Darnies looked over his cards at the drunken man across from him, smirking at him and his friend's confident attitudes. Knowing that those grins will fall in a few seconds made him want to laugh. Darnies leaned his chair back even further, his arm dangling over the back as he took his time. The man he was playing looked like he was going to either start sweating or throwing punches the longer Darnies didn't do something, so he decided to make it a last just a bit longer.

"I recommend you fold, friend." He said, never loosing his posture or smirk. The man looked to him in disbelief before looking to his two friends and laughing as he waved his cards.

"Yer the one gonna be wantin' to fold, boy. And I ain't yer friend." He said, drunken words slurring his speech. He threw his cards face up on the table. "Full House." He declared, reaching for the money before Darnies' chair legs slamming the ground made him freeze, startled. The boy leaned his weight on the table and sighed as he stood.

"Shame we ain't friends," He spoke up, flipping his cards and dropping them to the table, swiping the money in the process and stuffing it in his jacket's inner pocket. "'Cause, y'see, I share with my friends." The red hearts in the Royal Flush reflected the older man's complexion.

"Damn...Damn! Fuck!" He growled, swiping the cards off the table and onto the ground in rage.

"No, it's DarnDarn. If you're gonna say someone's nickname, say it right. And there are kids in this bar so you should really avoid sweari-" The man grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him forward, causing him to lose the support he had from the table and pinwheel to gain his balance back. The bar started to quiet as the other patrons took notice of what was happening.

"You cheated somehow you little shit, now yer gonna give me back my fuckin' money or my boys and I'll-"

"You'll what." Darnies replied, cutting him off and grabbing his wrist. His dark eyes showed no mercy as he grabbed the man's thumb and bent it back until the man was kneeling in a submissive position to lessen the pain. "I don't like threats, Hamor," He swore, keeping the man in place. "An' I don't like sore losers, either." The whimper of pain that followed must have woken his friends from their stupor, because one hauled back and threw a punch at Darnies seconds later, forcing the boy to duck and grab his cane before dancing out of the way, but not before the Witch had made sure the ringleader would have a cast for his thumb.

"Get 'im!" The man on the floor growled, cradling his hand to his chest. Darnies held his hand up, signalling off the other patrons who stood up to help him, and swung his cane to catch Man 2 in the jaw. His head snapped to the side, but the satisfaction was short lived as man 3 football tackled him, knocking the air out of his lungs and knocking the both of them right through the bar's front window. Darnies closed his eyes and braced for impact on the cobblestone. The unforgiving ground didn't come, but solid arms did. Shoulders cradled in one of these arms, he looked over to see Man 3 in a choke hold of the other, and getting redder by the second.

"Hey, Chasa." He grinned up at the woman, and she somehow manage to look both concerned and judgmental.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing! Sore losers at poker, is all. You mind standing by the door so they don't leave yet?" He questioned, grin still in place even as blood seeped out the corner of his mouth. The Golem sighed but nodded, pushing Man 3 ahead of her and into the bar where the first two cowered upon seeing her intimidating figure fill up the doorway with Darnies at her side. He leaned against her for support as he picked his cane up once again.

"I hope you guys didn't lose all your money to me." Darnies mocked lightly, dusting off his torn jeans and only suceeding in smearing blood onto them. Chasa grinned and spoke up.

"That's right," She spoke, causing them to flinch. "Because you're paying for Akseli's new window." She smiled at them, crossing her arms and nodding to the Man behind the bar, who was staring at the scene while sliding on his brass knuckles with a bloodthirsty grin. His Angel, who was sitting at the bar and hasn't looked up from his book, just tilted his head and gave the men a quick glance. They watched together as the men handed the money over the counter to Akseli before scurrying out as Chasa stepped aside, catching Darnies as her sudden support disappeared. She gave him a friendly glare.

"And you," She spoke, causing him to looking at her. "You're paying for my new groceries." It was his turn to flinch as he turned to look outside. Among all the broken glass, there were two brown bags, one with milk spilling out of the container, the other with eggs scattered around it. He groaned in dismay.

"There goes my winnings," He whined as everyone in the bar returned their attention to their tables. At Chasa's small glare he held up his hands. "I'm gonna pay for it, don't worry."

She rolled her eyes and took him to one of the booths against the back wall, grabbing the bar rags lazily held out by Akseli as she passed. "My instincts said you were in danger, so I didn't even get the chance to put my groceries down before I was moving in your direction. Guess you were in a lesser kind of danger," she looked over to the broken window, then back to Darnies where he was casually sliding a particularly large piece of glass out of his arm before he wrapped the area with one of the rags. With anyone else, that probably would have made her sick to watch, but she'd seen Darnies get in plenty of fights since he created her, and they often end with some kind of glass being shattered and making its way into his skin, so she just sighed instead, especially when he left all the other smaller pieces in his skin and just held another rag to make sure he didn't bleed on the furniture. "This is the fifth time Akseli's window has been broken by you."

"Hey!" Darnies frowned indignantly. "It's not my fault drunks think they're untouchable in a card game, I play fair! At least I never play with the regulars, I'd have claws and teeth in me instead of glass," he huffed, causing Chasa to laugh. He smiled at her and got out of the booth, limping over to the broom that Akseli and Aharon seemed to keep against the back wall just for him. He made his way out the bar door and began sweeping up his mess. Chasa trailed after him and leaned against the door frame.

"I heard there's a detective going around trying to question everyone in the apartments." Chasa spoke casually, trying to meet his eyes. He stopped sweeping for a second before continuing with a heavy sigh.

"I knew I should have warded the whole building and not just our apartments," he spoke quietly. "it takes a lot of energy but at least a Hunter wouldn't have been able to sneak in and kill Grayson without any of us knowing." They both went quiet and he grasped his Magen David necklace, whispering a blessing for the werewolf that had been killed in apartment 2-M, just a few doors down from the Duo. He then looked up to the early morning sun trying to break through storm clouds and sighed. "Well he's gonna end up pretty empty handed, none of us talk to cops, they can't help."

"Doesn't mean he won't try, DarnDarn." Chasa warned quietly, knowing they were both aware of the risks that came with cops snooping around.

"Damned if I don't know it." Darnies grumbled as he got back to work, the two now silent.

---

Translation: Hamor= Hebrew: Jackass

It is early in the morning and only a spattering of patrons were enjoying breakfast at the outdoor portion of The Bean There Café. Vanja Janković puffed on his cigar savoring the smoke as he examined some photos. Undoubtedly, a bad habit, but at least it brought a little consistency to his otherwise hectic existence. Smoking was one of the World’s great unifiers after all, no matter where in the world he found himself there was some variation practiced. Through his dark sunglasses he looked up at the photos at his dinning partner the fact they both managed to reach middle age relatively unscathed was undoubtedly an outlier in their chosen profession. He returned to pursuing the photos; they primarily showed his dinning partner sometimes alone and sometimes with a homily looking woman posing against various backdrops such as signs advertising national parks. It seemed like in the ten years since he last laid eyes on Harry Alberts the man has managed to keep himself busy. To an outside observer the pair looked like two middle aged friends exchanging stories and reconnecting over some shared past. However, Vanja was sure if that hypothetical observer was able to see the mens’ auras they would see darkness emanating from the pair; it was of some condolence that Harry’s blackness would eclipse even his own. The duo were what one would call mercenaries, assassins, hitmen, hired guns, or if one was being generously politically correct freelancers; supernatural creatures referred to them as Hunters though Vanja was certain other Hunters would probably take great offence to that. Unlike the large majority of other Hunters that Vanja met in the last twenty-four years who fought for moral or religious reasons and were bound by strict regulations, those of his ilk battled primarily for money and were bound only by the guidelines given to them by the one who hired them. He flicked the ashes from his cigar into an ashtray.

Vanja repressed grimacing as despite his cordial interaction with the man he loathed Harry Alberts. Alberts was the worse type of freelancer, the type that fought to satisfy their own sick and twisted perversions. Ten years ago, he vowed never to work with the man again after what happened in Nepal. Putting aside that Alberts almost jeopardized the mission and cost the lives of six of his fellow compatriots, what he did to those innocent missionaries was beyond words. He should have put a bullet in the head of the degenerate for insubordination, but Alberts always had a knack for making himself indispensable. It would be hard for anyone not familiar with the events that occurred in Kathmandu throughout the winter of 2010 to even comprehend that Alberts could be capable of such butchery. Harry Alberts looked like a harmless grandpa, with rosy cheeks, a large frame, and a grey beard; he was a extroverted person armed with heartwarming stories and antidotes about raising his children or from his life growing up on a ranch in rural Montana. This however was a clever façade erected to disarm those that had suspicions about him. Vanja knew better, ever since he met Alberts on a mission in Rabat, Morocco in 1998 he developed distaste for the bombastic self-aggrandizer; Kathmandu only proved his base suspicions correct. Alberts was sending him a message by having him look at the otherwise innocent photos of his grandchildren and snapshots of his adventures on the road with his wife; he was covertly bragging about his misdeeds. Vanja was certain that late at night on the trails of these national parks some poor folks had the misfortune of coming across Harry Alberts while his wife was fast asleep; the forests undoubtedly became their tombs.

Vanja would have never travelled to Gravette had he known that this reckless psychopath was on the payroll once again; he was not happy that Roger Bonheur renegaded on his promise to never again have Vanja work a mission with Alberts, but it seemed the client must have been desperate for experienced bodies. He mulled over just pulling out his Beretta and shooting Alberts in his fat face; it would serve as both his resignation and spare Alberts’ grandchildren having to grow up knowing Pop-Pop was a mass murderer. However, he stayed his hand for the time being. He was not in this line of work for the money or the thrills, he was here because he had to find her. She was a phantom that haunted the deepest recesses of his mind; just the thought of her torn down the mental ramparts erected by years of cynicism. She was akin to his last shed of humanity; it is what kept him from devolving into a monster like Alberts or a nihilist like Bonheur. He managed to avoid completely becoming wrapped up in thoughts about Rakel for the time being.

He wordlessly handed the photos back to Alberts not giving the creep the satisfaction of a reaction. A waitress came by and refilled the men’s coffees. Alberts leered at her for an uncomfortable amount of time as she departed before pouring a few packets of sweetener into his drink. Vanja could not help wondering how many disappearances in Gravette were the result of Alberts. Alberts had been in the city for almost a year at this point; he runs a local thrift shop called The Pack Rat under the false identity of Jim Hughes. He presented himself to be some relation to the former owners who disappeared under rather mysterious circumstances. He is known around the metropolis as a man who is known for his tall tales and friendly demeanor; he is always up to lending a hand to his fellow citizens and is a member of a few volunteer groups. Alberts certainly considers himself above suspicion.

“Always were quite the shutterbug Jim. Any word on how the high school reunion is progressing? You know how I hate surprises.”

“Last time I checked the gang’s going to all be here, with a few exceptions. You are punctual as always, a little early perhaps. I see you haven’t changed in the slightest you are the same old tight ass. Oh, Captain. My Captain” says Alberts whilst shoveling a second helping of grits into his gullet.

“I could say the same thing about you, it still seems your up to your old tricks as usual. I could have lived without ever seeing your deplorable face again, but I am willing to put the past aside for the sake of this reunion. Consider the hatchet buried. With that being said, is the itinerary set yet.”

Alberts chuckles spraying undigested grits from his mouth. “You are putting aside the past? Since when? It is good to see that your sense of humor has improved these last ten years Josip. I would worry that you would burry that hatchet in my back, but I know better than to mistrust your commitment…to this or any reunions. Unfortunately, our resident party planner has not made me aware of the finalized schedule yet. We are still on to meet at the old hangout in a few days and all should be revealed then. In the meantime, you should explore our old stomping grounds. Sample the local wildlife. You know I have.” A knowing smirk overtakes his visage.

Vanja used to feel odd being addressed by one of his various pseudonyms or talking in code, but these things were second nature at this point. It would have been rather distressing and a sign of impending danger to hear his true named uttered in a public setting nowadays. He was going by the aliases of Josip Hale and had the documents to back up his claim in case he was stopped by law enforcement. He samples the cup of black coffee and it leaves a distinct impression of weakness in his mouth. Why did North Americans have such wretched coffee? This morning was already turning out to be unbearable. He leaves a generous tip on the table and makes his abrupt exit; he had enough of Harry Alberts for one day. He makes his way down the sidewalk at a brisk pace ever observant to ensure he is not being followed. He takes another puff on his cigar as he walks.

~ Neirie ~

A somewhat small figure stood silently in a heavily shaded alley. Almost statuesque, one would have thought it was made of marble, had the icy blue eyes not been darting back and forth every few minutes. The figure's other facial features were mostly hidden as a large mage like hood draped over most of the dark hair and forehead. Large sleeves hung up to the figures hands, which were perched as if folded across it's nose. The large hooded jacket came down to the figures thighs and small legs covered in a black shiny material protruded into thick black rubber heeled boots.
Barely any wind or movement came from the alley as the small figure seemed to be checking that it was safe to cross the road.
An ever so small poof of air escaped the figure's lips followed by a short huff.
The figures shoulders sagged in defeat and it plopped to the ground like an overly used duffle bag. The hood still hung over the figures forehead but the sleeves had fallen back to show lace arm gloves covering up and around the middle fingers.
A somewhat more bored sigh came about as the eyes began to slowly dart back and forth again.
"Well Neirie, we've been here for hours and about the only 'GoOd' info we've been able to decipher, is that there are definitely other powerful beings here. That there's some unusual sized groups in about three to four areas? MAYBE? But we're pretty sure of a couple spots. So what do we do? Should we go start at one. Scope a bit. Then go to the other? Or just sit here till we decide which one MiGhT be more important?". She bit lightly into her lower lip with one fang, biting the end of a long, sharpened nail between her other teeth. Shelet loose a more child like whine than a sigh.
"UgH! I hate waiting on myself, so. It'd be faster to pick one and determine if its important or not as quickly as possible!" She nodded her head dramatically whilst literally hopping to her feet. Placing one hand on her hip, she put her chin in the place between her other forefinger and thumb and made a squished thinking face.
"I guess since I've been to neither before. I'll start with the farthest away. Then, I can just teleport back here, and be closer to the other!" She giggled softly but cheerily and a small childish grin spread across her marble face.

After making sure her hood was in place and letting her arms dangle beside her to keep the sleeves well over her hands, she wandered quietly (dare say silently) out of the alley and along the sidewalk. She tried to make sure and note any other beings with strange auras near her. Just to try and keep track, a little.
As she slowly roamed the streets she very abruptly had the scent of blood slam against her senses. She stopped in her tracks as she snarled slightly before a warming feeling fell over her. Yes. Warming. She had smelled other blood ever so slightly before this other, scent. It'd been human. She was sure of it. Layered with alcohol as it may be it was definitely human.
But that other scent. It was almost maddening. Still stuck in her current position, she searched her mind rapidly. She didn't think she had ever sensed or smelled anything like it before. Perhaps... Maybe she had. So long ago even her aged mind couldn't remember.
All she knew is that it seemed powerful. Or at the absolute least interesting.
A small cheshire grin crawled over her lips and she nodded dramatically again.
"Yup. We were right! Definitely the right direction. Might not be the monster we're after. But I fathom this delectable scent either has some sort of info, or might know something that does. Worth a look see at least!"
A weird movement came from inside the hooded cloak. It looked as if her body had been made into wiggling noodles to a would be bystander. Though underneath a fairly normal happenstance of Neirie pulling her arms into the jacket itself, wiggling her 'Batpack' around to her front side and pulling out her cigarette pack and lighter. Arms still 'inside' her jacket she wiggled her hands and wrists through the neck hole area, lit the cigarette and slid her hands back inside. The noodle dance began again and shortly after her arms slid back into their rightful sleeves. Still a small grin on her lips she began to almost hop down the sidewalk.

"Come on you stupid- fucking thing- GET IN THE TRASH!" The young raspy voice cursed in the alleyway behind Saints And Sinners, finally flipping the heavy plastic lid up and dropping a rather suspicious and heavy looking trash bag into the dumpster with a loud thud. Bonnie was never good at hiding her meals, but this time she actually put effort into trying. Trying is the key word here. Who knows how she didn't get maimed last time she tried to do this, leaving a dead body at a now crime scene in the suburbs of college town was probably not her smartest move. Yet somehow, she got away with it. Bo was charming if not oblivious. She made sure to at least chop it up this time, and stuffed the bag with an assortment of drywall and leaves. Just in case someone pokes at it.

Her red eyes gazed into the dumpster, squinting. She fixed the beanie on her head and jumped up onto the side with surprising ease, reaching her foot in to sort of jostle the garbage around. A crooked smile spread as Bo admired her handywork.

"That'll do pig." She chuffed, then jumped back down, the top of the bin causing her to flinch as it closed loudly. She winced, looked around, hope no one saw that, then shrugged.

Bonnie was still getting used to this whole vampire thing, it was actually more fun than she had thought. Staying up all night, skating all night, drinking people's blood, it was pretty cool in her books. She leaned up against the wall, near the back door to the bar, and pulled out a cigarette. A frown appeared, noticing she was running low on cigs. Jostling her pockets for her wallet provided nothing else helpful, she was pretty low on cash too. Bo scoffed, a puff of smoke escaping her lips.

That's when she heard the fighting, furniture falling on the floor was loud but, those vampire ears of hers know a good bar fight when she heard one. Bonnie quickly peeked inside as some patrons left the door open, pushing her dirty blonde hair out of her face to get a better look. "Holy shit dude.." She chuckled, her fists balled up like a giddy school girl watching the fight. She had no context but Bo didn't care. At least until the two involved started chatting, that's when she was able to pick up more information. She attempted to get herself through the door, trying not to fall flat on her ass at the same time, though she was anything but stealth as she picked up one of the fallen chairs to sit on.

"Bro that was fuckin' sick! Well, for a bar fight anyways. Better then the petty ass shit those groms in college town could muster." She cackled with the enthusiasm of a surfer dude straight off the coast of california. Bonnie rarely gave an introduction, but she was here now, snubbing her cigarette out on the back of her hand.

"A little early to be drinking, Simon," The man taking a seat next to him said.

"The sun and moon do not dictate my hours to me, Capalli, nor do you," Simon said, taking a short sip of his drink.

To be honest, it was early. Back in the days of the Hunt, drinking happened anytime and everytime, because the Hunt was full of hedonists with no self control. Things were different now, but Simon still had some vices. At least he didn't hunt people anymore. Besides, any fae worth his salt could drink the average man under the table, so he'd be fine.

The man next to him was a puca - one of the many shapeshifters to come out of Europe. Capalli himself was from the British Isles. Neither of the two fae were actually named Simon or Capalli. In fact they even had other names they could use, dating back decades, even centuries, but fae liked to play games, and identities could be another facet of that. Instead of using names they had always had (for instance, when the two first met Simon was going by Sylgair, over a century ago and far, far away) they made themselves new ones and created new lives to go with them. It was all a game, and besides, true names were never to be spoken aloud.

Capalli looked like a young, handsome man (though looking attractive tended to be a given with most fae) wearing a beanie pulled down to cover his ears. It was a rather poor attempt to hide the fact that he currently had dog ears. Pucas, unlike some other shapeshifters, tended to retain features from their animal forms.

"Care for another drink then, Sy?" Capalli said, smiling teasingly.

"I buy my own drinks, kind sir," Simon drawled. Another small game - though they considered each other friends and would never glamour each other, accepting gifts from a fae was a bit faux pas. "Besides, I've had my fair share tonight."

"But I just got in here, Sy," Capalli said. He patted Simon on his back. "How 'bout this, bud - we trade. I'll tell you something I think you'll want to know, and you'll accept my gift. No debts, no glamours. Hmm?"

"I suppose I'm feeling magnanimous today, Cee," Simon said, but underneath his dismissive tone he was curious. Capalli could be generously called chaotically flighty on one of his good days, and given he was at a bar at 6 in the morning, it probably wasn't one. What info did Capalli have to give that made him forego his usual barrage of flirting?

"I appreciate it, Sy," Capalli said, pushing his own drink towards Simon. Capalli motioned for another, but Akseli seemed to be distracted. There was a crashing noise as a window behind them broke. This was a surprisingly regular occurrence, so Capalli merely shrugged and turned back to Sy, who hadn't looked over either.

"I heard from a friend that there was... something loud a few towns over," Capalli said. He seemed a bit serious for once, which likely meant the news was 'funeral invite' levels of grim. "Heard a hunter had a mishap with a, uh, hunter, y'know? Call it unfriendly fire, if -"

"Speak plainly, Cee," Simon said sharply. "You know it's safe here. As in, a fae hunter and a human one?"

Capalli hesitated before continuing. "Yeah. I'm not sure who was hunting who, but the human went down in the end. People got upset. Rumors are spreading - on both sides, I imagine. For the humans, y'know, it could be just another man down in a long war, but on our side... well, people are talking about the Horned King again." The last name was said in a hushed tone, rightfully so.

There was an awkward pause as Simon took a lengthy swallow from his bottle. "Well, fuck," he said, because it seemed the appropriate time to say it. Capalli nodded sympathetically.

"Well, people talk about him every time one of the Wild fae do anything," Simon said, but he was clearly shaken to some degree. "He's too patient to risk any loyalists now, anyway. Why would he resurface? He's got no reason, it would just be -"

Capalli waved his hands defensively. "Hey, man, don't get too worked up. You're preaching to the choir, anyway - like I said, it's basically gossip. Still, maybe be extra careful. There's some tension about the former Wild Hunters after all 'at, so maybe keep your tattoo extra hidden for a bit. Maybe keep your shirt on in bed for a bit," he teased, going back to his casual tone.

Simon rolled his eyes. Still, Capalli was right. Rumors were rumors, and the King was a popular boogeyman to keep the mill turning when fae were brought up.

"Anywho, I'll see you later, Sy. Remembering to bring something for the potluck," Capalli said, walking away.

Simon waited a few minutes before standing up, putting some time from Capalli leaving so he could finish his drink(s). He needed a smoke. The fae's natural tendency towards amazing health regardless of vices was something Simon gave silent thanks for everyday, because without it his liver and lungs would surely be shriveled and grey. He gave the broken window a short glance, then stepped outside to light his cigarette.

Vanja walked at a brisk pace, covertly watching those he passed behind his dark sunglasses. He closely studied their movements and their body language, looking for the slightest clues that they were in fact something other than human. The few people he passed seemed normal enough, but it seemed these creatures have adapted to human society to some degree. Despite no official word from Bonheur yet, he presumed that he and his cohorts would be gallivanting after boogeymen yet again; it seemed like whatever shadowy organization that was in cahoots with Bonheur was not taking any chances. If Alberts was to be trusted, “the gang was all going to be here.” That was too many guns to waste on any human target in this particular city as despite being situated in what was perceived as the first-world Gravette was not home to many high value targets. Bonheur only lent out the heavy hitters in his Rolodex of mercenaries sparingly and that some group was willing to foot the bill for all the A-Listers to be here was rather unprecedented and equally suspicious. Running operations in North America was filled with its own unique risks and the possibilities for failure ran high, Bonheur must have been presented with an offer he couldn’t refuse. There was a distinct possibility that the team was being assembled to take the fall for some actual “Hunters” who were in over their heads. This would not be the first time or the last time one of those groups tried to implement a double-cross. Vanja scoffed as he remembered the gruesome fate the last group that tried to cross Bonheur endured; Reverend Milton and the Lighthouse of Awakening should have not hired mercenaries to deal with their vampire problem if they did not have the funds to pay them in this lifetime. Talks of eternal rewards were a non-starter with a pragmatist like Bonheur, what mattered was the here and the now. All that remains of the cult nowadays is a charred path of earth in Liberia and a mass grave to go along with it. Milton was in league with some proper “Hunters” who fought monsters for a chance to absolve their sins or some such nonsense, they attempted to protect him from Bonheur’s wrath, and they were unsuccessful to say the least.

Vanja presumed he never shook the state mandated atheism that he was taught in his boyhood as he never truly understood the motivations of those of the cloth; they seemed to needlessly sacrifice themselves for a deity that only seemed tangentially invested in their existence. Or perhaps his rejection of the faith of man cycled back to Her once again as most threads in his life did. He recalled Rakel telling him of her people’s beliefs on the unseen thread crafted by some long-forgotten goddess that unites the hearts of all conscious beings; despite their differences everything…everyone was intrinsically connected. It was something Vanja being in the line of work he was in did not like to ruminate on; her disappointment with what he has become in the intervening years frightened him more than any threat of eternal damnation in a pit of fire and brimstone.

Vanja did not imprint himself in the minds of the few people he passed on the streets, most did not even pay him the courtesy of a second glance in his direction. He looked like any other office dweller, his non-descript suit and impeccable grooming made it look like his natural habitat was behind a desk filing paperwork at a middling firm of some sort, few would guess at a glance what his real occupation was. He took a puff on his cigar and casually flicked the cigar ash on the sidewalk. Despite the early hours there were noticeably less people walking the streets than a similar sized metropolis, the increasing number of disappearances and murders were probably wrecking untold stress on the public psyche if the numerous missing person posters plastered in shop windows were to believed. Vanja studied a thick dossier of information on Gravette before arriving and factoring in the recent revelation that Alberts was here the town certainly had a sizeable vermin problem. Maybe an all-star team was not unwarranted after all.

Including himself and Alberts, Vanja figured there would be seven specialists in total here. The remaining five who have yet to arrive were practically a smorgasbord of human rights abusers and other assorted ne'er-do-wells; what concerned Vanja more than their crimes was the insurmountably of their combined egos. Dr. Laurissa Anderson is the resident medical practitioner who proudly served as a personal physician to a plethora of dictators and autocrats during her notorious career, while also overseeing horrifying medical experiments requested by those same men; in addition to her duties as a battlefield medic she serves the function of collecting and preserving specimens requested by the client. Günther von Braun the espionage specialist is the scion of a wealthy German family who received military academy training at the prestigious French Academy of St. Cyr; his wealthy upbringing did little to neuter his more base passions and he was the prime suspect in a series of brutal slayings that plagued campus before he disappeared from public life. Enrique Piñón, the heavy weapons and demolitions expert is supposedly serving a life sentence in the Carandiru Penitentiary in São Paulo, Brazil for his participation in three brutal heists of rather prestigious Brazilian banks; as long as the bribes keep on coming his continued incarceration in that facility is what is presented to the public. Nyambura Otieno, the masterclass driver is purported to have raced competitively in the unground circuit until she crashed in a high stake race Johannesburg and unfortunately compulsive gambling left her in a huge amount of debt to some shady people; she is unquestionably loyal to Bonheur for the opportunity to help ease the massive financial burden on herself. QU35710N (Question) is the hacker extraordinaire and despite the occupation does know how to carry himself in a firefight; nevertheless, he is more comfortable piloting his 3D printed drones outfitted with limited offensive capabilities from a secure location.

Vanja felt a headache coming as he imagined navigating the proverbial sea of egotism; this day was getting worse and worse with every passing second. Caught up in his own thoughts he barely managed to avoid running headlong into a few burly looking men nursing injuries of varying degrees of severity. Well, that certainly was not something you see every day, he mused. It was clear that those gentlemen were usually on the other side of dispensing violence. Vanja only managed to catch a brief snippet of their hushed conversation as the group hurried along, but through the vulgarities he deduced that they were cheated out of money by some kid and ran into some crazy strong broad. Intriguing, to say the least; could be worth pursuing Vanja thought to himself as he took an long puff from his cigar.

With the confrontation avoided he continued to walk with no real destination in mind; he was feeling out the city as he had a sinking feeling, he would be staying here for the foreseeable future. His mind drifted to Rakel as it normally did In ambient moments such as this. He mulled over the last thing she ever said to him, he could hear it as clear as the day she spoke to him.

“My little sparrow if you remember that I love you as you traverse through the peaks and valleys of life, I’ll know. When you gaze upon something of great beauty, I’ll see it too. When some joy fills you with boundless laughter, it is your voice I’ll hear. The barriers of distance and time are immaterial to us, we can never be fully separated. The great thread binds us all. Should you ever tire of this wild world all you have to do find me is to take this talisman in your hands and call out…”

As usual the final refrain never came; it seemed the years had robbed him of the most important part of her instructions to him. The words need to find her were in a language at the time he thought was made up, a silly language spoken between the two of them as children that he had long forgotten. He was cursed to remember her, but not how to find her; this was his lot in life, his cross to bear. He felt his grip tighten on his cigar until it snapped under the stress. He gritted his teeth as complex emotions welled up inside of him. Before he could snap, he bottled those complex feelings up once again, knowing full well the next time it would be progressively harder to put the proverbial lid his pent-up sentiments. He bent down and picked up the remnants of his destroyed cigar, he internally chided himself on his behavior. He continued walking being sure to dispose of what was once his cigar in a proper receptacle.

He stopped at what was presumably a local watering hole, but it looked like it has seen better days as the front window was currently broken. He was sure this where that group of upstanding citizens he encountered earlier must have originated from. He moseyed on up letting out a whistle as he pretended to inspect the damage, but behind his sunglasses he was actually taking note of the clientele that he could see inside and outside of the establishment.

He noticed the name of the tavern was apparently Saints and Sinners and was not sure if he appreciated the name ironically or unironically. In the old country it seemed they were either not that creative when naming things or the state censors just dissuaded such frivolities. He mentally shrugged. Hidden behind his shades his eyes quickly darted from person to person. Only few of the patrons stood out to him. Firstly, there was a rather muscular female who seemingly met the loose qualifications of possibly possessing a good deal of strength and being a broad. There was also this inordinately handsome man smoking a cigarette, one’s eyes were inexplicably drawn to him and it took some will power to advert one’s gaze. It was rather hard to pinpoint who “some kid” could be as there were a few younger looking patrons milling around and age was relative to the beholder. Needless to say this was certainly an interesting locale and it seemed that a lot of interesting characters liked to partake in this fine dining experience. He could not help but let a mirthless smirk envelop his face as he was certain that this was an establishment worthy of him and his compatriots’ patronage in the coming days. Things were starting to look up.

'What the fuck is a grom?' Darnies wondered as he looked at the girl now just inside the broken window, sitting on what had previously been his chair before everything went to shit. The wards had alerted him once she walked in the door that she was a vampire, and that she held no ill intent towards the bar patrons, just as he knew of the Fae that had stepped outside for a smoke. It's one of the reasons he never warded the whole apartment building after he had set up Saints and Sinners; he had a connections with the wards that was almost a constant conversation of buzzing energy telling him who was coming and going, and if they were likely to cause the wrong kind of trouble.

Chasa was watching his back as he faced the window, just in time for another person to come into the scene, whistling of all things. Sparks lit up her loose muscles as the sudden feeling of Danger Danger DANGER ripped through her, and she was quickly between Darnies and the oncoming man and he got close enough to inspect the damage.

Darnies had tensed as soon as Chasa moved, knowing what her instincts in action looked like and reacting accordingly; he was still looking at the vampire through the window, but now his back was to the Fae on the other side of the open door instead of the new threat. Now at least he was somewhat facing the man and ready for whatever may happen, cane gripped tight but blade latch undone if need be. He and Chasa gave each other a tense glance and Darnies let the broom rest against the brick of the building.

"Yeah, well like I said earlier: Drunk people make for the sorest losers, always lookin' for a cheater when they should be lookin' at their own shitty plays. Always gets 'em aggro and shit," He gave a tilt of the head to the girl before turning his full attention to the possible threat; an older man in a nice suit whose demeanor could probably fool anyone not used to running for their lives from the likes of him.

Chasa kept her eyes on the situation as Darnies addressed him. "Can we help you sir? Carin' for an early mornin' drink?"

~ Neirie ~

As she lightly hop-skipped down the sidewalk, she began to slow to a practical slide in short skids. Pulling one hand up to cover her lower face, she came to a halt across and slightly down the road from an establishment with a large broken window and several scents of curiosity.
She could see a rather large woman like figure. And by woman 'like' she could smell that this was NOT human. She'd never smelled anything like it. Being that this was a completely different scent than the earlier 'Unknown blood' smell that drew her here. That would mark two completely foreign smells to her in a matter of minutes, after centuries between this 'new and so unfamiliar feeling' and she had to admit, she did NoT enjoy it.
She instantly made sure to use her extra energy for every skill possible to mask her 'true' supernatural scent. She knew at least a few of the beings before her could most likely already sense her supernatural presence. But at least she could stop most of the information there.
As she almost seemed to fade into shadow itself to any untrained eye. She stayed exactly where she was and watched the acts happening in front of her. She couldn't even begin to decide WhAt race the 'woman' was. And realizing the young man standing next to her was the other foreign scent, especially after she noticed the blood. So. Those were at least two of the beings she had sensed coming from this direction. She could tell that the rather blonde man standing a small distance from them was of another strange scent. Though she knew she had smelled it quite a few times before. She didn't know much as to the specifics. She knew that some smelled different... More feral perhaps? Than the others. But they all had a very, elegant? Smell to them.
Next, she turned her eyes and scents only, towards the seemingly young woman sitting on one of the establishments chairs. She could smell the fresh human blood all over the girl, and it wasn't her own. She seemed fairly young. Perhaps not truly in human years. She could perhaps be a century or close to two. But she didn't even seem to be trying to really mask anything. Not from supernatural senses anyway. So she must not have had a Master. Neirie mentally shrugged though an ever so slight grin spread across her face. She liked the girls beanie. Biting her lip with one fang she turned her attention again, this time to the seemingly older human business man.
Ever so slightly she cocked her head while keeping her ever so slightly pink eyes burning into the man's skin. You see, Neirie had been doing extremely well, she thought. She'd only drink gentle animal's blood peacefully after treating it gently, giving it a bath and a good meal. Then she would 'tranquilize' it as she sang ancient immortals seduction songs to lull it into a peaceful death. She had learned to survive this way on animals for centuries after she had left her Master, only feeding on humans when she would travel to certain cities, once she had trained and learned as much as she thought she could before hunting down her Master, like the Monster he was. She would only feed from or kill humans if they were being monsters themselves and doing so would save another. She had killed a few supernatural' s before. Some she knew what they were, others she had no idea, but some tasted the same as others she hadn't known of what races or origins they hailed from.
But she hadn't realized exactly how long it had been since she was able to preform the ceremony for a gentle animal feeding. Whenever she had to or chose to feed from sentient beings like humans. It was usually a rather violent individual, and therefore made her emotions and hunger a little more volatile in the process. Had it been 10 days or 10 years? She couldn't remember.
She made an ever so light shiver as she tried not to focus on that and focus on the strangely scented man perusing the rubble.
He was human, she was fairly sure anyway. But his aura was something strange and twisted. He had different scents among his own, some magical, some long distant. Human. Perhaps. But normal? He was far, far from it.

Simon, to his credit, did not obviously turn to look or fumble his cigarette as the older man walked over to the bar and inspected the window. In fact, there was practically no visible reaction despite the fact that Simon could definitely smell something... fae about him.

He wasn't fae himself, clearly, and the scent wasn't... fresh. But it was there. Humans interacted with fae all the time, of course, but this was more. Something... longer. It was hard to put to words, but it was pulling at Simon's curiosity too hard for him to let it go.

Simon waited roughly a minute before looking up at the man. He was well-dressed and seemed sharp of mind, and Simon had been a Wild Hunter long enough to see what some fae called 'iron of the soul' in him. In other words, best not to hassle him. But Simon was curious, so it didn't really matter.

He waited another second before making a quick judgment. "There was a fight," he said, pretending to fiddle with his lighter instead of looking the well-dressed man in the eyes. "Only a few minutes ago, too - you just missed it." He paused a second. "Simon. You?" He offered the man a cigarette to punctuate the question, finally looking him in the face.

Bonnie let out a slight snicker at Darnies' comment, adjusting herself as her arms leaned on the back of the chair.

"Legit, bro. Cheers to that. Fuckin' piss-babies can't even hold their brew, man." She was still holding her cigarette at this point, absolutely not abiding to any rules that might be set. She had no idea what this place was, it's relationship to the supernatural, or anything. Especially the few others who happened to turn up, likely after hearing the less than savory bar fight. Bo couldn't blame them, that's why she was in there too, right?

Regardless, the young vampire was certainly intrigued by some of the other patrons. One of which seemed to be causing some tension, but she didn't seem to really care that much.

The vampire did, however, notice the strikingly dressed woman who approached the broken window. Something about her was just, different. Not the clothes, Bo thought those were pretty cool, but it was like, a weird sense thing. She felt strange for thinking that, was this a vampire thing? Either way things felt.. awkward. So Bo did what any charismatic person would do and tried to solve this weirdness.

"You dudes gonna just stand out there like the place is runnin' with roaches or somethin'?" She said, a hand tossed out, her grey sweatshirt sleeves poking through the oversized t-shirt, the cuffs stained with blood. Her disregard for her appearance was pretty telling, but her attitude made it work. "At least come inside or whatevs. 'supposed to rain later." Her red eyes went towards the Goth chick, a sort of beckoning look came across, as if asking her to come in and say hello. She'd probably just ask her eventually but things seemed so tense, the knife was barely cutting the thickness of the air.

Vanja raised an eyebrow as Chasa put herself between him and the dark-haired young man. What was their relationship? Was she some sort of a bodyguard? An older sister perhaps? She certainly had an impressive physique for a woman, in fact up close she was better built than most men he had served with in the field. She even seemed to put his own personal trainers to shame and they were some of the best money could procure. It seemed like Gravette is where the Statsi dumped the East German Women Athletes after the Berlin Wall came down. Though, the woman did not appear to be suffering the side-effects that came with ingesting a cocktail of steroids on a daily basis. In sharp contrast to a genetic freak, the woman’s body seemed to have been carved from granite by some long-forgotten master; every muscle flowed seamlessly into the next and no area was dominant over the other. She was not your average fitness junkie to say the least; Vanja had a suspicion she was not human in the slightest. In a test of brute force this creature would undoubtedly be the victor, there was no doubt about this and if she had the chance, she could probably crush his head with relative ease. It would be foolish to engage her at close range, suppressive fire from a distance would be a preferable alternative if one did not want to needlessly commit suicide. He wondered if she was a killer; there was a stark difference between being able to take a life and doing so. Through his dark sunglasses he briefly studied her rather stoic expression. All it took to collapse a mighty dam was a single crack after all. The primary difference between someone like him and her was that she still had attachments; the way she moved to intercept him proved that she had more than a just working attachment to the whelp. Was this her crack?

He snapped out of his current train of thought and turned his attention further down the sidewalk heading away from the bar, to find much to his surprise nothing…absolutely nothing. Well, that was not entirely true he felt and odd sensation when he fixated his piercing gaze upon the shadows cast by the buildings. It was hard to articulate, but it was almost like the abyss was leering at him. He learned it was best in his line of work to listen to the strange feelings that one occasionally experienced; a healthy dose of paranoia went a long way. Adherence to one’s instincts usually meant the difference between life and death especially when there were supernatural beings possibly involved. He lowered his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and stared back at the chasm of darkness pondering what it made of him. He wondered if it felt fear as it looked back upon his visage or perhaps it felt a tinge of understanding. Regardless, he would be on alert should he choose to head in that direction.

He returned his glasses to their proper resting place as the young man finished his conversation with the beanie wearing girl. She seemed to be positively brimming in the afterglow of whatever happened at the establishment before his arrival; it could be that she was drawn to chaos. He internally mused if the man was actually in need of the cane or if it was a prop to get one to lower their guard around him; perhaps it was a little of both. Clever façade boy. Much like his muscular companion subtle hints in his body language suggested that he too was on edge. Nothing was inherently was incriminating about this, distrust in others was a natural defensive mechanism. He presumed that the altercation with the group of ruffians he encountered could have something to do with their suspicions towards him, but in his experiences those of the paranormal bent seemed to be wary in general towards humans. Rightfully so. He still did not have an official target, but it would not surprise him if it were one of those congregated here today.

“A few blocks back a group of wayward gentlemen gamblers highly recommend this establishment. They just could not stop talking about this place and its patrons in very colorful language it if my memory serves me correct. Figured that if it left such an impression on them, being I figured I just had to check it out myself. Shame about the window, but I am sure that it is an occupational hazard in this line of work. I am sure this establishment has quite the storied history. Drinks, well if you are offering I woul…” The remainder of his sentence died in his throat as Simon interrupted.

Vanja was caught off guard by the sudden interjection, which was quite unlike himself. He was normally a master of his surroundings especially in this type of environment. There should have been no way the man should have approached him without him being aware of his presence. He felt his heart begin to race. Upon closer inspection the man in question seemed to be a quite the fastidious dresser, his choice in colors served to compliment his flawless skin and dyed blonde hair. It seemed that light itself bent to his will shining through his androgynous form like it was comprised of stained glass. He appeared to be a man who is as ruthless as he is gorgeous and as tender as he is cruel. As he continued to observe the beautiful man he felt his well-founded suspicions and defenses begin to erode. For a fleeting moment he thought if he opened himself up to the man, he would provide him with the nurture, guidance, and understanding that he craved. It would be too easy to give into these urges and cede control to someone else. Ever since he made the choice to leave Rakel he attempted to fill the ensuing hole in his heart with a plethora of different remedies. Homosexual attraction was not something new to him, there was Venice after all. From November 1999 to January 1, 2000 he managed to find love amongst the canals; the end of the world was supposedly fast approaching, and he decided to take a holiday in Venice after a particularly taxing mission abroad. There he met the bookish Claudio and they begin a passionate love affair. He was ready to throw it all away…quite literally as he planned on throwing the talisman into a canal because as far as he was concerned his secret search for Rakel and in extension his life as a mercenary was over. He found a chance to rekindle his happiness. However, the old adage of trying to get out only to get pulled back in again remained true. While, the world did not end in the year 2000 any chance of him escaping this existence did. When he returned to the shared apartment only to find Roger Bonheur sitting on the steps outside, he knew what transpired. He did not need to see what happened to Claudio as the implication was clear enough. No attachments, No quitting. Once he figured out how to find Rakel, he would tender his resonation with Bonheur in a manner of speaking. He had a special bullet set aside for such an occasion.

A sharp, intense pain pulsated across his brain as he managed to break whatever hold real or imagined he was under for the last few moments. He felt the metallic taste of blood fill his mouth; he must have bit his tongue. He internally chided himself on his foolishness. How could he let his guard down? This was definitely a hotbed for freaks alright. He wordlessly accepted the cigarette the man offered. He felt his cheeks redden. It took all his willpower to look the man in his face without indulging in the throngs of fantasy yet again. He felt sickened in himself, he never let himself become shaken by a potential adversary. There was something about the man that reminded him of Rakel, he seemed also to possess the same inexplicable charisma. He places the cigarette in mouth and pulls a box of matches from his breast pocket. The fact that his father worked in a match factory might have contributed to his aversion to lighters. Striking a match, he lights his cigarette and greedily draws in smoke. The thought crossed his mind that the cigarette could be poisoned, but that would be sloppy. A good assassin would attempt to blend their killings with the others occurring in the city, it was a golden opportunity for that sort of thing. A poisoning on the other hand would draw undue attention.

“Josip. Josip Dragnov. Mergers and acquisitions specialist for Apex Capital Management. New York Branch. It is certainly a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Vanja said as he extended his hand.

“Figured that there was some type of altercation. Now that you mention it those bruisers did look a little roughed up. Classic Gravette, some folks are always starting something over nothing. No offense, you do not look like you are from around here Simon. You do not seem like type who is suffering in quiet desperation yearning to be free. In fact, there is something familiar about you. I would posit that you worked for Apex in some capacity, but that does not seem right. Perhaps, I met some relative of yours? Small world.”

Vanja took another satisfying drag on the cigarette before Bo interjected herself into the conversation. Vanja sighed at the impatience of youth as he felt his head begin to pulsate once again. Despite her shoddy attire he could not help noticing that the cuffs of her sweatshirt were stained what appeared to be blood. He was almost certain that it was fresh blood. Now this was certainly intriguing. He once again let a mirthless smile envelope his face.

“Tsk, Tsk. A little foolhardy to wear your misdeeds on your sleeves like you do. Though are you the type that likes to project their naughtiness to the world? Remnants from the fight perhaps? Hmm?”

The purpose of the introduction was simple; to get a name. There were two main ways to influence a fae's glamour; words and truth. The first was more common - get someone to say 'thank you', get someone to make a deal, get someone to owe you, and the glamour gets stronger. In those cases, it didn't matter if they meant it when they said 'thank you' or if they intended to carry out the deal - just getting them to say it gave the fae power.

The second one, the truth, gave power in more ways than one. A fae's glamour could waver in strength depending on certain truths, regardless if spoken aloud. Confidence and belief, for instance - if the fae was confident and the listener wasn't already suspicious, the glamour worked best, while a nervous fae speaking to a skeptical audience would be considerably weaker. Even if a nervous fae acted confident or a suspicious target acted gullible, the glamour would weaken, because in this case the glamour depends on the truth of their feelings, not how they present themselves. Using this, a fae can discern certain truths, such as if someone is lying about if they believe the fae, based on if the fae actually feels his glamour grow stronger. However, in this way a fae who begins to doubt the effectiveness can cause his glamours to weaken, and upon feeling them weaken can doubt even more, and so on until the glamour is essentially dispelled.

One thing that worked with both truth and words was the name. For a fae to be able to use a person's true name to strengthen their glamour against them, it needed to be gifted, in a sense. It had to be said out loud, but it also needed be true for the effect to work. Luckily, most humans never bother hiding their true name, and those that do are generally not up to any good.

So when 'Josip Dragnov' introduced himself, Simon could tell it wasn't, at least, his true name. But that wasn't all he felt with his glamour.

As soon as the man looked over at him and stopped mid-sentence, Simon felt his glamour laying its hooks into him. It was a rush, the oldest and most familiar familiar form of intoxication Simon had. In the Hunt, the rush came whenever he was in pursuit or had his prey at his mercy; that familiar feeling of fae superiority, of knowing with every fiber of your being that your prey is dancing to your tune, that you are holding their strings. Of course, Simon knew now that fae weren't quite as superior as he used to think, and that the high of the glamour is what made many fae cruel. But he also knew just how manipulative a fae could be if they knew how to play the game right, so he pressed on.

The man called him 'familiar' and took in the glamour rather quickly, which made Simon curious. The scent from before - perhaps a fae had metaphorically softened him up before? But his lack of overt suspicion made him doubt it. Maybe he hadn't known they were fae? It would explain his fae-touched scent and lack of defenses against glamours. If he was a hunter - which the fake name seemed to imply - he at least wasn't a hunter of fae, or else he likely would've been more cagey about introducing himself and wouldn't have accepted Simon's offered cigarette (though in this case Simon was legit just sharing a smoke as opposed to trying any fae tricks). It was amazing how much one could learn from one introduction.

He put on a supremely self-confident smile before shaking Josip's hand. "I wouldn't say my yearning days are over just yet, but no, I'm not from Gravette." His voice had the slightest hint of a rasp; not a rasp that came from his smoking habit (fae were blessed with wondrous health to counteract their tendencies toward indulging heavily in vice), but a more pleasing natural tone, albeit one that didn't quite fit how he looked. "I'm from pretty far off, but small world, eh? I've got a lot of family. It's possible." He took another drag of his own cigarette, then dropped it and put it out with the heel of his shoe.

When 'Josip' turned his eye towards the girl with what to Simon's eyes looked like slightly bloody sleeves, Simon got just a little frustrated. It was important to keep his eye, not only because the man was potentially a hunter and bloody sleeves were suspicious (and, since Simon knew the types that frequented this bar and he hadn't paid attention to when she came in, it was entirely possible that the blood was from humans not associated with the fight earlier), but because Simon, unlike some of his fellow fae, wasn't nearly as great a speaker. He wasn't necessarily bad, but some fae wove words better than any poet and could probably talk people off cliffs without even using any glamours. Most of the Wild Hunters never bothered with the deeper intricacies of speech; glamours were a tool of oppression and amusement for them, not subtle manipulation.

"I'm sure she just cut herself cleaning up the glass," Simon said, his tone light and dismissive. He turned to move into the bar, letting their personal space grow a little closer. Using his glamour to play off physical attraction always felt a bit.... juvenile, in a way, but in this case it was for a good reason, and Simon had sensed the smallest bit of it earlier (not unusual for any fae, much less one with glamour). "Tell you what - I'l buy you a drink, Josip. Never too early for one, I say." Simon shot the bloody sleeves girl a look that landed somewhere between accusatory (that she was obviously bloody) and warning (that he was likely a hunter). Of course, if Simon was smart enough himself, then he wouldn't even entertain sharing a drink with a potential hunter. It wasn't his fault that fae were naturally curious to a fault. Besides, maybe a healthy drink would get the man to talk a bit more freely.

~ Neirie ~

As her gaze continued to burn into the back of the older gentlemen's skull, he began to turn. Freezing even more in place, she felt for a moment as if her shadows weren't going to protect her. The man's almost emotionless gaze stopped directly where she was hiding and seemed to be pondering the shadows she masked herself with. If her heart hadn't stopped ages ago it may have very well faltered now. She bit her fang a little farther into her lip and sucked in a small breath. Not that she needed to breathe, but she always felt the need to exhale or breathe sharp breaths in certain situations. Perhaps just out of very old habit.
The man's gaze began to turn to the much younger vampire and though Neirie let out a tiny sigh of relief her attention was drawn to the girls sleeves. Considering how much supernatural energy was flowing around this spot, Neirie felt as if a small surge wouldn't hurt. She'd keep her unique scent hidden of course but the girl for some reason already seemed to know she was there. So she might as well show herself to the others, quietly.
Being a small distance away from the bar still, she made sure the older man's attention was in fact still on the others and carefully twisted the shadows away from herself and slipped back into normal vision. She very quietly took a few steps toward the building and gazed inside. Her eyes caught with the girls and she blinked her bright pink eyes as she more clearly heard her speak and the man's response.
Being only a few feet away from the older man, she turned her gaze to the younger blonde as he spoke to the gentleman and put out his own cigarette. He seemed to be attempting to draw the mans attention away from the bloody girl and she could almost taste the sweetness of his words like honey on a dumpling. Whatever 'magic' he was using he was definitely layering on as much swagger as he could.
This was only more confirmation that this older gentleman was something of a unique human. Whether dangerous to her specifically or not she wasn't sure yet. But definitely dangerous. She licked her bottom lip quickly and after a quick glance towards the two with intriguingly unique scents she set her eyes back on the girls clothes. Pulling her hands up to her chest she placed her fingertips together and a small girlish smile crossed her lips.
"Well aren't you just a sweet thing! Poor lil sweet. Did you hurt yourself? Should I take you to the ladies room and help you tidy up?" Her voice though sweet and airy wasn't overly sharp or high pitched. It was soothing to the ears like a bubbly river that flowed quickly but gently. Laced with innocence it had an under layer of knowledge that only few would recognize as centuries of experience. She tilted her head and sent the feeling of urgency and flight through her gaze into the girls eyes as strongly but cautious as possible. The poor girl might not realize it but this gentleman was nothing to fiddle with. And if her boldness was more than a shield or facade she might try to tassle with the gentleman and that could mean ill for everyone in the vacinity. Neirie had heard the old man apeak shortly before she snuck upon the window and his words were all laced heavily with deciet and hidden meanings.
Beginning to have a long forgetton feeling of uncomfortable crawl along her skin she very carefully crossed over the threshold of the broken window and stepped into the buildimg. Trying to get herself closer to the girl without giving off a feeling of danger. If she scared her off at least she would be out of immediate danger. As soon as her second foot touched to the buildings floor an electric shock like feeling surged through her body. She cringed almost visably and ground her teeth. Well. Someone knew she was here. And they most likely now knew Exactly what she was. Perhaps not her age but they definitly knew she was old. And a vampire.
How could she be so stupid?! This bar was obviously not normal and she should have realized whoever ran would have SoMe safeguards in place. At least to determine what type of patrons they were dealing with. She continued to try and push the feeling of urgency towards the girl but she was now quite shaken herself and periodically made short dagger like glances at the other patrons inside and outside the bar. Who could've set such strong traps? Are they still here? Are they within sensing distance? And were the sensors there to protect to bar? Or were they to find supernaturals and keep them from remaining hidden? Had she walked right into something terrible? Or was the creator of this magic sensor the person she needed to help her find her master?
As she waited to see if any of the others around her responded to her sudden appearence on the supernatural sensor scale, she continued to keep an eye on the 'Josip' man and continued to keep a watchful eye on the girl to see her next move.

Both Magicals repressed their shiver when they felt the man's gaze on their beings; every second he spent on them felt like razors peeling their skin to find whatever information lie beneath. Darnies was trying not to stress how he leaned his weight on his cane, keeping it as ambiguous as possible where his weakness might be. He saw Chasa's fingers, which were splayed backwards as her hand was on her hip, twitch few times, seemingly erratic. It told him, however, that her instincts were getting stronger as the man looked at the both of them, and that told him that the man had learned something of them from his little once-overs; he didn't know what it was, but it put him in just a bit more danger somehow, so it wasn't anything good.

The man had begun answering Darnies's wary query by explaining how he ran into the putzes from the bar fight and decided to check shit out himself. He said it in a silver tongued way that had his magic buzzing nervously beneath his skin until the old man's eyes were suddenly off of them and snapped onto the Fae who'd abruptly entered the conversation. DarnDarn heard his name- 'Ch'yeah right, Simon.'- for the first time in the cobblestone alley outside his favorite bar, despite having seen him in the bar quite a few times. The man never seemed too approachable to Darnies and when he had questioned Chasa she said that she didn't feel the need to protect against the Fae, so they'd left him alone.

Simon drew the likely-a-Hunter's attention and Darnies and Chasa took that moment to back step a few feet, nodding to Simon in acknowledgement, whether he had intended to help them that way or not. They were making their way to the door- Chasa picking up the dustpan with the glass Darnies had previously swept up and Darnies re-wrapping the bar rag around his still bleeding arm- when part of their conversation floated over to them, making Darnies stop.

"-You do not seem like type who is suffering in quiet desperation yearning to be free."

'What the fuck? Who does this asshole think he is?' Darnies thought, feeling a brief flare of rage ignite within him, keeping him frozen for just a second longer than would be normal until the vampire girl inside made herself- and her post-meal clothing- the center of attention. 'Absolute moron...' was all his brain could supply as the bloody cuffs were in full view to the dangerous man, and the alleyway as a whole. He went to interject when suddenly there was another woman there, and Simon drew Josip's attention away again. 'I'll sell my cane, Kindered Wand and all if that's his real name.'

The woman began her path to the young Vampire after making her comment, probing look at him and Chasa included, and Simon was luring Josip to the door with promises of a drink, leaving Chasa and Darnies to quietly enter before them lest they bottleneck the door. Chasa casually dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trashcan just inside the door, being subtle about how she was still between Darnies and the man. That left Darnies closest to the Vampire girl and he was about to give her some hot tips about how not to be spotted by Hunters and endanger every Supernatural being around when the woman from the alley stepped through the broken window, sending his wards abuzz under his skin. This time, however an electric shock came with it as well and and his step stuttered just long enough for his knee to give out on him, making him lurch forward slight before he got his cane back under him for balance.

He'd only ever felt that when something old enters the bar. He had gotten a shock so bad when Aharon had walked through before Darnies had added him into the wards, that he had actually collapsed straight onto the ground and got a nosebleed for the next hour. Of course Aharon being a Seraphim has existed since damn near the beginning of time while this presence was just...old. The spasm in his spine lessened and he looked up with a visible wince, meeting the eyes of the Vampire in front of him as he took in the wards glowing around her. To his eyes only, of course. That is not something he remembers happening before.

Large, warm hands landed on his shoulders and helped him straighten up. "DarnDarn, you ok?" Chasa asked, looking at him in confusion.

He grunted as he was straightened and gave her a small smile in thanks. "I'm fine, just...curious. Why don't you go help that girl clean up in the bathroom, neither of them have been here before so they wouldn't know where the spare clothes are kept."

Chasa gave him a wary look, and one over her shoulder at the threat -who hasn't yet entered the building so Darnies can't get a read on him- for good measure before taking him around the two vampires and setting him down in a booth. As he settled in she turned to the two at the window. "Ladies? Time to powder our noses?" She joked with a grin.

Of course, poor Bonnie wasn't adept enough to notice what everyone else had already figured out. Her eyes widened at the mention of her appearance. She sat up in her chair, glanced down to her sleeves, a slight squint then frown. Then she quickly rolled her sleeves up to hide the cuffs, putting on a toothy grin. Her sentence started with a chuff of a laugh, trying to play the whole situation off.

"I dunno what you're going on about, man. It's just like, dirt or whatevs." Bo said, sounding far too relaxed than she realistically should be. After all, there were no real consequences now that she was some kind of immortal creature, right? Though she was always a fake it till you make it kind of gal. Even then, she seemed to behave well under pressure, always keeping her composure calm and cool. Didn't mean she disliked a good fight now and then, Bonnie was always ready to throw hands over a body by the 7/11.

She couldn't for the life of her get a read on this weirdo though, everyone around him seemed perturbed. Her senses were pretty shit, so trying to figure out what his deal was wouldn't help her in any way. Regardless, she could feel the tension in the air change, something was going to happen, and it didn't feel good. At least that one dude had the courage to try and distract him, but it didn't seem to sway the Hunter off her tail.

That was when the others started to approach her. The young vampire was silent, glancing between Chasa and Neirie, two seemingly competent if not kind of hot women. Their offering puzzled the young vampire, she raised an eyebrow as she glanced between the weird sharp-eyed man, and the other two. Seemed like they were all perturbed by the state of her sleeves, and Bonnie wasn't interested in making people uncomfortable. Though the slightly oblivious skater girl she was, she had no idea what the real threat of a Hunter figuring out her Supernatural tendencies was.

Her arms crossed over her chest, she fixed her beanie, then shrugged and stood up.

"Uhh, If it's some kinda bar rule thing, could just like, leave. I'm kind of short on clothes n'such. Unless you bros are like, totes bent up on my dirty sleeves then I'll get'em wet for you." Bonnie said with a short laugh, shoving her hands into the pockets of her baggy jeans. She would rather just get herself out of there if it was bothering people enough, again feigning true ignorance to the threat at hand. If anything that weirdo should be the one leaving, but Bonnie at least tried to know how to pick her fights. Therefore, the solution to her seemed to be to just get the heck out of dodge.

Vanja pursed his lips and took another drag from the cigarette. It seemed a new face entered the fray from seemingly out of nowhere. And here he was, surprised for a second time today; being caught unaware was becoming a common occurrence and he did not like it, not one little bit. This pale skinned newcomer looked like she should be hosting a z-grade horror movie marathon on some public access channel right about now, but here she was at this particular bar, at this exact time of day, making excuses for someone that Vanja was relatively sure was in fact a vampire; suspicious to say the least. From the puzzled expression that briefly crossed the tomboy’s face and the raised eyebrow it seemed that she did not know her would-be savior or she was pretending not to. At least to him the lack of subtlety practiced in this city was rather egregious. He could not help but watch the duo of the possible card cheat and the woman who was built like one of crazy Hoxha’s concrete bunkers move into the bar. She seemed to be extending her protection to the mouthy brat as well. Intriguing. As the lost member of The Addams Family also moved into the bar the possible mountebank made a show of stumbling. If this was a ruse Vanja would have to give the charlatan props for his commitment on portraying weakness to others.

Despite his interaction with Simon, Vanja still could not get a solid lead on the man. Perhaps he did not want to analyze this man? Perhaps he wanted the man to fool him? Perhaps something was stopping him from suspecting the man of possessing ulterior motives? Before he could continue down this line of thinking he remembered how his hand felt warm after shaking Simon’s hand, it certainly was nice. The resplendent looking man with the impeccable fashion sensed moved closer and for the briefest of seconds Vanja felt his body ceding control once again. He struggled against the urge to comply with Simon’s sweetly veiled commands. It almost felt like if he had a drink with the man all the contradictions he was currently experiencing would cease to exit. He was well aware that some cages only existed solely in the mind and they were often the most escape-proof traps. If he acquiesced, he was certain he would be imprisoned by the stranger and would be completely at his mercy. His head throbbed, and his heart once again beat rapidly, as if it were threatening to jump out of his chest. A jumble of pleasing memories were dredged to the forefront of his consciousness as his surroundings became clouded. He was about to begin to head into the bar proper when a stray thought loosened the proverbial vicegrip around his mind. As he felt the urge to follow the man into the bar rise up again, he exerted control over his body once more and adjusted his stance. He longed to hold the talisman he was gifted all those years ago in his hands, but was wary to revel a possible weakness in front of someone who could so easily penetrate his mental defenses.

He remembered watching in between ceaseless showings of nationalist propaganda and newsreels an animated movie from the west as a child; being Yugoslavia the film was heavily butchered by the Party censors, but still made a certain amount of sense at least to a youthful mind that was less concerned about plot cohesion and consistent characterization. He recalled there being an egotistical fox, a rascally rabbit, and a briar patch. He recalled that the rabbit in question used psychological manipulation to ensure the haughty fox threw him into a briar patch, where the nibble rabbit was able to make his escape unperturbed by the barbs unlike the fox. A very relevant parable to remember at this moment indeed.

Interesting how all the people, and he used the term loosely, he suspected of non-human origins seemed to have congregated inside the bar and were all too happy to invite him inside for a drink. Well played. Well played indeed. He never underestimated the ingenuity of those that were opposed to him like some of his colleagues were apt to do. He was the fox outside of the thicket right now, but unlike the animal from that old cartoon he felt he did not have the choice of not entering the thicket. Chances of him being pursued if he excused himself from this encounter were extremely high. Despite his own physical prowess, he was sure that if they desired to, they would be able to catch him with relative ease. Something told him that the gym-rat bodyguard never skipped cardio day and despite the fact that he was armed he doubted the few shots he would be able to fire off from the gun hidden in his jacket before she was on top of him would do much, other than further fueling her rage; he did not want to waste silver bullets on her on the off chance that she was immune from their effects. Older Vampires were also not something to mess around with in Minsk he saw on leap into the air and bring down a Soko G-4 Super Galeb attack aircraft. Powerful stuff. Younger inexperienced brood on the other hand. They were apt to be sloppy. He took a final drag on his cigarette before grinding it under his loafer. He stopped himself from bending down, retrieving the spent cigarette off the ground, and depositing in his pocket. While, it was best not to leave too much DNA evidence lying around, to pocket the butt would be a rather odd behavior to display in front of a rather suspicious crowd of onlookers. He chided himself for taking the smoke in the first place.

Behind his sunglasses he eyed the muscular bodybuilder and the surprisingly pale woman enticing the immature woman further into the establishment. He removed his glasses and attempted to lock eyes with Bonnie before she could be escorted away, his gaze was cold and piercing. She seemed to be the weakest link in the chain composure-wise, and he wanted to exert a little pressure on her before her departure into the unknown depths of the establishment. He wanted the little rabbit to act on her emotions and leave the safety of the underbrush. It was not an easy task as he felt mental pressure to stare into the eyes of Simon that handsome devil, if he did just that, he felt he would be lost in those eyes in more ways than one. He felt his head uncomfortably pulsate once again.

He smirks at the mouthy girl as he causally clasps his hands behind his back. “Cocky yet condescending, what an unfortunate symptom of youth. I am not particularly surprised because frankly when it comes down to it reprobates like you are all the same; you all think you are so special. Therefore, you delude yourselves into thinking that you will never get caught. You might believe you are all invincible and unbeatable, but your confidence is severely misplaced. You can play the idiot in front of these people all you want, but it does not fool me girl. Not for a singular second. As I know what you have been doing child. Your actions as of late are plastered across the faded posters that blanket every crevasse of the city like a perverse sheet of snow reminding all citizens of the coldness that lurks in the heart of one aberration…an outlier. Someone who exists on the fringe of a society they cannot belong to, prevented so by their recalcitrant attitude and anti-social urges. Where does one draw the line between self-preservation and satisfying the cravings of twisted mind? Hmm? Go ahead use the washroom to rid your shirt of the dirt was it? Or were you going to lick your wounds from the bar brawl? Or tend to your injuries from picking up shards of glass? Funny the card playing aficionados I came across never mentioned seeing you? Odd. Regardless, I wonder while you are freshening up per say could you perhaps see if you could cleanse the stains on your soul…the ones that go deeper than surface level? Should you still possess a soul that is. I am sure you have a ready stock of justifications and convenient excuses for your actions towards those you wronged, perhaps you even believe them to a certain extent. Ignorance even feigned ignorance can be blissful. It can even alleviate a guilty conscious or so I have been told. Enlighten me, did you clue those unfortunate to cross your path of their ultimate destiny or did you relish in the surprised expressions that overtook their faces when they finally realized what you truly were? Did you wet your face with artificial tears afterwards? Or were they like defenseless lambs lead to the slaughter by one who is no longer emotionally phased by their own capacity for violence? Feel free to deny the truth and raise your defenses, but we both know what you are behind the carefully crafted mask that you adorn. Others might provide you with the excuses you need to maintain your façade, but we are both very aware of what happened. You and me.”

Despite the rather casual look of his posture, Vanja had a reason to lower his hands behind his back. In this rather relaxed stance, his left hand was now well within reach to the sliver knife he had concealed in his back pocket and he was ready to deploy it should the need arise. He fully expected the impudent brat to make a move on him. In fact he was counting on it. He takes a step forward with hands still behind his back but does not cross the threshold into the bar proper. One observing could reasonably deduce that he is avoiding doing so for the time being.

Silence reigned over the bar as Josip's speech unraveled. There was no scraping of utensils against plates, no card shuffling or tiles clacking, no glasses clinking nor feet tapping. Just absolute silence as fear and worry permeated the air.

Had anyone's sights been on Darnies's booth instead of the man still outside the bar proper, they would see his form hunched angrily as he stared blankly at the table before him. The air around him seemed to thicken and gain weight, feeling almost oppressive. But it also felt alive, almost like you could be suffocating for an eternity under the air yet never find the release of death. It radiated out from him slowly, but soon the whole bar could feel the weight of his energy as he stood and made his way slowly to the doorway with heavy clacks of his cane.

Chasa watched him pass her and followed up his rear, ever the stalwart support he needs, and ever ready to be his shield despite him not needing one. Her body vibrated with his energy and was responding in turn, her gray eyes shifting to a natural green and her tattoo shimmering in its place on her chest. It was nothing compared to Darnies, however. When the Witch looked to the Hunter his eyes, normally such a dark brown, were alight with a bright green glow. Lightning seemed to dance across his pupils and cast shadows across his face, which was disturbingly blank. The skin below his eye seemed to crack and dissolve, exposing a tattoo that was no longer thought to exist. The wards shimmered between him and the man like a wall of glass casting rainbow light.

"Well, you certainly seem to have us all figured out," He began, head tilted to the side like he was entertaining an unruly child rather than a man over twice his age. There was a strange echo beginning in his voice as the air around him continued to vibrate and spark. "Obviously, formalities have been dropped. That's not the fastest a human has thrown himself into a lion's den but you most certainly were attempting to contest that record, hm?" The latch of his cane was flipped and he quickly slid the blade out; electricity sparked off the metal as it passed the threshold and wards, the energy making the blade hum with life as it was slowly leveled to Josip's chest.

"As we have dropped formalities, I don't believe I'll give you any other chance," His voice warped again, now no longer seeming to be just his; several voices spilled out of a single mouth as the voices of Witches long since gone joined in a chorus. "You have no welcome here, you have no prey here and you have no safety here. Should you choose to stay and continue these baiting harassment attempts you will find yourself dealt with swiftly and with extreme prejudice, as you seem to hold so much prejudice of your own already."

Simon had, amidst all the... drama, frozen like a deer in the headlights. So Josip was pretty obviously a hunter and the other man - someone who he'd mostly heard called 'DarnDarn' but whose real name Simon believed was Darnies - was, for lack of better words, escalating the situation. Well, Josip technically escalated first, but regardless. Simon didn't really know what Darnies was - Simon always felt it impolite to ask, and didn't know the man well anyway - but clearly was ready to employ some dangerous magicks of some sort if the situation were to escalate further. Hell, he could feel the energy coming off the man from where he was standing.. The hunter likely wouldn't do anything rash - surely not with so many obvious enemies here? - but Simon felt like he had to intervene.

"I-I'm sure my friend here realizes he should leave," Simon said. He heard his own voice skip on the first word and winced. First rule of the glamour - alway appear confident, and if possible, beconfident. He could feel the glamour weakening already - the hunter was clearly confident himself, suspicious of everyone here, and Simon had obviously tried to cover for a vampire. The glamour wasn't gone, but Simon would have to work to keep the man under his influence.

Stepping out of the bar slowly, his hands up nonconfrontationally, he continued, "With so many of you in there and just us out here, what could he possibly do?" The wording was a risk - not the bit where he was outnumbered, which was obviously true, but the you and us parts. Simon was not on the Hunter's side and he was Fae, but not including himself with the supernaturals inside and instead with the hunter was meant to be a little more comforting for the man. Of course, if he saw the hypocrisy of the statement, he would likely become more suspicious, thus weakening the glamour more, but gambling wasn't about taking the safe choices.

Taking another step towards the hunter, Simon added, "And besides, let's be honest - none of us want to cause a scene right now. It wouldn't end well for either side, really." Maybe not a guaranteed fact, but stating it like a fact could help the glamour convince the man that it was. Of course, the glamour wasn't just to convince the man of this at this point; it was to convince those in the bar as well. Simon was close enough that if the man did try anything he would likely be the closest target. Did Simon have anything to defend himself with? No. Had Simon killed men with his bare hands before? Yes, but it had been a long time, and he'd rather not pick up that particular sport again.

Simon wasn't quite sure why he was defending the hunter. Killing him was technically the most straightforward way to ensure the bar and its patrons' identities were secure. On the other hand, hunters often worked in groups or at least kept in contact with other hunters. If this one went missing here, it was entirely possible that it would only bring more pressure. On the other hand, letting him leave alive would 100% bring pressure, so that wasn't really a valid reason. Simon had to be honest with himself; it was because he was Fae, and Fae are curious and arrogant. He could smell old Fae scents on the man, but judging by his speech and choice of target, plus the fact he evidently hadn't met many Fae since, he was likely a vampire hunter, not a fae one. How had this man - a hunter, known a Fae?

~ Neirie ~

Although she had long ago forgotten what it felt like to breathe, she sucked in a sharp, right 'breath'. As the shocking feeling began to subside, she lingered her eyes over the young man and his lovely hulking 'friend'. As he faltered slightly and met her gaze she realized whatever kind of trap she had stumbled across was most likely of his creation. Thoughts flew around her mind as she wondered what in the world he could actually be, what the woman who guarded him so precariously was, whether them now knowing that she was an elder vampire was a terrible thing or not, and whether she should scatter like the young vampire girl in front of her was suggesting. All the while trying to keep the several other scents in the building that now assaulted her senses from overloading her brain.
And then 'Josip' began to speak.
Like the fingers of an ice elemental sliding down the marrow in one's bones, his words practically tore at her skin they were laced with such anger and disgust. Though he had no supernatural abilities so to speak, he appeared to have spent years honing his words and speech like a knife. Meant for those of her kind. If not for the cold set in her bones ages ago she may have actually shivered where she stood.
Instead she held back a snarl by digging one fang into her bottom lip and without showing any outward movement, slid her batpack around to the front placing one hand on her bow handle. Her other hand, still out and in its sleeve, continued to feel the remnants of feeling like she had been practically electrocuted. She curled her finger open and closed, trying to shake away the feeling as nonchalant as possible.
As Josip came towards the end of his judgement and accusations of the girl before them, it became more and more clear that he was in fact a man of the sort others called Hunters. Though he was getting towards the older side of age by humans standards, this man was far from weak, or naive. He had most likely been in this line of work for most of his life and likely had the scars to match the experiences. She wouldn't want to have him waiting for her in a dark alley somewhere unexpectedly... And She's an Elder Vampire. Not nearly as old or as powerful as those they call the First Bloods. Or even the few generations after known as the Ancients, or Ancient One's. Which she's always believed her master was fairly close to being. She would still feel uncomfortably meeting up with this human in any situation she want previously aware of.
Her grip tightened around her bow as well as her other hand into a clenched fist. Though her attention, senses and guard were aimed towards Josip, her eyes stayed glued to the young man Neirie had heard his faithful bodyguard call "DarnDarn". Watching to see if her slightly sudden appearance, which had visually affected him, was an issue for him. She had come here on rumors of assistance. Talks of a Being that could make items to help her hunt down her Master. His true location. Not of that had practically gone stale.
Someone who could provide aid or tools to help her against the monster. Could this boy truly be the one she'd traveled so far for? Though his scent was intense and intriguing, she could have sworn there was an ever so slight hint of human among it. Yet different. The fact that she couldn't pin point it was driving her almost mad.
While also on her mind was that Josip had a fresh yet stale scent same as the elegant and vicious aroma coming from the 'Man' called Simon. She tilted her head ever so slightly as Simon began to seemingly defend Josip. Were they actually together? Was this fairly blatantly human man in cahoots with a supernatural? Is this how he was actually able to find the bar? How if he was actually a hunter could he let a supernatural live? And why on the earth would any supernatural willingly help him?
Neirie actually blinked. This Josip had been fairly reserved when scaling the scene of the window break. Though he seemed to contemplate "DarnDarn" and his guardians visages, and seemed to be, if strangely, friendly with Simon. He didn't appear to become hostile until after noticing the young vampires sleeves and he became even more agitated once Neirie began defending her. As her glued eyes turned in almost slow motion to the man behind her, she peaked an ever so quick glimmer.
He was a Vampire Hunter. And he most likely was there specifically for her. Perhaps not her alone. But any who might call her kind kin. Working with Simon or not, this man was dangerous and probably more than prepared for a fight. A fight meant to seriously injure or kill HER.
Just as she was about to yank her bow into full size she felt that same electric feeling from before except it wasn't aimed towards herself, and it was a lot stronger. She snapped her eyes back to DarnDarn as he seemed to almost glow with a crackling green energy. As he began to speak Neirie could hear the power of several voices flow from his words. He senses were barraged once again with a multitude of his strange scent and she winced slightly at the mere force of it.
Whether out of training or habit she instantly stepped in front of the girl with her feet spread apart and her bow drawn between her legs. She faced Josip and locked her full attention and guard on his scent and visage. If she didn't have to fight she wouldn't. But she was ready if need be and she at least knee better than to get close to that man.

Bonnie couldn't take the silence and seriousness for too long. Watching everyone else react equally as seriously, the young vampire was bemused by the whole thing. She listened to the hunter's speech, her red eyes darting between the others who responded to it. That one dude seemed to start sparking, eyes turning green. The air just boiled with tension.

A short pause ensued, the lack of noise was deafening and eerie. A confused expression on her face as the gothic woman stepped in front of her, Bo looked down at her sleeves again as the Hunter mentioned them with such vigor. What was his deal anyways? She had no idea, as far as she was aware he just had a bone to pick with everyone in the bar. She knew about Hunters, or at least heard about them in passing, but never encountered one herself. Bo had started to wonder if they were even a real thing. Luckily for her, she was just so oblivious to her past transgressions she had no clue how many times she narrowly missed getting herself killed. The girl was smart, for sure, but her carefree nature allowed for all sorts of shenanigans.

Soon, a smile forms on her face. Bonnie bursts into a short fit of snorts and snickering, a sharp break to the silence.

"Whatever, dude. You guys are like super fuckin' weird." She commented through her laughter, a hand raised up in correlation to her words while the other held her chest. Her beanie just barely peeking out from behind Neirie as she shoved her hands back in her pockets and started to walk towards the back door, the one she came out of. "I'm just gonna scram, bros. Too much fuckin' drama here, I swear." Bonnie commented. Clearly she had no recollection or understanding of how dangerous Vanja likely was. Though there were 3-4 other people around her who would likely step in if he tried anything, she didn't seem to care much for the theatrics. This would surely come to bite her in the ass later, unbeknownst to her.