Aw fuck me.
It always did suck when they cried. Especially since things weren't like the old days. The amount of crying people who's faces he shot, who's heads he chopped off and who were kicked off boat with a cinderblock bowtied to their bound arms and feet was significantly less. These days were different. And well, that was just fine. Never was that big of a fan of that part. Even if he slept perfectly fine every night.
Vas stood upright frowning as he looked down at her. His contorting a bit in anger and frustration. Not every little beating of the heart meant that she was lying. And some people were capable of suppressing that. Having a reaction so used to lying that monitoring the heart would fail. And contrary to what the girl might have thought, he wouldn't rely on listening to the heart for anyone he didn't know. This girl was a mystery. An engima.
No. If ever Vas suspected she was lying he could make her tell the truth.
He could tell someone to fall asleep and they'd do it. He could tell someone to fall asleep
and they'd do it. He could tell someone to kill themselves
and they'd do it. If he wanted the girl to tell him everything he wanted to know and then simply forget she ever saw him then he could do that too.
But then she'd forget that she'd ever met him. And he would miss out on a potential opportunity.
People always worked the best when they were willing. And what the girl before him and vigilantes often did was free work.
As Vas loomed over from behind, his expression soften. And soon the hands left the seat, slipping back into the dark. Then the figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light where she could see him. Wearing straightfoward clothes in stylish but formal wear of jeans,
The lighting of an especially made, bloody cigarette.
He speaks calmly. His expression now one of patience. A puff of smoke in the air. "I'm just asking you questions."
He walked right across the girl. And sat next to her at a comfortable distance -- with one singular seat suppressing the two. His eyes looking up at a hole in the roof and the caved in top.
Probably a bastard child. Some incubus love child maybe?
"You're powers probably are something...demonic in origin."
Of course, translating what he was thinking into something he could tell to someone was always a necessary skill. While he lost his good looks, he always tried to make sure to keep something of a -- what the fuck did Bashanipal call it again? A "silver tongue?"
Way with words. Whatever.
He takes another hit of the cigarette.
A brief exhale. Nowhere in her direction.He simply continues to look up.
"I'm sorry ya had to find out this way. And listen, yeah? I don't have a problem with what you're doing. I just wanna know what's going on in MY city. You're not in trouble. It's okay to not know somethin', alright?"
With his mouth clear he turned to her, purposely avoiding puffing any smoke up in her face.
"That said, you wouldn't happen to need any help on your little quest, wouldja?"
Even if she was taking care of it -- he wanted to know more. To enter the world of demons. To find out how and why they entered this city. And what they are doing. The last time he didn't look after a the city, a bunch of possessed cops went on a massive gendercide. Dragging folks out onto the street, putting heat on the supernatural and threatening to raid many of the Brothels he'd work so hard to assemble.
"Course it is a choice. But I'll be lookin' into it either way."