapons, so they felt stronger. You would have a tough time finding any loners among the older hunters.

"Talked to any of your connections down here?"