The room was dark and silent, the boarded up windows rattled slightly with the wind of the storm outside. Tired, dark green eyes looked down at the floor, spattered with blood darker than the shadows of this room. Even the stray beam of light on it from a dropped flashlight could bring only a faint shine, and the barest hint of a ruddy brown. Barely perceptible.

A man in a trenchcoat inhaled deeply, and then let his shoulders drop with a heavy sigh. There was no joy here. Only regret and frustration will linger from tonight, with a brief interlude of relief, for having stopped yet more unfortunates from being taken and turned into cultists and free labor. He would have to remember to unlock the door to their sleeping quarters later. And leave a bible.

Dealing with cultists was always difficult. He can't help people who don't want to be helped, but he can always direct them to a place they can go when they realize their leader is gone. The man personally wasn't sure if those people could be saved, but the book says that it is not his job to decide that, so he figures he may as well show them to some good people. Maybe the big man has as big of a heart as they say.

He would like to believe that...but then why, if he is God, did he not make the whole world into the Garden of Eden....and not a playground for demons to tempt and destroy his children? Even this body.... this empty shell was once made with the flesh of a human.

An empty shell that he now walks over to collect his shell casings.

Depositing the shells into their designated pouch, and pulling out a hankerchief, he inspects the edge of his tactical knife while wiping it off. "Donagan Rainolf. Who knew today had to be the day? Your birthday. But, this was when the storm finally rolled in. Consider it...a birthday present, from me. Happy Birthday, and may God have mercy on your soul. If it still exists."

The man tucks the hankerchief back into his pocket, and slides the knife into its sheathe with a faint click breaking the silence next.

"I need a drink."

The glass clinked against the sealed decanter as she placed them on the tray. A scowl pulled at her lips. Patience, she reminded herself, she'll have what she's after soon enough. She just needed to keep her cool for a while longer. Her eyes moved to the ridiculous maid outfit she was wearing. "Depraved fucking demons..."

Picking up the tray, she went from the kitchen towards the study. Such lavish house, filled with useless artefacts. It lost its shine when these worshippers repossessed it. Doors locked from the outside, cultists praying behind each. A shiver ran her spine, not one of fear or discomfort, no. One of utter disgust. It's a wonder she'd been able to wear the mask this long and not be found out. Not much longer.

She pushed down the door handle, the golden brown liquid in the decanter swayed side to side. She sweetened her voice, reaching for the light switch. "Mister Reinolf, you're sitting in the dark again." With a click the light flooded the room. She froze, eyes on the corpse surrounded by blood. Slowly, her gaze moved to the man in a trenchcoat, processing, assessing.

Tears welled her eyes, a soft smile tugged at her lips, "He's dead... you killed the demon."

The light flicked on, activating fight or flight. Is it a cultist? Second demon? In a fluid motion, he turns and readies his gun. He had three more shots left in his gun, and immediately readies himself to count down.

But nothing happens, except maybe the ice settling in its glass.

And then she smiled.

He's wary; still uncertain.

The clock that had gone unseen and unheard this entire time, suddenly becomes the loudest thing in the room.

"He's dead... you killed the demon."

He stands a little straighter, lowering the gun slowly, but still ready to snap back up.

Still, nothing happened, and he finally has the time to have a closer look at her. His eyes linger on the tray for a moment. This was one of those times that could make some wonder if there really was a god. But he teeters on the edge of his suspicion, and his battle senses. Is the battle truely over? or is it just a lull in the action? What was her relationship with this demon?

He looks straight into her eyes again, another long moment as he tries to ascertain her mental state, "...is it poisoned?"

She quickly wiped her eyes with a hand, "Poison? Under the nose of a demon? That'll be suicide." She stepped into the room, careful to not disturb the body or the pooling blood. Placing the tray softly on the desk, as if afraid to make sudden sounds, she turned to close the door. "You can have the drink. You look like you need it." The woman straightened the short dress, clearly frustrated by its lack of cooperation, before reaching for the decanter. It opened with a soft pop, the spiced liquid running over the ice with cracks. She slid a coaster closer to the man, placing the drink neatly on top.

"I've been trapped in this damned place for three months," she started as her eyes darted about the room, "They abducted me just as I got home from working the bar in a club. Then they stuck me in this awful, revealing dress and made me serve them. Said they'd sacrifice me if I didn't listen." She leaned back against the desk, pushing a stray lock of black hair behind her ear only for it to slip forward again, "So I listened. Tried to be friendly..." Her thoughts trailed off.

The wind howled outside, the scent of rain thick in the air. Lightning flashed brightly through the boards, followed by a boom of thunder. Her dark eyes were drawn to the boarded windows, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if chilled to the bone, "There's three more, you know. Involved in this ring. I heard them talking. Saw them. Each have their own following. Those poor sods don't know any better. Most believe themselves saved." Again, her eyes settled on the corpse, "Fuck, he's one ugly bastard..."

He inches closer as she prepares the drink, showing some knowledge of how to handle a demon. Interesting. Or at least a good bluff. Finally, he holsters his gun, waiting until she steps away to take the glass. He would have been happy to sit in a silence, even an awkward one, and have the time to think. However, the 'maid' began to speak to him, and it would be rather improper and unwise to ignore her.

So, he listened as she recounted her story. It strikes him as odd that someone would want someone unwilling to serve them food and drink. There are too many openings for betrayal, and too few openings for conversion. Bringing the glass up to his lips, he instead took a deep inhale of its scent. Whiskey, cinnamon and orange. Possibly the expensive stuff. Of course that's where his worshippers' money would go. Demon scum.

But beyond that, the demon hunter snuck another look at the girl as she keeps speaking, and frowns to himself. He doesn't like her story, but he can tell she doesn't like demons either. Finally, he takes a big drink and tilts his head back, letting his eyes close as the smoothness of it coats his throat in a way nothing else could. And on exhale he could taste and smell everything. he wasnt sure how, but there were floral backnotes. Almost rose-like. A damn good whiskey, and a damn shame.

With a sigh, he takes a much smaller sip to follow up. Finally he speaks again, each sentence followed by another sip, "I know he's in a ring, and have done some research. It's going to be tough. I don't have nearly enough to attack them quickly before they find out about this hit, and suspect a demon hunter. The doors are all unlocked, its up to everyone to walk through them."

He looks over at her again, "Including yourself."

His eyes drift down to the corpse on the floor. It had stopped looking human sometme during their confrontation, "yea, they always look like that before they die."

She keeps him in the corner of her eye as she speaks. He's smart and she's not particularly fond of spinning tall tales. This will fall apart soon, but she means to keep him calm. She's in no mood for some pointless grandiose fight. Less so in this dress. This hunter's appearance has surely made things more complicated for her now. Sure, it could be easier if he just rolled over and died, but she finds herself intrigued. Maybe, just maybe, this man could be an advantage.

He holsters his gun and she can feel herself relax a bit. She wasn't even aware of her stiff shoulders until they went away. This man also seemed to relax some after a sip or two. Good, she wanted a peaceful exchange. She listens to him speak. So, he's alone. Or, at least, he works alone.

Her eyes moved to the door when he mentioned them unlocked, "I... don't have anywhere to go anymore. They completely destroyed my apartment and I don't feel safe knowing they know where to find me." She tightens her arms around her, shivering as another rumbling sounds outside. "I'm sure they'll kill me next time. Or worse. They don't take kindly to escapees."

"You hunters," she started, gaze falling on the glass in his hands, "You're the honorable type, right? If you can help me, I might be able to help you in turn. See... I heard many of their conversations during the demons' meetups. There might be plenty I could tell you that could make things easier and safer for you. But that would put me in a lot of danger. I'm sure they would figure it out. At the risk of sounding like one of them," she motions with a hand to the corpse, "Why don't we make a deal? Help for help?"

She continues talking, and of course, he keeps listening - alternating between small sips, and the occasional glass swirl. He still did not like her earlier story. Nor does he particularly like her attempts to position herself closer to him. But at least her positioning had some good points to it.

Finally, he looks up again, "You're a manipulator."

He finishes the glass.

"...That is the the only reason I can imagine you were able to serve drinks, and still appear to me like a victim still aware of herself, rather than a heartbroken cultist. The terminology, "tried to be friendly', by the bye, does not come off as innocent in this case as you might want it to." He set the glass down on the desk, pausing enough to tap his fingers against the table. Before he spoke, he wanted to collect his thoughts again.

Then, he refilled the glass, and took another long drink.

The next part came with a faint grunt, "I don't know if I would call us 'honorable'. Though, there are few benefits to this lifestyle, so it certainly attracts...a particular type of person." Another pause, and another sip as he contemplates his next words, "Normally, I would point you towards a local church...but, if they know your face, I can't allow myself to put those good people in trouble."

Yea, it was easy to see how they could be targeted to get to one person. If he was going to try to help them, he couldn't do that. She sighs heavily, then looks back at her. "If you come with me, you will live where I tell you to, and learn to keep yourself safe when not directly under their nose."

With a sigh, she pushes herself up and away from the desk. A manipulator, he says. Clearly not a good one to be spotted this quickly. "I'm in a rather... precarious situation at the moment. This was an unfortunate willing captivity type of thing. Or it started that way, at least." She steps past the body, on to a display case on the far side of the room, "My servitude to save another. A dear friend. But I was a fool for believing this fucker's word. He said he'd set them free if I served him." She opens the glass door, picking up what appears to be a fox's skull, probably left behind from the true owners, "My friend's soft. They'd crumble under the gaze of a monster like this."

She tightly grips the skull in her hand, jaws clenched, "And now they're missing. So, I decided to bide my time. Gather all the information I could. To see if I could figure out where my friend could've been sent. Then, I overheard this demon speak of his so-called stock..." she turns to look at the hunter, "Stock? Like a fucking pig!"

Taking a deep breath, she calms herself. She doesn't want to come across as hostile towards the one with the gun and knife, "The church said they couldn't help me. That, even if they could, it would take time. I didn't have time. My friend didn't have time. I had no choice. I acted out of desperation. But now they know me, and my friend is no closer to safety."

She puts the skull back on its spot, "You need to understand... I can't return to a normal life. I know too much. I've seen too much. Heard too much. Until this ring is wiped from this earth, I cannot rest. I won't be safe until they bleed at my feet."

The hunter sighs heavily, losing his interest in being slow about his drink. He knocks it back - if this little dance of their was going to give him a headache anyways, it might as well be a hangover. It's a damn shame.

Finally, he holds up his hands, as if in surrender, "I said you can come with me, I just have rules about it."

After a moment, he sets the glass down and points at the decanter, "...do you know what this brand is?"

Getting back on his feet straight, he checks himself again. It seems rather lazy, but he is more focused than he appears. It's just that his senses are also being trained outward, to sense any strangeness or intruders on their conversation. So far, all he hears is the rain and thunder outside.

"If you do have a friend that got dragged into this, I'm sorry. I got a list of his properties, but he might have sold her...or worse. And if she is still alive, it could take some time to bust this ring up...as soon as two weeks, or as long as a year...per." He rolls his shoulders, " I'm not thinking it's going to take that long though"

She was unsure if she found this back and forth tiring, or entertaining. She had spent most of her life in a small circle due to her rather unique situation. She was used to the quiet life. But no more. She had a goal that took priority.

"My friend may be soft, but they're smart. They will know when to keep quiet and listen, and when to move. I have faith they still live." She almost wanted to chuckle at the word. Faith. Blind belief. Instead, she smiled softly at herself, "I have to believe that."

She produces a tie from a pocket, tying her hair back in a long ponytail, eying the hunter's change in stance. This was the first time she spoke with a hunter. It was rather... exhilarating.

"Give me your rules, and I'll get you more. There are two sealed bottles I can get you on the way out. We can't linger around here for much longer."

"Faith.." he repeated softly, a bit amused, but only given the situation. Shaking his head, and having confirmed everything was where it was supposed to be, he ducked under the desk and pulled out a lumpy duffel bag he had slid into the room on entry,

"Faith is a very powerful thing...if you have it, keep it. And pray that your friend has faith in being rescued. I've seen that it can have very real effects on some people's ability to stay alive."

He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder, straightening out his coat in one smooth motion, and headed out the door, assuming she was in tow. As they passed by the sleeping quarters, he methodically laid a bible in the hallway, just far enough to be immediately discoverable once the door has been open. Then, he would unlock the door and move onto the next. Unknown to any except him and whomever would open said book, there were two pieces of paper just behind the cover. One was a written notice that their savior was a false prophet, and a child of God taken from the holy father and twisted by a demon. The other one was a pamphlet for the nearest church, with directions.

As he laid out these books, he spoke loud enough to get through the doors, "I know all of you are up and praying. I have a command for you, count to sixty, and then leave."

And with no other word, he began to leave the hallway and move through the house much faster. "ANd before you ask" he starts gruffly, still jogging, "I meant I had opened the doors metaphorically, but now they're really open!"

Before they left, he reminded himself, he had to let her grab the bottles of whiskey, so once they were away from the sleeping quarters, he looked over at her, waiting for her to take lead for the moment.

Following him through the hall, she was strangely amused. She watched him place bibles on the same spot at every door. She's not heard of hunters doing this for cultists before. She wondered if all of them did it, it only this man. Most cultists didn't give a damn about life outside of the demon they worshipped, and they certainly didn't want to be "saved". She also wondered if the hunters knew that, once the cultists realize their lord had been murdered, most of these men and women kill themselves, believing their souls will be guided by that of their lord. Some lucky few will find themselves migrating into a different demon's cult. Even fewer find escape. Most of the people here believe in their lords. This was their one place of escape, acceptance and safety. At the measly price of their mortal soul.

Just as she wanted to tell him to wait, he stopped. The whiskey. It may soften him up a bit more, but she somehow doubted that. "In the pantry," she stated, turning to the kitchen. She disappeared into the pantry for a long moment, reappearing with two bottles. They were still sealed, a black and silver label printed into the glass.

They opened the front door, the storm raging outside. She was not looking forward to getting drenched and chilled in this thing that could barely be called an outfit. Sometimes, she felt the slightest bit jealous over the demons' thick skin. They were barely ever affected by temperatures and weather. As she stood there, bracing herself to step out, a door slammed shut somewhere in the rear of the house, making her head whip back. She thought for a second, then grabbed the hunter's wrist, pulling him outside, "We have to go. Now!" She clutched the bottles under the other arm, forgetting she wanted to give them to him to put in his bag. There was no more time to dally around this house.

As he worked, he had a million thoughts on his mind. He had to make sure he did things the way he wanted to here. Had to remember the fastest route out of the house. Had to remember the route to his hidden car. Had to go through the checklist of the emergency accomodations he had set up, incase he had ever needed to a disposable location, or house someone. He had never thought he would, but that's what a 'just in case' is good for.

Then it was time to leave. A couple bottles snatched on the way and he had been about to gesture to where he had the car hidden. He had made a mental note to pull the towel and blanket to the front for her, he knew she was going to get soaked - and in that outfit, that was asking for hypothermia.

But his gesture was interupted by the sound of a door shutting suddenly. He could feel the change in air pressure behind him, as well as the tension in his new companion's body. Before anything happened next, she was pulling him out into the storm, "hold on, go left!" he pointed towards the bushy edge of the property, where the road met the driveway.

Jumping into the old beat up sedan, he slid the key in and as soon as it purred to life, he peeled out.

He only remembered to breathe again once they got onto the road.

"Alright girl, grab yourself a towel from the back, and start talking."

He shook his head, shifting gears as he went to keep up the speed, just on the edge of where it would be illegal. It would be really bad to have to murder a cop for seeing Adam disheveled with demon blood on him.

She had to act fast, otherwise the both of them would be in immediate danger. If that man caught her with a hunter, she'd definitely be convenient collateral. She shot left, her grip around his wrist tight. Fuck, she'd completely forgotten of this meeting the demon had set up. That was too close for comfort.

Her heart was racing in her chest as the car spad off, her thoughts were almost faster than her heart. She snapped back when he spoke and only then noticed her own shivering. She leans over the seat, no longer giving a damn about what the dress revealed, and grabs a towel. She dries her face and arms first. She'll have to give him some answers after that.

"They call him the Venator. He goes by Cain." She moves on to her legs, "He meets with the demons when they suspect they're being targeted."

Sitting back in the seat now, calmed, she almost enjoyed how on edge he was. A dangerous hair trigger. Like a reactive dog, ready to attack at any sudden movement.

"To sum it up... he hunts hunters."

He smiles wryly, against his grit teeth, as his newest passenger began to spill the bean. His knuckles paling as he grips the wheel tighter, "Well then, now he is going to be very certain that Rainolf was being targeted...a hunter of hunters huh? How exciting."

His sarcastic tone could not be missed, but he keeps his full atention on driving, occassiocally looking up in the rear view mirror, now that he has some reason to believe he might be followed. "So, this Cain fella. Real thematic name. Don't suppose you're next going to tell me they broke the seal on Lilith next, are ya?"

He shakes his head to himself, and pulls into their destination just as a fog was starting to roll in. It was a small parkinglot with a motel, and a few surrounding houses, just a small cluster on the outside edge of the next town. The night is so quiet that even getting out and shutting the door makes sound that echos ever so slightly. The man starts to move towards the office, but stops, waiting for her to exit, and speaks in a low voice, "...We should exchange names. I am Adam."

He chuckles inwardly, for he realizes his own name is very thematic given the situation. ANd now there was a chance that Adam would get hunted by Cain. He'll have to wait to write that down, but for now, he awaited her responce.

Noting his expression, she couldn't help but feel that strange sense of excitement. She clenched her jaw against a smile, trying to figure out exactly why this excitement was. Could it be this dangerous situation? Running from a dangerous man next to another dangerous man. Could it be because she was so close to a hunter? Someone who has, no doubt, killed plenty. Killing does not come easy for most. But killing demons seemed a logical thing for most humans. Especially those involved with the church. Was it that she was telling only half-truths to someone who'd surely not hesitate to remove her from the picture? Or was it simply due to this sudden leap into the curious unknown?

"As far as I understood, Rainolf was still only looking to hire him. I'm not aware of a deal or agreement having been made yet." She looks out the window, the darkness of the night obscured by the storm, rain hammering down all around. "That said, I don't know if Cain's drive is the money or the thrill."

She almost rolls her eyes at his comment, leaning her head against the window, the cold of the glass strangely calming, "The irony of the name is not lost on me. And I don't think even these demons want Lilith to be free. I can only imagine their fear of her."

They pulled up to a motel. It looked like a typical place married men would take their hookers for five minutes of "fun", and parolees would come to "medicate" their headaches. She follows him out of the car, the chill of the night immediately taking the little heat her body managed to work up during the ride here. Her hair was still wet and her useless clothes stuck to her skin. She grabs the two bottles under an arm again, considering chugging the one to warm up from the inside.

Adam? She scoffed, this had to be some elaborately planned story or something. Biblical names were becoming all the more popular in recent years, with the increase in demonic worship opposing the church and all that. Unnecessary. "Lucy."