The Stranger had arrived on the isle in the usual manner. He had chartered out from Egjora, other than speaking at length with a few officials upon arrival, had mostly kept to himself. This did not stop the local folk from gossiping in hushed tones, however. The man was already trusted about as much as any other non-Hiafaen outsider, but apart from this inherent caution, it was agreed upon that he possessed a curious air of…wrongness about him. Just what was off about him was up for debate, but it was decided that the general feeling of unease was similar to that of encountering one of the many blasphemously created creatures in the world.

Lazarus, as he was called, sat in the tavern amidst some of the very gossip that had been circulating. He either didn't notice, or didn't seem to mind. Slouching with his boots propped upon a table, chair leaned against a support, he slowly nursed a traditional spiced whiskey, created to help keep the cold of the island at bay. He wore a long, black coat, and a matching broad-rimmed hat. By the way he sat, most of his dark-bearded pale umber face was obscured.

"…heard he just sat on his knees on the blood-stained planks for hours. Aldis said he saw frost form on him, as though he were conjuring our cryomancies."

"I stopped by there and heard him talking to someone. I looked in the window, and there wasn't a soul. He was just sitting in the room by himself."

"I don't know what the Elder meant. He doesn't look dangerous. Man isn't even armed."

Midst the chattering, both hushed and loose of tongue, another Hiafae, the captain of the guard, no less, had quietly entered and sat across from the odd cleric.

"I have news, but I don't reckon it's what you were hoping for," Lazarus spoke in a deep, methodical drawl of a voice, without looking up or moving nary an inch. Sensing the man's tense reception, he downed the rest of the whiskey whilst moving his feet from the table, and slammed the empty glass upon it rather suddenly, making the elf jump. "Relaaax…Deanuris, was it?" the cleric coaxed, leaning forward in his chair. "I see the whole case here has you and most folk here pretty thoroughly spooked. Rightfully so. This has Death written all over it."
By the way the word was uttered, it was understood that Lazarus spoke of either the deity, or her realm, rather than the state of being. This did nothing to ease the captain's mind.

Deanuris shifted even more uncomfortably in his seat when forced to meet the cleric's gaze - swirling, dark, and fiery minglings of Autumn hues. They were of an unnatural sort, but Lazarus was by no means the first or the only one to have eyes such as those. There was an obscure legend behind them, but rare as they were, not many knew it anymore.

The eyes were a mark.

"Beware the men that walk the paths of the October Country, for they were born dead, and risen for the hunt."

…Or something of that nature. Words often get distorted as they're passed along through time.

There was not a wizard alive that didn't know what the October Country was; Though, that wasn't what it was widely called. It was known as a sort of artificial conduit plane, apart from Death or Purgatory. The Dead mingled there. Sometimes Eldritch entities, and many other curiosities. It was said to be a realm that one could get to when bordering on dying. Some said you could dream yourself there. The only thing that was truly known was the unknown - the architect of the plane itself. Not even those touched by the realm itself had this knowledge.

"Why should the Goddess take innocents of our own….and so violently?" Deanuris questioned skeptically, and a touch too loudly, as though trying to absolve himself of any blaspheming this man had done by indicting Death itself.

This elicited a dark chuckle from the cleric. "I don't assume to know or understand the intentions of the forces at play in the things I do, captain. I only know what I see, and how to correct the problems. The Dead have been sent on their merry way. I never said it was Death, but it definitely came from her realm. There was another, independent killer involved, but I don't believe that is an important factor just yet…"

Lazarus heaved an exasperated sigh as he mulled over the details in his mind. It was often necessary to mince words for those with narrow understanding. The whole thing would likely be called off, and he would be out of coin if the Elder believed they were interfering with Death's dealings. Even if they were, he saw no reason to be petrified with fear.

"Demons from those realms often leave behind signatures and also lesser familiars to watch over where they have been if they're lingering in the area. I found both of these things. I don't think I was meant to. I have reason to believe this one was also acting independently of her Goddess. The Watcher spotted me, so I reckon I won't have to try too terribly hard to draw it in and see what all the fuss is about."

—–

Upon exiting the tavern, Lazarus was met with a particularly nasty snow storm. He took a scarf from the lining of his coat, and wrapped it about his neck and face. He seemed to have no destination in mind, but instead leisurely meandered until he was beyond the borders of the city, humming a tune quietly to himself.

The snow swirled in small cyclones around Jazrael as she traipsed through the near blizzard conditions. She had, only moments ago, exited a small alchemist's shop - in which she had, of course, made the alchemist a deal he could not refuse. His business had not been doing so well for him, and with a bit of demonic urging, the alchemist had (unknowingly, of course) made a deal with the literal devil.

Though the cold did not bother the demon, she instinctively drew her cloak tighter around herself, the hood covering much of her features. Her crimson hair was tucked safely with the fur of the garment, rather than whipping wildly in the wind. A smirk seemed permanently plastered on her lips as she walked, no real destination in mind. As she walked, she contemplated the deal that had been made.

It hadn’t been an assignment from the Reaper - oh no, this was something she had done all on her own. In her mind, she thought Death would be pleased with her for going above and beyond, but she had never contemplated that perhaps she hadn't covered her tracks all too well this time. She was unaware that at that very moment, there were people with a knowledge above that of the common mortal who had found hints here and there of what she had been up to. Her tussle in the street with a madman hadn't exactly kept the happenings at the bookstore under wraps.

She was leaving the main area of the city, looking for a sheltered area in which to cast a gate to travel back to Inferos to report her success to the Reaper. A figure in the distance, however, distracted her - what was someone doing this far out of the main part of the city in a storm like this? Inhaling deeply, she smelled the scent of human on the air, but it was mixed with something she could not quite put her finger on. Interested, she changed her direction, walking toward the figure. 

"You lost, sir?" she called out as she neared him.  When she was finally close enough to make out his features, she locked her gaze onto his eyes.  They were otherworldly, something she could not pinpoint.  She tilted her head to the side, her emerald eyes fading to jet black pools, no longer concerned about concealing her identity.  "And just what are you?" she asked, her lips twisting into a sinister yet intrigued smile as she awaited the stranger's reaction.

Lazarus was rather pleased that his prediction proved to be true. It did not take the demon very long at all to find him out in the stormy tundra. He could not make out many features of the woman before him, but the mere fact she was out here alone in this storm was rather suspect. Not to mention she was simply brimming with unnatural energy, something the cleric was sensitive to. He stopped as she spoke to him, when they were several yards apart.

"Not lost at all, ma'am. In fact, I found exactly what I was looking for,",  Lazarus' tell-tale deep drawl issued, slightly muffled by his scarf.
The shifting of the devil's eyes, and the inquiry of his nature appeared to greatly amuse him. He chuckled darkly, and tilted his head.
"I am but a simple shepherd, seeking out lost sheep," he mused sarcastically. "It is not my specialty. but I am often called upon to hunt the wolves as well…"

As he spoke these last words, there was minute surge - a slight flickering of spiritual power emanating from him. It was as if an invisible hand had projected out from him to touch her; not the woman's body, but the entity that the shell housed. It was a subtle message, but a message nonetheless, so that she understood what he was on about. He could not destroy a thing like her, no….not here, on this plane. He had the ability to cause her great pain, however. Whether or not he really was some sort of priest was a dubious subject. It was only clear he was imbued with some sort of uncommon spiritual power.

Lazarus' vivid autumn gaze studied the woman's dark eyes carefully. "I must emphasize that confrontation ain't my first choice here, ma'am. I merely aim to settle what happened in town. I'd rather not be forced to make the acquaintance of the Lady Reaper on the matter. To be frank, I do not belong in any part of her house."

"So, darlin'…"

The cleric closed the gap between them at a leisurely gait. "Pardon my manners. My name's Lazarus." he said as he extended his hand. "Care to share with me what you were up to back there, so I know right off the horse whether we're having a tussle in the snow?"

A snort of laughter mixed with the howling of the wind as Jazrael chuckled at the man's remark.  He made it sound as though she had been what he was looking for - but it became clear to her shortly that this was, indeed, the truth - which intrigued her ever more.  "No sheep here," she said, the three short words laced with what could have been perceived as a threat.  The sarcasm in his voice was quite apparent, though as he played off the metaphor and mentioned wolves, she actually smirked.  Her sense of humor was often… lost on others, and the mixture of the man's drawl with the words he chose to speak amused her.  "Oh, wolves, though?  I suppose you might find one or two of them," she said, and shrugged, the motion nearly invisible beneath the heavy cloak she wore.

It was then that she felt something touch her, but not in a physical manner.  The entire experience of whatever this man was reaching out with his aura, if one could refer to it as such, was unwelcome.  It was something that she had never experienced and it intrigued her, but for a brief moment, the intrigue was also coupled with worry.  Whatever power it was that this man possessed was enough to break the barrier of her vessel and feel the true core of her being, not of the body she hid within.

The abyssal pools of Jazrael's gaze studied him intently, narrowing slightly as she analyzed him.  He was searching for her, but he did not seek confrontation… curious.  In most other situations, Jazrael would have wasted no time in painting the pure white snow crimson with his blood, but there was something intriguing enough about him that it stopped her from such an action - even as he brought up one of her latest escapades.  

She had not expected him to approach her in the manner he did, and she grasped his hand firmly as he did so, shaking it as though the two met for a proper business venture. "Jazrael," she said, her eyes returning to their emerald state.

"That idiot in the bookshop?" she asked, erupting into a fit of laughter.  "Doesn't paint me in the best light, now does it?" she asked after she had regained her composure.  "As much as I would like to take credit for all the corpses of those little chickens in that hidden room, I can't," she said, shrugging.  "We had a good thing going, he and I - he did whatever his sick, twisted little self desired with those girls, and the Infernal Queen got their souls - which I got the credit for, of course, having secured that deal - but he started to get sloppy, and we can't have that.  What the Reaper does and what we, her messorem, do… it is an unspoken rule between the realms of Life and Death that is an acceptable practice," she explained.  She rapped her finger against her lip for a moment before continuing on.  "He was getting sloppy, and the neighboring shops were beginning to smell the rot," she said, turning her nose up slightly.  "I don't know about you, but as much as I love killing… the smell of rotten flesh has never been appealing to me," she added.  "So, if you'd rather I don't clean up messes that get left, fine with me, but tell me what it is you think you need to settle and maybe I can avoid staining this pretty white snow with your blood during a… what was it you said?  Oh…a tussle,"  she said.  The words didn't come across as a threat - it seemed this was just the way she spoke, and she thought very little of it.

"Too bad you think you're not well equipped for Inferos," she quipped.  "Your speech patterns have charmer written all over them, and Lady Dalanesca does love a man with charm," she added.  

"What you're saying makes sense, doll," Lazarus confirmed, while still studying the woman's changed gaze carefully. "I can't say I can relate to the joy you find in your extracurricular activities, but I know now that it doesn't put us at odds. You see, like your mistress, it's the dead men that I'm tangled up with and talk to. The only few still lingering about were the guardsmen, and they didn't know a lick of what was going on. I don't particularly agree with the circumstances of such a strange accord, but I see no reason to involve myself, being of the natural order for the Divine and all. The Hiafaen folks are mostly god-fearing folks. They'll understand when I conclude the case with that. They do deserve to know what the book shop owner was up to, though. They're all in a panic because they haven't a clue."

Rummaging about in his overcoat, Lazarus produced a small, ornate flintmatch box with rolled cigarettes. Lighting one up, he grinned and shook his head. He took a long drag, and exhaled slowly while letting out a throaty, gruff laugh. The smoke was very fragrant, and smelled herbal, rather than of tobacco. Sweet cloves and allspice root were the main notes in the scent.
"Normally I'd question a tall tale like yours…but you strike me as the sort that only lies when it suits them. You're no more afraid of me than I am of you."

Jazrael'scompliment and mention of her Goddess made Lazarus laugh again. "I'd be a liar if I said the ways about me didn't start an itch in some. Not that it's ever intentional. It's more the realm itself I don't belong anywhere near, rather than Death herself. It's my business to send to her what belongs there. So I'm like you in a way, I suppose, but freelance. I just have no intention of setting foot there myself."

He took another drag, scratched his beard beneath his scarf, and shook his head, this time just letting the smoke billow from his nostrils as he spoke.

"Not too keen about meeting Dalanesca either. You'd think with my inclinations that we'd be well-acquainted, but I hold an interesting and obscure position. I met a man that was intimately acquainted with her at one point. He definitely fit the bill for a charmer. He'd a mixed bag of things to say about her, and then gave me his sword. Said I'd find it useful if she ever sent agents after me that found my work intrusive. I'm no stranger to swordplay, but the thing gives me the heebie jeebies. Sparring a dummy made my hands prickle, and made me feel light in the head."

Lazarus cleared his throat. "Pardon my rambling. I tend to get a touch of anxiety when Death is brought up. Funny, ain't it?"

"Wasn't all that pleasant, what that fellow was up to," she said, smirking.  "Locking those pretty little girls up in that back room, selling them off the highest bidder, or just taking coin for their use by means of those with other… inclinations," she said, the look in her eyes becoming somewhat sinister.  "For all I know, he was selling their organs, too, the way he'd cut them up when he was done with them.  And those poor ones left alive had to live in the filth and rot of the corpses," she said.  Normally one speaking of such things would frown, or perhaps look disgusted, but neither emotion crossed the demon's porcelain visage.  "You phrase that how you want to those villagers, whatever it is that will let them sleep at night.  My part of the job is done," she said, giving Lazarus what looked like a bonafide grin.  

She nodded slightly at him next, addressing his next statement. She could smell the sweet, spicy scent of his smoke in the air as he exhaled.   "You're not wrong.  I frankly don't care enough to lie."  The wind whipped rather violently at that point, and Jazrael pushed a mess of her hair out of her face before speaking again.  "And I've no reason to fear you - you pose no threat to me.  You've no reason to fear me, either, as I've no qualm with you," she added.  Her shoulders shrugged in an apathetic manner.  

She chuckled darkly as he spoke of not belonging in her realm, or rather in the realm of the Reaper.  "Sending people to a place you've never even seen with your own eyes?  That's not very nice," she said, wagging her finger at him. "It's not all that bad, and you can get out alive if She lets you," she added, smirking.  Her smirk quickly faded as he continued speaking - she knew very well of whom Lazarus spoke.  She brought a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes and shaking her head before speaking again.  

"Oh, fuck me… Story, right?" she said, shaking her head once more before taking a step towards him and plucking the cigarette from his fingers, taking a deep drag off of it and exhaling before placing it back where she had taken it from, not a care in the world whether or not he was alright with her doing so - repercussions didn't bother her in the slightest, that much was clear. "I swear, by all the hellfire that burns in the depths of Inferos… if I have to hear about that dragon and his fucking feelings even one more time, I'm going to exorcise myself," she said, the annoyance clear in her voice.  "The Reaper was all sunshine and rainbows when he was around until he pulled his little disappearing acts… then she turned into a mopey, whining heap of trash," she said in an exasperated manner.  "Nothing worse than seeing an all-powerful goddess with control over death itself crying because her boy toy left her high and dry."  She shook her head again, pausing before continuing to speak.  "At least she's stopped moping now, and just drowns herself in whiskey… not happy unless she's getting it stuck to her, that one," she added - clearly no concern as to whether or not her patron goddess was listening to her.  

"For all her emotion, she's a force to be reckoned with," she added, crossing her arms over her chest.  "What happens now, Lazarus?  You let me go on my merry way and about my demonic ways?  Or you going to use whatever power it is you have to stop me?" she asked, though she had a feeling she knew what the answer would be.

"My job is apparently done as well," Lazarus commented dryly. "I'm no detective. My main concern was cleaning up the rest of that mess so those poor souls didn't fester and become malignant wraiths - or worse."

Smirking, and just letting the cigarette hang loosely and smolder from his lips, he nodded. "I've seen Inferos. From afar," he shot back. He made no move to stop Jazrael when she took the cigarette from his mouth and then replace it. He tapped it to the side to get some of the excess ash away, and then simply let it hang once more. He narrowed his eyes and scratched at his chin in thought, trying to recall details. "Yeah, that would be him. That's one name. He called himself 'Thorn' though, mostly. He was kind of an odd one. Gorgeous critter though. I felt mighty privileged to see the lizard beneath the man. Looked like he was made out of ink and stardust. Whatever tribulations happened between him and your mistress is certainly none of my business. My interests, like yours, belong in the schism between life and death."

The autumn hues in the cleric's eyes shifted strangely, seeming to darken. "I'm reckoning you're a hair disappointed that no spat came of this meeting," Lazarus observed, taking another drag at last, before flicking the cigarette into the snow. "You know, Jazrael, you're alright, as far as devils go. Certainly not the worst I've met. I'd say we could have a little scuff for sport if that'd satisfy you. Don't take this the wrong way dear, but I don't take violence very lightly. If I'm to roll my sleeves up, I intend for whatever it is to simply stop being. I'm what you would call…a rare wild card on the table, so to speak. I don't need someone of your kin knowing I'm out here waltzing about. Certainly not your Goddess. I'm not supposed to exist."

Lazarus looked her up and down appraisingly but by no means in an inappropriate manner. "I suppose I could relieve you of that corpse you're wearing, but that wouldn't do either of us any good. As long as you're not planning on pulling any innocent unwitting fools into bargains, I've no quarrel with you."

Jazrael shrugged at Lazarus as he suggested she was unhappy with the way their confrontation, if it could even be referred to as such, ended up.  "Can't say that I wouldn't have minded a good brawl, but I've got a feeling after conversing with you a bit that you might put up a good fight," she said.  "For a human, well, for whatever you are since you sure as hell aren't a plain old human… you aren't so bad yourself.  The least annoying one I've met, anyway," she added - a high compliment of praise from someone such as herself.  

She let out a snort of laughter as he commented on relieving her of the vessel she currently housed herself in.  "I'd prefer you left this body alone.  I like this one," she said, glancing down at herself.  "Been in this one longer than I usually keep them around, to be frank," she added.  "And that depends.  Chances are you and I don't see eye to eye on the definition of innocent, but let's leave that alone…" she said, though she trailed off at the end of her sentence, her eyes looking at something beyond Lazarus.  They retained their emerald hue, though widened as she looked at whatever it was that had taken her attention away from him.  "Shit…" she muttered.

Before the question of what had distracted her could even be asked, the snow crunched behind Lazarus as a petite woman with long, black hair walked past him.  She was certainly not dressed for the weather - a thick, black fur cloak hung open around a rather provocative dress.  The woman paid absolutely no mind to Lazarus, instead walking directly to Jazrael.  

The demon moved to lower herself to one knee and bow her head at the approaching woman, but she was unable to do so as the woman, at least four inches shorter than she, reached up and closed a delicate hand around her throat and lifted her clear off the ground, holding her up and looking up at her with eyes the color of ice blue.  "I can explain," the demon managed to choke out, to which the black-haired woman gave a rather disproving shake of her head.

"Stop.  Talking.  It is time for you to listen, Jazrael," the woman hissed at her.  "That bullshit with the book shop owner?  That was bad enough.  You've jeopardized about seven other deals by fucking that one up," she said.  "Fortunately for you, I will fix your mistakes.  Again."  With an exasperated sigh she dropped Jazrael to the ground, who groped at her own throat before attempting to speak.

"I am sorry," she muttered, looking down at the ground.  Apparently, those were not the words the black haired woman wanted to hear, as it earned her the great honor of being knocked back into the show by a heavy boot.  The woman rested that same boot on Jazrael's chest, leering down at her.

"Are you sorry about the alchemist you just tried to make a deal with?" she asked, giving the demon a knowing look.  Jazrael stuggled beneath the weight of the boot, showing the first bit of emotion her face had in the entire time she had been conversing with Lazarus - and it was fear.  It seemed that she had, perhaps, not expected the woman to be apprised of whatever she had just done.  "Do you know what that alchemist mostly sells?  Blessing of Canelux," she said.  "Do you know what that is?"  The demon managed to nod.  "How do you think the Mother is going to feel about you when she finds out that you made a deal for the soul of an alchemist who helps bring babies into this world?" she asked.  

The woman removed her boot from Jazrael's chest.  "Thin ice, Jazrael.  Thin.  Fucking.  Ice."  The demon scrambled to her feet and bowed apologetically, opening her mouth to say something else, but was silenced as the woman - clearly her superior - held up a hand to her.  She was staring at Lazarus now, with slightly narrowed eyes.  "Who are you?" she asked him, her words slow.  After a moment, she brought her hand to her forehead, shaking her head.  "Please don't tell me, she got you to make some sort of deal with her?"  She glanced up at him, shaking her head.  "That's why she likes that vessel so much.  The tits just wrangle them in without question…" She trailed off as her eyes focused in on his face.  "But no, that's not it, is it?" she asked, giving him a wry grin and folding her arms across her chest.

"I appreciate the assessment, for what it's worth," Lazarus replied with a chuckle. "I-…"

Somehow, he had been so engrossed in conversation, that he hadn't felt or seen the other woman arrive. He'd seen Jazrael's face as they spoke, but before he could react, the stranger had brushed past him and lifted the poor little devil by her throat. By the way Jazrael acted with fear and reverence, this was clearly her superior. So perhaps he was correct in his first assumptions that her little projects were a bit too ambitious to be in line with the divine? Ah, well; what was transpiring now was far more entertaining than any way he could have exorcised her.

Lazarus calmly observed the demon's reprimanding, and took to lighting up another cigarette. He caught her gaze for a single moment. It seemed comically pleading. Playfully, he shook his head and waggled his finger at her behind the other woman's back.

"Lazarus," the cleric intoned, when at last the shorter and tragically under-dressed woman addressed him. His gaze remained on how pitiful and crumpled Jazrael appeared in this woman's presence before meeting the icy blue stare upon him. He let out a single, smoky and raspy, "Ha!" at the choice of words and presumptions spoken.
"I won't lie, I appreciate a figure with a nice wiggle. Jaz here would be pretty hard-pressed to get me to sign over my life with that alone, though."

He tipped the broad-rimmed hat he wore at her. "Nice to finally be talking to the management. In her defense, despite her insubordination, her customer service skills are on point. Go easy on her."
He took another puff and nodded. "You'd be absolutely correct. She never made me any offers. I'm here as a custodian of sorts, cleaning up the mess. She failed to mention her other activities you referenced to me though…"
Lazarus shot the demon a glare over the other's shoulder. He shook the snow off his overcoat, revealing the hilt of an ornate blade at his side.
"You probably would have seen her a lot sooner than now had I known about that."

Pointing at the stranger, cigarette grasped between his fingers, he continued. "You've got a glint in your eye like a cat that's just spotted a mouse. If I didn't know any better, either you've got something to offer me now, or you intend to play with me a little."

She placed her hands on her hips.  "Management… sure," she said, chuckling slightly.  "I'd go easy on her if this wasn't the ten thousandth time I've had to deal with her bullshit," she said, exasperation and annoyance audible in her sultry tones.  "She's greedy.  She gets herself into situations that I haven't approved… and that isn't exactly the best idea."  The man, who had introduced himself as Lazarus, was not wrong.  She turned to Jazrael who still lay in the snow.  "Probably best for you to get back to Inferos.  Now."  The demon stood although she remained rather hesitant as she took a few steps back.  "Wait for me in Paraiso Venenum.  If you are not there when I get back - and I don't care if you're waiting for years - I will destroy your very essence, Jazrael.  Do I make myself clear?" she asked, to which Jazrael nodded and wish a small shimmer of the air, was gone.

The woman turned back to Lazarus, brushing a bit of snow off the collar of her cloak that had accumulated while she spoke with him.  She shook her hair out slightly, to the same effect.  "My apologies that you had to witness such an… unprofessional exchange," she said, choosing her words carefully.  "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance… Lazarus, is it?" she said, recalling that he had introduced himself as such.  "Dalanesca," she said, extending her hand to him as she introduced herself in a fairly nonchalant manner.

"You seem like you've at least three-quarters of a head on your shoulders, so I can imagine that tells you who I am," she continued.  "But on the off chance, yes, I am the Reaper, the Harbinger, et cetera, et cetera.  I honestly hate all that bullshit, so Dalanesca will do."  She paused, contemplating the last measure of what he had said.  "Frankly, I've no reason to offer you anything - and while I would happily indulge in playing with you," she continued, a brief pause ensuing as she looked him up and down.  "You're not drooling and stumbling over your words while you're talking to me, which tells me you're not the sort to jump in a girl's bed at the first chance you get," she added. She gave him a crooked little grin before bending over slightly and retrieving a flask tucked into a small garter on the upper portion of her left leg.  Unscrewing the cap, she took a long drag of the amber liquid held within the black container.

"I swear, that Jazrael.  She's a damn good foot soldier, but she causes me a lot of problems when she goes off on her own little escapades," she said, sighing.  "If I didn't like the taste of whiskey so much, I'd blame my drinking on her bullshit," she concluded.  "Regardless… I am a bit curious as to why you were so calmly having a discussion with one of my agents who clearly made no effort to conceal herself," she pried, intrigue in her words.  "And, your eyes.  I've never met anyone with eyes like those, but I did have their color described to me by someone once," she explained, her gaze locking onto his own for a brief moment.  

"So you're in the business of what, casual conversation with demons and goddesses?" she chuckled, taking another drink from her flask as the wind continued to whip through her hair, the cold seemingly no bother to her.