[Kazuma]

The stink of death.

That was what he smelled as he marched closer to the door, jogging the last few steps in and neglecting to knock and announce his presence as he twisted the knob and pushed the door open. It was an action that he later regretted when the sight of the dead body seemingly exploded at him -- and he caught his breath as he stumbled back, staring at the sleeping face of the body laid onto the plush queen bed in the middle of the room.

Someone else was inside, and he remembered it to be Vera Mukhina in her blonde-red hair, deep brown blazer and skirt and four-inch red pumps to match her red nails and lips. She had her arms crossed by her diaphragm, as always, and she turned to see him stumble against the frame, gazing confused at the motionless form on the fresh bed. ““Close the door,”” she said in Japanese.

Kazuma didn't even remember nodding but he obeyed her, anyway, and locked the entrance besides. Tugging on his necktie to loosen it -- an evidence of his previous destination -- he responded in the same language, “Is it really him?”

““Go look for yourself,”” Vera said as she stepped aside, two calculated and muffled thuds marking her movement.

The room smelt cold, old, there was nothing desirable about it, and whether it was because they were in the Crypt Hotel or because of the body on the bed, he didn't want to know. Releasing the buttons that locked his deep green blazer, Kazuma felt a rock slip down his throat as he counted his steps and confused himself with the desire to breathe and to hold his air. His approach was slow, careful and hesitant, but it brought him all the same to the bedside of a young fellow with an ugly pink and crusted line that surrounded his neck. There were other similar marks around his white skin, or what his modern tunic dared show, and there was a fracture on his right hand and a twisted left leg to match it.

Kazuma's breath shook as he forced it out of his mouth and he ran a hand through his layered locks. “Why would anyone do this to Jeremy?”

““He loved too much,”” Vera said. ““There was nothing he was not willing to understand, no one to not forgive...and it cost him his life.””

“He had no enemies,” he said, loosening his silver polo top by two buttons near his neck.

Vera chuckled, a smirk finding her face as she said, ““At least not anyone he knew. But in this world we live in, we must always watch out for the beasts lurking in the dark,”” she turned meaningfully to Kazuma, ““the proverbial wolves in sheep's clothing...””

Kazuma spared no moment for thought. “Calvin?”

““Or so goes the hypothesis,”” Vera returned to Jeremy's corpse, ““An investigation is underway but the motives are too clear. The Therian former lover of his wife, it was an easy decision to make.””

“This would mean war...” Kazuma shook his head.

““Not if we tread carefully.””

Kazuma didn't care for that for now. Remembering Calvin had reminded him of one other question that needed to be asked, “Has anyone told Mrs. Divine?”

““If the gods are good, Mrs. Haramond would still be patiently waiting for her husband right now. The woman remains in Hesia with the mother.””

“That can't be,” Kazuma shook his head, “Sh, she has to know...she's the wife. And if Calvin ever did do it and he runs to her to boast of his crime--”

““Then she might as well drown herself and join her husband, yes?”” Vera said as she turned to look again to the younger vampire. ““We can't have that happening now, can we?””

She was letting herself be read, he knew -- that or they had just been together for too long. Still, her words and her look was all Kazuma needed to know what she meant to say to him, and frowning and snarling at his discovery, he said, “Very well. I will tell her.”

““Good decision,”” Vera said before she turned back to Jeremy's corpse. ““There will be a time to mourn, I promise you that. But for some of us, that time isn't now...””

“I can only hope that I remember my grief when I finally find my chance,” Kazuma said. Before he left the room, he prayed for the soul of the lost vampire and was quick to find his way towards the town of Hesia.

And that was how he got there before the noon ended, standing close to the portal as he re-oriented himself with his mission and his new clothes and setting before he marched towards the street. He had a note written on vellum tucked away in his expensive coat.

He wasted no time on getting his business done.

“Excuse me!” he called to the figure that had just passed him and chased after them, catching up in a jog. “Excuse me,” he said again, “Good morning,” he dipped his head a little, “I beg your pardon for the bother but would you know where I might find Mrs. Divine Haramond? She's an apalos if that helps...”

[Jericho]

For once, Jericho was alone. All morning, Rusty had been whining about this, that and the other Therian thing which ultimately amounted to "I want some time off". He was like a puppy whining at the door and threatening to taroch crap all over if he didn't get his way, and Ninian the older dog who looked on with disinterested patience but would still follow as soon as the door was open. As soon as his morning "meetings" were done with, Jericho had let them off the leash, so to speak, and the Therian had shot off with an enthusiasm that bordered on rude, Ninian at his heels in a much more sedate pace that still got him gone before Jeri could change his mind.

He had no idea why the pair wanted time off or why they wanted it so suddenly, and Jericho had no intention of caring. For all he knew, it was mating season. For all he cared, they could have been lured in by a hypnotic suggestion to take a long walk off a short cliff. It wasn't like he needed them around.

“Excuse me!” Jericho ignored it. “Excuse me. Good morning.” Damn. Turning, Jericho swept the stranger with an assessing stare. He looked foreigh, sounded foreign. More polite than most of the people Jericho dealt with. “Would you know where I might find Mrs. Divine Haramond?”

“Haramond, you say?” The name rang a bell, but not the Divine part. Jericho thought he'd properly remember a name or a woman like that. “Haramond.” Stroking his clean-shaven jaw, Jericho glanced up and down the street from behind his sunglasses, thoughtful. “I know a Mysto Haramond. Man owes me some money. Any relation?”

[Kazuma]

For a second there, Kazuma was only able to stare, his mind still a jumble, but he shook his head. “No,” he managed utter, clearing his throat as he straightened up and patted himself down, brown gloves on cream cardigans before he remembered that he had a pocket inside and he slipped the vellum paper out of it to hand the note to the stranger. “A, actually, that is the address...or, well, her mother's name...” he paused when it occurred to him what her name was.

“My apologies,” he said after, running his hand through his layered locks, eyes still on the card he handed. Something about this man smelled vaguely, Kazuma observed, but thought nothing more of it. “I don't know her name, after all...but I remember it sounding something like...Sheila or Sierra, I am not too sure...” he looked up to the man, “Who did you say this Mythos Haramond was again?”

[Jericho]

Jericho blinked at the man over the rim of his sunglasses, slit-blue eyes vibrant under arched eyebrows. “You're looking for someone and you don't know...?” He trailed off rather than wasting the words on an obvious question, and the arch in his brow switched directions when he took the paper from the stranger to read the address. “Sierra?” That seemed the more likely of the two, and the more familiar. More to the point, it sounded the more Elysian, which made him study the man again. Something about his mannerisms seemed off.

“Who did you say this Mythos Haramond was again?”

“I didn't.” Jericho handed back the card. “Mysto Haramond is a man who borrowed money from me, and yes, they share that address.” He made it a point to memorise the addresses of his clientele (and the amounts they owed) just in case something happened to his ledger. “This Sierra might be his wife. I suppose I could take you there.” He was reluctant to visit the home of a man who owed him money without Rusty and Ninian to do the grunt work for him, but Mysto was about due for a visit anyway. “But you better not be out to kill him or something, not until I get my money.”

[Kazuma]

“Well, no, of course not,” Kazuma said with a laugh and it surprised him that he could still do so as he slipped the card back into his coat. Now the Dracovarian was not the kind of man he had expected to get help from but it seemed that he knew what he was saying and so the vampire was not about to complain about it. Still, this Mysto's name had stored itself at the back of his head. Wife of Sierra who was the mother of Divine Haramond...thinking about it, he realized he was not ready to meet his good friend's father-in-law, not with the news he carried with him...

Alas, it seemed like no one else was better at doing the job than him. Letting out a quiet slip of breath through his nose, he said to the stranger with a calculated dip of head and shoulder, “I would be grateful if you could help me find Mrs. Divine.”

[Jericho]

“This way, then.” Jericho's heels clipped the cobbles as he turned and stalked in the appropriate direction, walking sideways for a moment to be sure the man was following. Now that he'd agreed to take this stranger to Mysto's address, he'd be damned if he let the guy get lost.

They walked in silence for a few moments before Jericho thought to ask, “So what do you want with this Divine Haramond, anyway?” He could care less (unless it interfered with his own profit) but social networking was just part of his job. Maybe he could sell this guy a high-interest loan or some expensive toxins eventually. “Must be important for you to come all the way here. You don't sound Hesian.” Neither did he, really, but he had lived in the neutral town long enough to recognise the difference.

[Kazuma]

“No, I do not,” Kazuma struggled to say, straddling between a quiet voice or his normal tone and ending up sounding somewhere awkwardly in-between. His business was not this man's business and whether or not it's because Jeremy was his friend and not the stranger's...or because of his and Jeremy's nature and that of his death...well, maybe it was everything, all along. “It's to do with Mrs. Divine's personal affairs,” was all he said in the end. Vague but truthful, it would have to suffice.

Before the silence deepened, Kazuma opened his mouth, again -- but stopped. In that vein of thought, he had a mind to ask the Dracovarian if he knew Calvin the Therian but for the same reasons had decided against it. Besides, what would it matter if he knew Calvin? Calvin was not the point of his trip right then and for all he knew of this man, he might even step up to protect the Therian, if he is who he seems to be from what he's been hearing. Someone in the business of loaning, he thought. Had the circumstances been somehow different, he thought he might be the kind he'd sit down with and talk over coffee. But alas, he could not even think of his living right now...

“My name is Kazuma Uemori, by the way,” he said with a shallow bow to the stranger's back. He would have wanted to say something else but words just left his tongue when he normally would have a surplus of them for any occasion. Alas, death and the news of it proved too much for his vocabulary...

[Jericho]

“Personal affairs, huh?” Jericho could have pried, verbally or telepathically, and might have done so if he thought the information would net him anything. In this case, he doubted he could profit from knowing.

“My name is Kazuma Uemori, by the way.” Jericho barely caught the strange bow, turning to walk sideways for a moment at the introduction. He briefly debated giving an old name or alias but he thought he might recognise the name. It was unusual in Elysia, surely this couldn't be a different man?

“You own a mine in Kyriake, right?” Jericho kept his ear to the grapevine and one of his clients had come from there spouting what Jericho had assumed (in part because he had never heard a name like "Uemori", which had made the rest of the miner's story seem baseless) to be absolute nonsense about a serial killer in the tunnels. If this man Uemori actually did exist, then perhaps the rest of the story was not utter trash after all. He might be mistaken about some of it, but as the story went, Kazuma Uemori owned an alastis mine in Kyriake that might prove profitable for Jericho as well — if he played his cards right.

[Kazuma]

Kazuma had to admit, he was a little stunned by what this stranger had recalled but he recovered just as soon. “Yes, that is correct,” he said, tugging his coat tighter around him. “I own a part of the mine while the villagers of Kyriake own the rest.” Trying to smile, perhaps even laugh a little, he added, “You are a well informed man, Sir. It isn't everyday that I meet a man who owns me by the mine...”

[Jericho]

“It's my job to stay informed.” Plus Misha wouldn't shut up about the damn story the last time he flitted through. Honestly, they saw each other once in a red moon, would it hurt the Sidhe to shut the hell up? Jericho wasn't sure where the Nymph picked up the information or how much of it was accurate by the time it reached him, but even rumour had a foundation in fact.

“I'm something of a businessman myself.” He slowed his pace to hold out his hand and introduced himself. “Mortimer Jericho. I own a shop here in Hesia.” The shop was little more than a front for his real dealings, but this Uemori fellow didn't need to know that. “Might I ask what sort of mine it is? There may be room for a deal or two, if you're interested.”

[Kazuma]

Oh, this would have been an offer that Kazuma received in high spirits but at the moment, he could only offer a kind smile and a gracious dip of his head.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mortimer” he said. “Perhaps there would be a room or two for negotiations, I agree. I own a part of the mines with the alastis gems. It has been...one of the wisest moves I've done, I must say.” He tried to chuckle, as if to make light of the situation. “Economy in Kyriake is growing, men have jobs and there is food on their tables...” And his pockets were getting fatter but no one needed to know or even mention that. Anyhow, it went without saying.

“I'm sorry to be off-tangent but,” he stepped closer, somehow, “Are we almost at Mrs. Divine's?”

[Jericho]

Hmmm. How odd, to be called "Mister Mortimer". He did go by his surname rather than the first name he had chosen, but this was the first time someone had called him that. Usually it was "Mister Jericho", or just "Jericho". Where under Hel was this man from?

“Are we almost at Mrs. Divine's?”

Jericho supposed that wasn't actually off-tangent, since that had been their destination all along. Adjusting his shoulders inside his jacket and tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, he gestured with a jerk of his chin to a side street. “We could take a short cut, knock ten minutes off the walk,” he offered, “but I wouldn't advise it.” He himself liked to use such quiet back streets to do his dirtier business so he knew the types to be found there. As he looked like a man of means — and Uemori even more so — he avoided those places whilever he was alone. His skills, though very useful in his line of work, left him somewhat vulnerable.

He was already headed for the "long way around" via the main streets, assuming that his companion was in no hurry to reach his destination or that his life at least weighed more than his haste.

“Well, about the alastis. My suppliers are mostly wildcrafters and apothecarists.” He would let Uemori decide if that meant he also sold blackmarket items. “I sell a variety of other items as I find them, but I have noticed a gap in the alastis market here in Hesia and I think it quite fortuitous that I meet you today.” If there wasn't a gap in the market, he would do his best to create one. He was sure he had a gem merchant in his ledger who was due for a large payment. That or he could sell the alastis on at a profit to some idiot trader who didn't know any better.

[Kazuma]

Kazuma rather thought not. Or, well, in a way meeting Jericho was fortuitous for him, too. What if the stranger he met hadn't known where Divine Haramond lived? He'd be in more trouble and something worse could have happened by it.

He tried to smile as he said, “I see where you are heading with this conversation. You mean to make Kyriake through me the supplier of alastis for Hesia through you? Am I correct?” It wasn't a difficult conclusion to reach and in all respects, it was simple and easy, assuming that the town had a likable customs and inspection system. “Perhaps we can work on that. You aren't the first businessman to propose such a venture...” And now, he debated whether it would be proper -- all things considered -- to give Jericho his calling card. If he had it his way, he'd rather...let it wait until the events had passed and cooled...

[Jericho]

And here was where having the ability to read minds came in handy. He had chosen not to pry before now because it seemed like he could garner a deal with this merchant without it, and because he didn't have Rusty or Nin to guard him should Uemori discover his secret weapon, but something in the way the man spoke made Jericho's offer sound dirty. He supposed, in a way, it was, but he had no intention of becoming the only supplier of alastis, merely to profit from a gap no one else could fill. He knew all too well that such a deal could not last forever, but there was no shame in making money while he could.

“You are correct.” Nevertheless, Jericho nudged into Uemori's mind, hesitant to make himself known but determined not to lose a potential client. Some people liked to play hard to get and negotiations broke down when he pushed while others liked to be chased hard, and being able to know the difference (with or without telepathy) had always stood him in good stead. As he had no idea what this man was, he dare not barrel in there as he was wont to do, instead feeling his way in like a fly edging around a spider's web.

The man was preoccupied with something else, some matter he considered urgent or prioritised above his business. Jericho couldn't fathom that, and chose not to dig too deep in case Uemori felt him poking around in there. It was difficult to do his work when he had no idea if he would be walking into a mental shield sometime soo — Ah, vampire.

Jericho paused in his efforts as the revelation struck. He had few dealings with vampires after the Scourge Wars so, while he knew intellectually that they were far from the ravening monsters of yore, he found it difficult to continue walking beside this man with a straight face. To give himself some time to recover (it was a shock to realise he had not detected the danger), Jericho focused on their location and gestured with another jerk of his chin to a street on their right. “It's this way.”

He recovered quickly, and composed himself faster. He was a businessman, after all, and any prejudices were shoved to the side in favour of profit. “Here,” he spoke, pulling his hand from a trouser pocket and delving it into the inside pocket of his jacket instead. He drew out a small piece of card, hand-written with his name, number and address, but hesitated before handing it over. Writing these things out and cutting them to size was a time-consuming effort, so he did not waste them on people who would only throw them away. The fact that this man was a vampire gave him some pause, as well, but he was confident enough that he could sway Uemori into signing this deal that he handed it out with a twitch at the corners of his lips that passed for a smile. “This is my card. Call me at your convenience and we can discuss the details.”

The timing was fortuitous: Any longer, and he would have missed his chance. As they drew up to Mysto Haramond's place, a woman darted out the door with a harried, frightened look on her face, only to freeze mid-step when she saw them.

[Kazuma]

Had Kazuma had his wits with him, he would have severely scolded himself for not honoring the offered business card with the proper respect it deserved. To his defense, he had reached to take it with both of his hands and a dip of his head, that was true, but the explosion of the door had completely wiped its existence off his head and it was left to cling for its life by his left fingers when he shot up to gape at the running anyelos, her wings stretched frantically with a disgusting patchs of baldness on both of them. “M, Mrs. Sierra—?” Suddenly, the air dropped and froze him through his clothes and if he could breathe, he must have forgotten how to do it as what color he had left in his sad, sad skin fled at the gaze of the woman by the door.

In a second, he was running past her, too fast to realize what was happening, too fast to even ask Jericho to stay or Sierra Haramond what was going on...gods damn it, he should have prayed! He should have prayed to all the deities he knew not to let this...not to let Divine...!

He fell victim again into the consequences of rushing in. The fragrance of blood attacked his nose like a pair of darts and he could feel his guts twisting as slaver filled his mouth. There was a knife on the coffee table, spatters of blood, stray feathers, some jagged, some torn...

A man wailed from beside the table, his pristine white wings decorated by the flower of a fresh wound and for a beat, Kazuma felt the world spin around him, felt his stomach push up as if to wretch...

But he managed to keep himself on his feet long enough to look up to the unsteady ceiling. There was a figure in a gray dress suspended by the beams near the overlooking balcony of the second floor. She had wings of her own but for some reason, they did nothing but flap frantically as she kicked in jagged motions, looking up to the beam--

Kazuma's wild gaze found the string of a rope that surrounded her white neck.

“Mrs. Divine, no!!” The world was a blur and for some reason, as he regretted leaving his sword in Alexshire, a knife appeared in his hand.

Halfway up the curving stairwell, he yelled to anyone who could hear him, “Help us!!” and never, for once, faltered in his race. He had a knife in hand but he didn't know what he could do with it! He had to cut the noose off and set her free, that was all that he knew!!

[Jericho]

Jericho was given no time to assess what was happening, or even to leave the scene to be sure he was not dragged into some drama or other. He had just enough time to note the bald patches on the woman's wings before she and Uemori passed each other on the path, she to flee and he to dart into the house. Jericho's reaction was slow as he instinctively moved out of the woman's way, then wondered if he should give chase, then wondered why he wondered that when this had nothing to do with him.

His feet fixed in place, Jericho glanced up and down the street. He caught a glimpse of the woman (Sierra? Was that Sierra Haramond, the woman Uemori had mentioned?) turning a corner and disappearing out of sight, and then his glance arced back to take in the quiet street.

He should leave. He had led Uemori to his destination, and given the man his card. His actions now should not affect their business dealings, regardless of morals. In fact, if the vampire thought less of Jericho for not assisting, they were probably not well suited as business partners. He should leave. And yet, when he heard the yell for help, he stepped forward with a sigh and his hands in his pockets once more.

What he found inside turned his stomach. Blood, feathers, and an Anyelos flailing uselessly from a noose that Uemori apparently intended to cut. To his prejudiced eyes, the assumptions were obvious: An Anyelos incapable of flying but old enough that she should have no trouble with the noose; an Anyelos whose wings had balded free of their feathers; all that blood. At least one of these women were now vampire. Even so, Jericho found himself moving to stand beneath the woman.

“Cut it. I'll catch her.” And if she tried to bite him, he would have hold of her already, and loose enough pain into her system that she would never dare to bite him or anyone else ever again.

[Kazuma]

Kazuma was cursing himself for standing uncertainly by the struggling anyelos for two counts but Jericho had given his word and if that man played a trick on him then gods forbid he plan a vengeance on him. Instead, he nodded, and as easily as if he were climbing the steps of a stairwell, he got onto the banister and with a swing of his right hand, had cut through the strained rope and set the poor anyelos free of her own bindings.

But she didn't even fight gravity, as anyeli were supposed to do. Choking and whimpering, she fell willingly down waiting arms.

As for Kazuma, he was back on the stairwell sooner than he realized.

[Jericho]

Jericho caught the woman easily, he thought, before realising he was in fact on his back with her crumpled on top of him. Perhaps it was the wings, but she was heavier than she'd looked when she was hanging from the noose. “Oof.” Quick to take her by the upper arms and push her face away from him (just case she decided she was hungry, he reasoned), he elbowed his way into an upright position and scrambled away from her, putting as much distance between them as was possible in the confined quarters of her home with no thought for her comfort.

He gained his feet as Uemori reached them, and habitually brushed himself off. He even took a moment to check that his clothes were not stained with blood, though he didn't think he'd made contact with the mess in the kitchen — a thought which only drew his gaze back to the table where Mysto Haramond was laid out like a butcher's sacrifice. Jericho couldn't tell if he was still alive, and stepped closer to hold a hand over the man's mouth. If Mysto was breathing, Jericho couldn't feel it. “Damn.” Now he would have to force payment from his family instead, and that was always so much more complicated than the business was worth.

“So,” he sighed, his fingers snapping down the hem of his jacket in another habitual movement. “Would anyone care to explain what under Hel is going on and why my client is dead?”

[Kazuma]

Kazuma was by the miserable anyelos' side, kneeling beside her, when Jericho had proposed the question. Wide-eyed, he looked to the younger anyelos and asked quietly, as though he dreaded to hear the answer, “You killed him?”

“I don't care,” she wept bitterly, hoarsely, her face so pale from all the tears she had been crying. Kazuma tore the rope off from her bruised neck while she shook uncontrollably and he tossed it aside, glad to find that her head was still attached to her shoulders. “I don't care anymore, I don't care!! Everyone can die, I don't care!!”

“Mrs. Divine,” Kazuma called her name for a plea of sanity as he rested his hands on her tiny shoulders. “Mrs. Divine, you can't act this way! Jeremy would not have wanted this--”

“And who are you to tell me?!” she roared at the vampire who held her, glaring at him as if she had Hel behind her very eyes. “Just because you're a vampire doesn't mean you know what Jeremy thinks! Who are you to save me?! And you,” she yelled at Jericho behind her, “How dare you try and save me! Both of you, you know nothing!!”

“This despair...” Kazuma began but the words left him before he could even chase them, “Mrs. Divine, I, too, mourn for your husband--”

“Shut up!!” She screeched at Kazuma and fought against his bigger hands. “Don't even try to think you know how I feel! How dare you lie to me! You said you were immortal! The lot of you!!” she flailed her arms wildly to Jericho's direction. “Jeremy was supposed to be immortal! Goddess, he was supposed to be immortal--!!”

“It couldn't be helped!!” Kazuma had to raise his voice to be heard by her and she shrieked and covered her ears and dipped her head, her wings moving as if to cover her entire body but Kazuma kept his hands on her shoulders and she couldn't hide herself from the men who surrounded her that all she could do was sob and cry. “What happened to Jeremy was nothing that could have been helped! Not by his second life, not by blood! A,” he choked in hesitation, “A slit in the throat--”

“I know,” she snarled, sobbing still, “I know what Calvin did...!”

Kazuma paused and held her in silence as she bawled and hunched closer to her folded legs. “So it is true? That Calvin Morris did it?”

[Jericho]

Jericho should have left when he had the chance, Xanth damn it. He was now in the middle of some woman's mad-with-grief murderous rampage, it seemed, and that without his two bodyguards — as if having a client killed before his loan was paid off was not bad enough.

“Ah,” he grumbled, quiet enough that the pair might not hear him over the woman's outbursts, “Xanth save me from wretched love affairs.” They brought him nothing but trouble, be they his own or anyone else's. In fact, he seemed incapable of avoiding being caught up in the damn things.

Well, but at least their back-and-forth was interesting. “He was supposed to be immortal!” Jericho had heard this about vampires, of course, this belief that because they did not age, they could not die. He thought it ridiculous, to be perfectly frank. None had survived the Scourge Wars long enough, to his knowledge, to prove that they were any longer lived than the Anyeli, and the Dracovari far out-lived them anyway.

“I think,” he muttered between her rantings, “you might be mistaking "immortal" for "indestructible".” It was none of his business, of course, but he abhorred all this drama over something as simple as a linguistic mistake. Had she convinced herself her husband could not die, ever, no matter what happened to him? Had she thought he would survive being beheaded, for instance, or being ripped limb from limb? She was utterly stupid, then, if that were the case.

“So it is true? That Calvin Morris did it?”

Jericho choked on an intake of breath, his eyes widening slightly in probably the first real expression of emotion he had shown in over a decade. Jericho had never thought to hear that name again. Calvin Morris was known the world over for his absolute hatred of vampires, and for his efforts to wipe them out. He labelled anyone who helped them a sympathiser and a traitor, and added them to his growing hit list for a drawn-out and painful death, torturing them gleefully in the name of righteousness. Jericho himself had come far too close to losing his head to the vlareon after a misunderstanding. (Well, he had been attempting to negotiate an arms deal with a group of vampires, a deal that ended horribly and forced him to move yet again.)

Jericho rarely swore worse than saying "damn", but his reaction was swift and knee-jerk: “You have got to be taroch crapting me.”

---

OOC: I just made up a bunch of stuff about Calvin so I don't know if it's in line with what you're aiming for. Let me know if you want me to edit?