Night, silent; empty. Zariah likes to wander the streets at night. Because no one else is around, not anyone normal at any rate. Zariah doesn't care about that though, never has; not since she fell into her current ... condition. Life, death, neither phases her anymore. When she wanted death, it was out of reach; when she wanted someone dearly important to her to live ... he died. But she's grown used to such things. Losing everything and gaining nothing. Now her 'life' is spent alone, devoid of friendship; and with plenty of enemies, (well ... four or five at the least.) But all that has something to do with the past, her past. Which is something Zariah hates reflecting upon.

In a depressed mood, as always, Zariah thinks about trying to kill herself again. But that never works, only results in ... pain. More than most people can bear. Last time, she'd jumped off a bridge; but that only resulted in a few cracked ribs and a broken jaw. Odd, you say? Of course it is. See, Zariah has this thing with not being able to ... die. Words of wisdom; if you're going to royally piss someone off, make sure they're only human and/or don't have any sort of spells to curse you with. Whether it be a demon, god, or just some asshole using a bit of witchcraft on her, Zariah isn't quite sure exactly what cursed her. (She knows who, just not what they might've been.) The previous idea being quickly shoved to the back of her mind, Zariah tried to think of something better to do. Maybe find some kind of amusment other than her daily routine.

While she's usually alone, in her crappy hotel room, asleep for lack of anything better to do; or somewhere where she can get enough to drink to keep her memories at bay, tonight she's wandering aimlessly along the city streets. Boots, thud against the concrete sidewalk. The heavy footfalls, for some reason, don't seem to match up with the person creating them. Though, she is kinda hard to see in the dark. Wearing black clothing: a silk shirt, pants, a long jacket to shield herself from the elements. Pale face hidden from the light of the moon, head inclined downward, as if watching her feet as she treads along. A somewhat submissive posture, though Zariah is anything but submissive. Thoughts, fragments of memories, rush through her mind like a VHS tape stuck on fast-forward. Howerver, they are soon interuppted by the feeling that someone, somewhere around here, is watching Zariah. And that something Zariah really doesn't like.

[Enter Agent Black]

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot...

Stop.

Awfully suspicious, being the only man on the streets...

But this thought didn't cross this ones mind. Why would it? He wasn't a serial killer, just a...

Civil servant...

It was night, and all was dark, the outstretched shadow embracing everything with a sacred gaze, as all were in bed, away and asleep, safe from whatever lurked the night, safe from that which caused deadly fright, and safe from the things which might bedight, might cause a measure of man to want some light.

He looks around...

Even in the night he wears the shade, this man on a mission, this man devoid of personality. He sought something he did not know, nothing was earth-shattering, nothing seemed to glow.

Information...

But to use it, or to gather? To store, or to better from it?

Don't know, don't care. Only purpose is this which lies before me...

He was there only to serve.

He stood on the street below the horizon of city roofs, as he gazed into the light and shadows, the shadows made by gods and nature, the light produced by man, in their boundless glory.

Someone must have it, that which they want...

He gazed all around. He heard not a thing truly unusual, not a thing known to the ears of man. He simply knew she was out there, walking in the night. What foolish creatures these humans may be, they'd forgotten to whom the night belonged. But those that lurked in night wanted nothing tonight. It was something more a shadow of mens leaders that lurked here tonight, the true nature of power's greed...

It's near...

They never told him what they wanted. They'd given him that white ear piece, goin down his side into his shirt, down his collar. They'd given him this blac suit, this gold tie, the white shirt, the loafers, the gun, the shades, even the blocked haircut. All this they'd given him, but they hadn't really told him what they want. They were so vague, telling him nothing, telling him only what 'he needed to know'. He couldn't even recall what they looked like, what they were, where they watched from, who they were. Though some might disagree, he only knew as much as those conspiracy buffs who still mistrusted his kind lethally...

There.

He rounded a corner nigh the dark alley, and saw his next 'contact' there. He had no questions, but they did. They wanted something, some starnge soundless word uttered into his brain beyond hearing range told him that, through that white ear-piece given him. He knew, this boxy man, this perfect square with sharp edges. The sound of boots thudding met his words. Instantly, a thought, a face flitted through his mind. Something to do with that murder/suicide not so long ago. It drank of something he'd hunted the last time, something that had evaded him, one of the few things that had evaded him. It ate at the soundless voice inside the earpiece, ate it alive, for it threw in it's monkey-wrench and chuckled. Though the thing didn't think, thus no thoughts could be placed there, it still had tricked this composite human known as Agent Black.

He spoke, as she herself rounded the corner as well. He raised his hand for a second, gently requesting her to stop for a moment. They had issued their requests for knowledge in a soundless whsiper.

"Excuse me ma'am, but I'd like to ask you some questions"

It was a voice that spoke of a measurless, nameless authority.

Zariah looked up, staring at the moon as if she could force it to do something other than just sit up there glaring down on her. Of course, that didn't happen; nothing happened. Gaze quickly brought back down, at hearing footsteps nearing. Zariah turned the corner, never changing her pace. Until suddenly, there was someone there, standing in front of her; hand outstretched. Zariah stopped walking; glanced over the man standing before her once; twice.
-Weird is an understatment.- Was the first thought that ran through her head.

The fact that, this man did not have a gun pointed at her face, proved he wasn't some sort of mugger or anything of the sort. Information, huh? Zariah didn't have anything she would want to tell anyone. 'Sides, Zariah trusted no one; and it was doubtful she would give any info regarding herself. But, if it was a question in regards to anything else, Zariah ... well she probably wouldn't give any information about whatever it was either. Why? Because Zariah doesn't exactly like authority. Authority had never done anything to assist her, not even when she requested aid from certain authority figures. Authority is something that this particular woman does not get along with, well.

"About what?"

Tone virtually apathetic, for she really did not care; it also sounded annoyed, as if she did not relish the fact that someone dare interupt her walk. Shifting her weight to one foot; taking gloved hands out of jacket pocket she crossed her arms in front of her.

She turned and gazed upon his blocky form, like human cast inside a square, his face and hair and eyes and shoulders, framing a body and image far to perfect. Squares that cut, edges that wound, all the visage of that horrible thing, that killer with invisible wings, who descended with the boundless speed of a walking pace, and to the hero's absolute disgrace. An unstoppable, measurless fiend was he, trapped in body of grandeur unbefitting. But let us move on, for of such form demands neither lyric nor song!

"About what?"

The other might of smiled, he might've winked, given jest, that unkempt creature of guile with smiles, chaos unteethered by bounds, under a sunless sky all lit red, which screamed of prophisies of war. How strange it was, this thing forseen, uttered then in the soundless depths of that silent white earpiece, which foretold of otherworldly power, commanding thisconstructin method unscene.

How very strange, how very quaint.

The shadows, in their own strange ways, they began to dance, began tosing, but only seen by very few, they seemed very still, very silent, very cool. But then again, even with the gods and their limited senses, such things convey not shame, as they play their loud and obnoxious game, unbidden and not truly seen.

He did not smile,and maintained his own apathetic guile, unbidden to know, unbidden to care, of his Master's own devices, wether they be obscene or grand...

"I came to ask about the incident not long past, the incident with the misunderstanding. Such misunderstandings have been perpetuating carelessly, and though you might, as the only witness to have thusfar survived, had escaped giving tidbits to the police, your information is still to be mine..."

...He allowed his words to sink in, to allow the terrible power of whence he came, it's hold to begin. But even if it did not, it would not matter. His masters purposes were quite indirectly clear, from whence he came even more apparent. He allowed some time for his monotonous proclamation to be set in time's stones, and then he finished his sentence unpunctuated.

"...They demand it." The word of apex and beginning had been emphasized, had been made into a totalitarian blast, allowing like a filament of glass to fall down with thunderous revelation

He remained silent, unbidding her a start, not starting towards her as others of the conspiracy's apex might, instead intentupon allowing her to reflect, wanting more information then ones life. Interestingly enough, though, of her curse he neither knew nor cared.

Zariah does not notice the shadows, doesn't care about what sort of things might lurk in the night. Whatever dangers there might be, along these silent streets in a place such as this. Whatever evil that lurks in the hearts of men, who'd be more than happy to see this lone woman as nothing other than prey. Zariah does not care about any of these things. She can more than able take care of herself, she has no fear of the unknown, doesn't worry about the fact that there are things outside that few people could even fathom existing. At least, thats what she tells herself.

It doesn't take long for her to start finding this odd, squarely-built man as simply, boring. And, he hadn't said anything other than he wanted to ask some questions. But he never actually asked anything. And so Zariah had turned to leave, not even thinking that it might be unwise to turn her back on the man. One foot moved forward in a motion to walk away, but stopped at the speech. '...incident not long past, the incident with the misunderstanding'. For the first time, the apathy left her face and was replaced with a depressed look at recalling the event spoken of, that is, if it was the same event Zariah was thinking of. But that she quickly replaced with suspicion. No one, other than the ones who had a hand in the event, knew about that. And Zariah, supposedly, was to be dead. The heel of her boot slowly touched the sidewalk. And the woman abruptly turned to face the speaker.
"I have nothing to say."

And though her heart had all but stopped beating in her chest, Zariah turned away again. 'They demand it.' Zariah reflected on that a moment, then continued to walk away.
"If they want to know so badly. Then they can come ask me themselves."

The freakishly square creature remained silent for a moment, absorbing her challenge and mockery of his masters. This happenned about half the time, someone got it in their heads to be rebellious, to challenge the power to which even governements and terrorists bowed. Interestingly enough, this eternal watchdog, the power that be that was often mistaken for the minions of the government that it employed simply out of convenience, it was something far older, something far more sinister. It was the feeling of something staring back at you from the ether, such a feeling that caused such unholy feelings of terror, such as to make you very, very scared.

If you are weak enough.

Yes, it was a joke. Humans had forgotten that fear of the Eternal-Watcher, that neutral creature of death. What was that childhood fear, long forgotten, derided as an immature fear, a feeling of dread undue. The boogey-man? Maybe, but now is not the time to worry, now was the time merely to stay alive. Indeed, but sometimes the most terrifying of creatures can be the greatest of fools.

Them and The Boogeyman, rolled into one, but still entirely seperate. Who was the master of whom, and what was the master of what? It matters not for now, the conjecture is for another day.

...And now for something completely different.

His hands, the extensions of his mighty, masculine arms, they had fallen to his sides earlier. As a general rule, by this 'man's refinement, he walkedwith avery non-chalant, yet delicateair, not raucously, but slowly. One might not think it capable of catching up with anyone or anything, judging with how slowly he moved. He walked, rarely ran. But he always seemed to catch up. He slowly, ever so slowly walked towards this young-woman. It would've come to this anyways, regardless of wether she'd told him what could've helped. He'd entangled her too deeply when he'd mentioned them, and now she was too dangerous to be permitted to live.

"Miss", he said with a barely notable twinge sympathy evident in his voice, "but regardless, I simply cannot permit you to leave with the information you now possess. I'm so sorry..."

He was very obvious about it, as he drew the .50 Caliber Desert Eagle from inside his dress jacket. He slowly and deliberately would point his weapon at her. Then he would fire three shots, very close range, the first would enter her heart inevitably, then the neck, then the head. Physics is an interesting subject, especially when applied to firing bullets from a a high-penetration, recoil action firearm, and when discussing recoil hopping.

It was alright for Agent Black. As many had said before him, he was only following orders. After firing the shot, he'd walk away. The nights mist came hither, and as most who were dead, in either soul or body, he'd travel swiftly and secretly. He had a world more of witnesses to interview...

[Sorry if it seems a bit grizzly. I figured out a good scene from that, but really, it's up to you what happens.]

Zariah stopped, footsteps behind her only meant one thing. That man (at least, thats what she thought he was) was following her. Zariah doesn't like being followed. Gaze shifted the the side, although there was nothing to see there. A hand slowly went ot jacket pocket, for no reason other than having nohing else to do with it. Zariah was only mildly comforted by the feel of the knife in her hand, the blade of which had been stained with the blood of herself and others. She turned now, arms crossed with one hand still in pocket. 'Cannot permit you to leave...' She raised a brow at this, glanced at the gun in the man's hand. It was a wepaon she was quite famliar with, though she didn't carry one herself. Right now, Zariah should have been shakign in utmost fear, at least, any normal woman would if she had a gun pointed at her. But Zariah did not, instead she just stared at the man with emotionless gaze.

"Who ... in the hell do you think you are?"

Though the man appearently did not know it, a bullet or three through Zariah's form wouldn't kill her. Yes, it would result in so much pain that Zariah would wish it had killed her. The lyrics of a song she'd heard once idly went through her head. Pull the trigger and the nightmare stops. Pssh ... if only. That was her curse, to feel pain but be unable to die, even if she wanted to. Of course, Zariah did not mention this, it would do more harm than good. So let the square think he'll kill her, and once he left, hours later Zariah would stand shakily to her feet and continue on.

Bang bang. I shot you down.

But there were three shots....

Normally, they were very thorough. Normally, Black would've quite thoroughly made certain the girl he had just laid upon the ground with three blood-splattering rounds from the auot-matic .50 Caliber pistol was certainly dead. But THEY had learned something, in this long-year. They had learned ever since he'd been made for this age, that when you blast someone thrice in such a horrible, mangling fashion, that they are very much dead. There was certainly enough blood around her form he'd shattered with small pellets of metal, no larger then a sliver. But shards of metal traveling thousands off feet per-second were liable to make even gods cower in fear, as their pain and blood upon the Earth were spilt.

The shots had gone clear through, obliterating the side of a dumpster outside the alley with a clatter.

Through that earpiece, in words unheard, unseen, they spoke their agreement with his logical and sensible deduction. They voted to leave her body, and make haste, they must lay waste to that little bringer of chaos running amuk in their lands. Even a god wouldn't be going anywhere after that.

"Have a goodnight, Miss"

Without a word, the grim man turned, and made off into the night, to the mists spew by the city, by the nights mighty fog, that created by mankind, much like their smog, an emulation of the exhalations of the bog.

How the certain and mighty were such pernacious fools.

Zariah didn't try to run; didn't try to duck the hail of gunfire in any way. She knew that she couldn't dodge a bullet, or three. And honestly, she didn't care about what should have killed her. Instead she had closed her eyes against the sound of the trigger and the bullets that flew through the air so swiftly. Zariah staggered forward a second, then fell backwards. There was an audiable crack as her head slammed against the sidewalk beneath her. Did that guy just tell her to have a good night? As if.

Zariah had not been fully unaware of her surroundings when the man left her. Though her eyes were shut and she couldn't move, Zariah could feel the blood spilling along the sidewalk. But that was ok, the earth had tasted her blood before. Zariah was, in fact, all but dead. If one were to check her pulse, they wouldn't find one, but Zariah could still sense whatever was going on. Though the most noticeable thing was pain. That was the way it always was. So she lay there, hoping and waiting to lose conciousness so she couldn't feel. A few moments later, Zariah found herself no longer breathing. It didn't take long for everything to fade to black, and then Zariah simply felt nothing. And nothing was good. It always was.

Footsteps approached.
The gait was slow, measured, the sound surprisingly quiet for such big boots.
The feet stopped next to the limp hand of the young girl.

Saul looked down at her with an odd expression on her face. She had watched the exchange from the rooftop, wreathed in darkness.
She had done nothing.

Her black brows drew down. The girl was dead, had to be. But Saul usually made a point to be thorough. Vampires always did.

There had to be something wrong with this town.

Through all the provinces in Canada, she'd almost never seen as many oddities all in one place. The other day there had been a werewolf attack, the day before, a vampire. And she was sure she'd seen something else...something darker, in the park. Too soon to get so close, she'd known that. But so many creatures in on place made her wanna crank up the Britney Spears, close her eyes and well...you know.
Kill them all.

Should have done something for the girl, her conscience nattered at her. She grimaced. She was no vigiliante, no power for justice. Not responsible.

Saul hesitated, pale eyes swimming with frustration.
Walk away.

With a sound of pure irritation, she bent swiftly and put a hand to the girl's throat. No pulse of life.
"For the boatman's tax," she murmured, finger tracing an invisible symbol on the girl's chest...

In her mind, Zariah 's running. Down a dark street, past forclosed buldings and into an alleyway. There, she stops; on the ground, a body riddled with bullet holes, much like Zariah 's was now. It was the first time Zariah had ever seen so much blood, in this vision of her past. The dead man, was her friend; and he was dead. At that moment, Zariah swore revenge. However, in the end she never got that. Instead she got pain, darkness, and she was just hovering on the brink of death.

And though she'd rather not be, Zariah's back to reality; the present. She could feel herself coming back, and if she'd been able, she would have cursed at herself for it. Though she cannot stand the feel of cold concrete at the back of her head, Zariah doesn't move. Because, there's someone there. Maybe it was the guy who'd shot her, only chkecking to see if he'd really killed Zariah. Perhaps it was only some passerby. Either way, Zariah didn't know; didn't care.

Against her will, Zariah's hand gave a twitch.
-Don't get up, Zariah . Just stay down. Let them think I'm dead. Then they'll leave. Then I can leave.-
But the person standing beside her still didn't leave. Instead Zariah caught an indistinct whisper. Without even wanting to, Zariah could feel her body trying to bring itself back. Heart strained to beat; lungs struggled to find breath again.
-Damn ... this isn't going to turn out well.-

Whoa.

Saul was up and two steps back in less than a second, pale eyes fixed on the girl'd face. That ritual was purely funereal! She had no mojo to bring anything back from the otherside, whatever that was.
Saul may have had her doubts about any kind of heaven, but she did know a dead person when she saw one. She'd seen lots.

Impossible.

But the same realm of impossible had taken her family from her. Taken Nina. It was like the first time she'd seen a vampire.

Saul took two breaths, her hand clenching. She reined in her initial reflex, to lash out with force. Evil wore many faces in this town. If bullets wouldn't kill this one...perhaps a little telekinesis would be in order.

The girl had to be playing possum. Saul didn't like games. She drew out her mechanichal crossbow, unfolding it and expertly fitting an arrow.
"Girl," she said, her low voice carrying only a trace of menace, "Get up."

Damn it! That person was still here. Whoever it was wasn't leaving. Zariah mentally cursed to herself. Without her being concious of the move, her hand twitched again. 'Get up'. Zariah slowly opened her eyes at that. The blood that covered her face, allowed her to see only a crimson haze. Zariah didn't want to get up. As her body was piecing itself together bit by bit, she found herself having trouble comprehending exactly what was going on here.

But it was now appearant that she couldn't just lay here. It was obvious that she would have to get up. Slowly, she rolled over to her stomach, eyes shut as she pulled her legs under her. After a moment, she found herself on hands and knees; staring down at the sidewalk. Gaze shifted to the person standing in front of her. Things were bad enough, what with getting shot and all, and now theres some woman with a fucking crossbow aimed at her.

Zariah let her eyes fall on the sidewalk again. Blood ... there was so much of it. Not really thinking about it, Zariah run fingers lightly across the blood pooled at her feet. She winced as the pain in her head and chest grew stronger all of a sudden.

Zariah didn't speak; didn't move anymore. If that person was thinking she was some sort of threat, then Zariah didn't want any more pain inflicted upon her. For tonight, she'd had enough. If she could've Zariah would have said something. But a bullet through the throat had left her, speechless.

Saul was privately appalled.

Even after what she'd seen as a hunter, she could never quite quash that initial humane reflex.
She didn't have any use for sympathy. Certainly not empathy. But there it was, every time, quietly vomited into the back of her throat.

"You should be dead, girl. Tell me why you're not and we'll have progress." Saul locked her eyes on the girl's face. Her crossbow shaft was aimed dead on the girl's heart.

The girl looked like cheese. Bloody cheese. Saul tried not to think about it. What's one more arrow? Like a hors d'oeuvre and a toothpick.

Saul blinked.
Whatever menacing things she had planned to say evaporated on her tongue. The girl wasn't going to be speaking to her anytime soon. A bullet had seen to that.

Uncertainty.

She didn't like itone bit. Better to shoot first and ask questions later.

Instead she lowered the crossbow, very slowly. "Look, girl," she said, "I may be looking for trouble but I don't think you're it." She shifted her weight so that she looked more relaxed. The look in the girl's eyes was hollow, unnerving. Saul did her best to look stonefaced.
"Don't give me any reasons to think otherwise."

Ah, threats. Saul found that they worked better than most other methods of communication. In this case, maybe death wasn't the right one. But what else was there anyway. And your little dog, too?

Saul's eyes were focused still on the large amounts of blood. Regeneration, or else the girl would not be alive. Maybe. Possibly she might eat Saul for sustenance. A fitting but unpleasant way to go.
Against her better judgement, she muttered, "Will it stop hurting?"

Hors d'oeuvre and a toothpick, huh? Well, Zariah would've probably laughed at that. Slowly, she stumbled up, and fell back against the brick wall behind her. Gaze shifted outside the alley; saw that dumpster on the other side. Zariah noticed the holes in it. Where the bullets had wound up after going through her form. Her gaze was diverted back to the other, as they spoke. For a moment, Zariah's thoughts scattered.There was so much blood staining her clothes, she knew she'd never get them cleaned. Eventually she'd need to go buy new clothes. Which Zariah didn't like because these were her favorite clothes. This time, even her jacket was virtually ruined.

Zariah slid down the wall, and sat on the sidewalk. Resting her head against the wall she'd shut her eyes. Standing hurt, breathing hurt, thinking hurt. Well ... everything hurt. Speaking of which... 'Will it stop hurting?'. Zariah eyes quickly opened at the question. Being unable to speak, she just gave a shrug in reply. The answer was really a sort of yes, and no. Every injury Zariah had received in one way or another. The pain always seemed to resurface from time to time, even years later. Not that she'd reveal that information if she could.

Saul's mood went from placid to exasperated in about two seconds flat.

She clicked away her crossbow with an expert's ease and raised her chin. She might have felt silly staring down an undead girl who couldn't speak, but she'd done weirder.

She decided not to mention the fact that she'd once spent several minutes staring down a pair of vampire eyeballs that were laying in the dirt. She'd won that, but only because she'd stepped on them.

She knew that feeling sorry for this girl was an irrational response, but it was happening anyway. It may be the weak who get stepped on in this world, but Saul still had bootprints in her back, and she remembered.

Saul ran a hand sharply through her hair. Her lips pressed together. Without looking at the girl, pale eyes fixed on a piss stain on the alley wall, she muttered,
"I'm not going to make you do anything, girlie. But I have ten bucks here that wants to be made into timbits, and a cloak that'll cover you up fine." She paused, face locked somewhere between a grimace and what may have passed for comforting impassiveness. She glared at nothing in general, thinking, Just kill her and leave.

She threw a cloth at the girl's feet. "Wipe your face off. I'll wait for you at the sidewalk." She started walking.

Zariah wasn't really an undead, per say. Immortal; couldn't actually die; always alive. Not that it really mattered. And odd sound arose from her throat, as she'd momentarily forgotten she couldn't speak. She raised a hand; put it against her neck. Zariah shook her head, almost dismissing herself.

She wasn't one who liked others feeling sorry for her anyways. It's a pride thing mostly. And less often was it that she accepted when people tried to help her. Though ... at the moment, she was in a bit of a tight spot. Zariah gave a quick glance to the other, obviously reflecting upon what she'd said.

Lowering the hand that had previously been held to her throat, Zariah let it rest at her side. So far, this night was turning far more oddly than she would've ever expected. With a mental shrug, she reached forward and picked up the cloth tossed at her feet. When Zariah looked up again, the other woman was walking away.

A few seconds later, Zariah had wiped the blood from her face; and brought herself unsteadily to her feet. Using the wall to keep herself from falling, Zariah made her way to the sidewalk.

Saul desperately wanted a cigarette.

Smoking was bad, hadn't done it in years, but now she suddenly wanted one. She wasn't sure just what she was doing with this girl, but she betted it was stupid.

How could the girl even eat if she couldn't talk? Saul grimaced, her oddly pretty face twisting unpleasantly. Of course she hadn't thought of that. And teh girl could still spontaneously morph another appendage and eat her, don't forget about that. All in all, not a well planned situation.
Saul stilled the fidgeting of her hands.

When had her night patrol turned into a help mission? What the hell was she doing acting like a carebear? Saul turned around angrily. She was going to stride down the alley and tell the girl to take her bloody, cheesy ass--

Saul smothered a feminine "eek!".

The girl was standing right behind her, looking up at her with dark, hollow eyes. Her face was mostly cleaned of blood, but she wasn't going to win any beauty contests right now. She had the cloth in her hand.

Saul glared down at her. A moment too late she softened her gaze into what she hoped was impassivity. "Give me that," she said, taking the cloth from her. Her pale eyes glanced at the empty street. Without looking at her Saul took off her cloak, something she never did when not in combat, revealing a bristling of weapons tied, locked, and strapped to her black-clad body.
"Here," she said gruffly, holding it out to her. The girl looked at her, and Saul let out a tight breath. Her eyes darted to sides and then she put the cloak around the girl's shoulders herself. As she was tying it, she said, "You'd better hope your throat closes up soon. I'm getting impatient."

Zariah probably had a cigarette pack somewhere in one of her jacket pockets. But like the rest of her, they were more than likely blood covered and rendered useless. She smoked herself, on occasion. Mainly because she knew she wouldn't have to worry about lung cancer or whatever.

There was no way Zariah could, or would have, suddenly gain another appendage and/or eat the other. Zariah was just a very unlucky woman who'd managed to get herself cursed in such a way as to keep her from dying. And she wasn't planning on eating anything anytime soon in either case. A drink would be good though, even if she wasn't sure how she'd even manage that.

Zariah knew she had problems. But she wandered what the deal was with this other person. It looked like they were trying to help Zariah but didn't really want to. So Zariah wandered what it was that kept them hanging around her. And it wasn't like Zariah asked for help from anyone in the first place. Anyone in their right mind would have quickly left Zariah to her own devices and later tell themselves that what they'd seen was just their own imagination. Anyhow, Zariah gave up on trying to figure this all out, for the moment at least.

She hadn't meant to surprise the other so much. Zariah thought her footsteps should've been heard in her walking to the sidewalk. But ... whatever. She gave a somewhat apologetic shrug at having the cloak thrown over her and tied. -You're getting impatient? If anyone should be impatient it would be me. I can barely breath much less talk.-

If Zariah could actually talk at the moment, then she probably would have said something not at all helpful to herself. So it was actually a good thing she was forced to silence.

The girl's eyes weren't really insolent, were they?
Saul's impatience peaked and she quashed it. "Come on," she said, forgetting to be menacing, forgetting to even be terse. She hadn't been this annoyed since Nina put a june bug in her coffee that one time. Plus, she was getting antsy. She hadn't acquired a negative reputation around here yet, so there weren't any crawlies looking for her yet, but her instincts wre still on alert.
The girl would slow her down.
But hey, it wasn't like she could die or anything. Saul really just had herself to worry about. But she had this sinking feeling that she'd try to save this stupid girl anyway. Out of some perverse revival of morality or maybe a vigilante hormone spike. And she'd probably die horribly in the process, and this girl woudl walk away with a missing limb or two, then she'd grow one back and everyone would be just peachy. Except for Saul, who would be dead. Or possibly in mortal agony.

She must be a masochist. Maybe a closet one.

Saul walked to where her car was parked and unlocked it. Maybe not so closet-y. She drove a yellow cab. It was her day job. Because, even for vampire hunters, money still did not fall out of trees in gold-bar form. Nor was it generously bestowed by corporate healthcare sponsors.

So Saul pulled an ugly brown sweater over her bristling of weapons and reached across the front seat to unlock the passenger door. The car smelled like old popcorn. GOd-damn she hated that.

The door swung open. Then she stared straight ahead and turned on the ignition. She looked over at the girl, pale eyes narrowed.
"So if your mom told you not to get into cars with strangers, she would be right. I'm Saul. Hey, how's it going, you're half dead, I know, wish you'd talk soon, that sucks, hey there, now we're not strangers. Forgive me if I don't hold my breath for your verbal response. Get in."