Gun? Check. The revolver in which his dad used to keep in that old safe of his was safely tucked into the inside coat pocket of his black trenchcoat.

Hat? Not check. A hat wasn't needed today, though. It was nearly forty degrees today, so it was a major heatwave, and Rasmus hadn't thought of wearing a hat.

Gloves? Check. His old, worn gloves, in which he cut half off of every finger-slot, were on his frigid fingers, as if he wore them every day, and they were exceptionally casual. Usually he just wore them around the house, but now... he had his own stupid reasons for wearing them.

Directions? Check. He had them memorized, since this old house around this ratty place was completely abandoned, and is said to be haunted by the teenagers ruled by fear. Rasmus knows better. It's just abandoned, and that's that.

Those things, as small as the list was, were all he needed.

His black boots, which could have been considered "womanish" since they had the pointed toes, made little sound as Rasmus scuffled along the streets, and eventually ventured off into some kind of woods of some sort.

His eyes were shielded by his thin-rimmed, black glasses, which sat at the bridge of his nose, and were an oval shape. They didn't really hide his silver-colored eyes, just aided them. Without them, it was kinda hard to see.

The day is bright and sunny, and with the snow, the brightness is perhaps blinding. When one steps into a darkened building, too, the effect of darkness is increased, for it takes a moment or two for your eyes to shift from blinding light to the slightest bit of darkness.

Rasmus continued through the forested area until he reached the aforementioned building, shutting the old, decrepit door behind him. Light filters through the windows and the cracks in the house, but it's still dark, regardless.

Nobody could tell what went on in that house, and Rasmus takes the revolver out of his coat-pocket. His hand shakes slightly, and without meaning to, his hand slips on the trigger, and the gun goes off, targeting a loose floorboard, and the gun falls out of his hand onto the floor.

And then, there's a bit of silence.

Today's the day. The perfect day to die.

BANG

BANG

BANG

It echos through the trees, like a gunshot going off somewhere in the midst of the comotion the sound had caused, birds riseing into the air, startled by the slightest sound, a rabbit..well..rabbiting out of the underbrush making a great leap for it's burrowed hole, a dog bark somewhere, that could make for a good snack latter.

Verkur makes a mental note of which direction the hounds bark had responeded from as the smell of gun powder reaches his sharp nostrals.

The demon had been standing on a tree branch, picking his long granite claws clean with his blade sharp teeth, the flesh of something now dead still hanging from the tips. He'd been comfortable in the solitary silence of the wood, even Demon's need to relax. But now that someone has been so kind as to disturbe them, as if whoever had done so had meant to or even knew he was there in the wood....or even knew of his existance, he opened his wings and let the air catch him.

After just two powerful pulls of his leathery wings, he'd brought himself closer to the source, in fact, as he closed the wings his heavily booted feet landed with a loud Thump on the roof of some rickety house that he'd barely noticed in passing. He walked in circles, letting his feet fall heavily so that it echoed through the inside of the building, and then jumped down, easily landing on his feet.

The gun powder stung his noes, such a strong scent, yet humans didn't seem to mind it, the insignificant little beasties. He made a lot of nose stomping up the rickety steps and across the porch, then pushed the door opened with three claw tips. Sunlight flooded in, that is, until his tall, thin frame stood in the door way. He didn't so much as fill the door way as he was all bone, but his wings provided the bulk to block the opening and sheild the sunlight.

He too wore fingerless gloves, though his were fingerless for a reason, even with out the claws at the end it was doubtable you could find gloves that would fit those huge hands. They're made of a leather that looks suspiciously like human skin died black. His hair is, for once, tied back from his face, a pony tail that clasps the long curtian about half way down. The hair is blue black and falls past his ass now, laying between his torn leathery wings.

Even with that unhumanly, unlively, gray skin, that long black silk curtian, the sixt foot eight inch height, ... those wings, the most noticable asspect of him are his eyes. They are white. And they seem to faintly glow. There is no color in them. One might think he's blind. Someone smarter might be more suspicious. And the eyes come to rest on the gun and the man. He says nothing.

Rasmus stared dumbfoundedly at the gun, unaware of what that gunshot had done, unbeknownst to the creature that lurked in the woods. If he would've known that Verkur was there, he would've been more careful about setting off the gun. But since he didn't know that he was there, and more importantly, what he even was, he simply took a shaky breath and hoped nobody thought too much of it.

He was having second thoughts about this, and continued to blink and stare at the gun. He coughed slightly, and thick silence hung in the air.

Until, of course, someone decided to disturb Rasmus' little party he had going on here. The loud thumps on the rickety, old house roof set him off, and he practically fellbackwards into the corner of the old building because he was so startled. But he regained his footing and swallowed hard. He was hoping that whatever made that sound meant no harm and would just go away.

Fortunately, it did eventually die down after a brief moment, and Rasmus had just assumed that whatever it was went away. But, even as the sound went away, it came back again. But this time, it was closer. Someone stomping up the porch stairs. This leads Rasmus to believe that whatever that noise belonged to, it did not like the gunshot that went off.

And it... this man... could he call it a man? No, it wasn't a man. This "thing" was standing in the doorway to the old house, staring at him. And he said nothing. The silence was deafening. It frightened him.

He had white eyes, and he just assumed he was blind and couldn't see him. Poor fool. He didn't move, just stared blankly at Verkur's white eyes with his own silver eyes, hoping he would just go away if he heard nothing else from the house.

He tried to hold his breath and not make a sound. And, he absent-mindedly wondered, if this was why this particular place was haunted.

Someone should inform poor Rasmus that Verkur doesn't need to hear his breath, he can hear the blood speeding through the frightened mans veins. Why does the human heart beat faster when they're frightened? It's not as if they need anymore blood anymore fater then normal.

Nevertheless, the ignorant human was now holding his breath. What was the point? Unless he thought that he could hold his breath long enough to pass out before the demon swooped in to attck him...or did he think that Verkur was...how could he possibly think that he could not see him? This thought outraged the demon and his lack eyebrows swooped low over his white eyes. The insulent creatur! It was possibly lucky for Rasmus that Verkur preferred to play with his food before actually digesting it....or maybe it was unlucky.

Whatever the case, Verkur remained standing, tall and still, and slowly bashed Rasmus' hopes that he would leave by slowly, teasingly so, reaching back and pushing the door shut, closeing them into the room togather. And then a diliberate smile crossed the more then regal looking face, hansom even, were it not so deathly gray...and were that grin not so tauntingly evil.

So, blind was he, subject to mere mortal, mere human flaws was he? He opened him mouth slightly, sharp fangs protruding longer then the rest of the sharp teeth, mockingly so he spoke. His voice is a rasping whisper, though he is not whispering. It could remind one of a snakes hiss, or the scroching sound of dropplets of water hitting the hot surface of a frying pan. And his words are strangly accented like nothing in this world, as if his tongue, his teeth, his voice, all of it was not made to speak in an english, or even human, language.

He spoke in a sing song tone that would have sounded childish, had it come from anyone else but him.

"I see you."

Of course, Rasmus hasn't done any studying on demons, so he wouldn't know that. And he doesn't do any studying on any dead thing unless he absolutely has to. But he doesn't know that Verkur's dead, really. If he were any dumber and uneducated about the magical world, he'd probably be Unnish. Poor boy, though. He doesn't know what he's dealing with here.

Now, you see, Rasmus gave up with the whole holding his breath thing after Verkur closed the door and enclosed him in this old building. He couldn't have held his breath for that long anyway, and didn't want to pass out. After all, he had no idea that Verkur wanted to eat him. Like food. It was terribly unlucky on Rasmus' part that not only was Verkur thinking about eating him, he was thinking about playing with him first.

Yes, he was blind, as Rasmus assumed, but he didn't know that it hurt the demon's ego to assume such things.

Rasmus swallowed again, harder this time, as Verkur showed him his fangs. Was he... was he going to... eat him? And, that voice. It was so inuman. Sort of like... what a child would imagine the Boogieman to be. And it was scary.

"Leave me alone. This isn't your business." Ah, such courage, he has. He demanded things from a demon.

The black brows that had a moment ago hooded those white eyes in a frown now raise with what seems to be...amusment? And he steps forward, his booted foot absolutly silent on the old floor that should have creaked when he stepped. Apparent now, it is, that all that stomping and trashing around outside and on the roof was for show and only for show.

He lifts his chin slightly and his eyes linger for a moment on the gun, the wreaking tool of human idiocy, then they return to the man's face again. Boogiman as he sounded, he was a bit more frightening...and a bit more real.

Bravery wasn't what Verkur would call it. Oh no. The demon would have called covering your eyes, crying, and pissing your pants brave compared to some other reactions he'd seen. No. He called this mans little...preformance...not bravery but stupidity.

The demon bared his teeth and slowly, teasingly closed the space between them, step by silent step. Twelve feet....ten feet....seven feet...

"Wrong, it's just become my business."

Sometimes bravery can make you foolish, as with the case here. That thing--- Verkur--- was amused at this? Was this all just a game to him? Did he actually, truly, find this amusing? The anger at his amusement didn't show on his face, but Verkur might've known he was angry.

And, the fact that the floorboards didn't creak at all when he stepped forward, when they should've made a low, groaning noise of protest, or something along those lines, eliminated his idea of this creature being heavy. Now, he was sure, that if it was possible, Verkur was lighter than himself.

Rasmus watched, in silence, as Verkur's gaze shifted from him to the gun and back to him again, while all the while Rasmus didn't tear his silver-eyed gaze away from Verkur. He looked straight into those white eyes of his, without blinking. Not once did he blink at all.

Then, there was always that thought, as Verkur came closer and closer and closer to him. Didn't he want to die? Wasn't that what the purpose of the gun was for? Why should he be afraid, should he be eaten. Now, the courage wasn't feigned. And he was slightly angry at the demon for intruding on his own private, personal business. If he wanted to shoot himslef and play with guns, the last person he'd want to know about it was some hungry, arrogant demon.

So, still, even though he backed himself into a corner, he never blinked once, and never looked away from the demon's white eyes, that he once mistook him for being blind. But now he knew better. The demon wasn't blind at all. In fact, he could see better than Rasmus probably could.

Sure, he was putting his life on the line, but... he'd love to waste the last moments of his life talking down to a demon.

"And..." some of the initial fear was still lingering in his lightly accented Swedish voice as he tried to be brave, "Did anyone ever tell you that that's rude?" His voice was still wavering slightly. He just couldn't get that edge of fear out of his voice, no matter how hard he tried.

Fancy that, though. A suicidal person afraid of death. When it came down to it, and Rasmus really didn't want to realize this after that little stunt he pulled with back-talking Verkur, but he did anyway. He realized the fact, that possibly, he didn't want to die.

They say that when you're about to die your life flashes before your eyes. But though Rasmus was uncertain of his fate, memories slowly, painfully, seaped into his brain. Humans were such delicate, strange things, and Verkur should learn to play nice with his toys. They break very, very easily.

Quite the opposite actually. Verkur probably should play nicer with his toys because of how easily they break. But had verkur been a human and not a demon, he would have been one of those little boys who got off on pokeing frog's eyes out or setting squirls on fire. In fact, had verkur been human, he probably would have enjoyed watching people set things on fire...then set them on fire.

But verkur was not human, but human or not, he liked to break his toys. In fact, the harder they were to break, the more he liked them, the more he got off on the challenge.

six feet.....

A faint smile crosses his pale gray lips as he is quite arrogantly told that he is rude. He seems, actually, pleased by this.

three feet....

His hand raises and he begins to tap his claws togather. Should you come across anyone else the demon has...toyed with...they would tell you to cover your ears. Scream, kick, hum, do whatever you can but don't listen to those claws. They seemed to be the way the Verkur Forced people to trust him.

one foot between them and Verkur has officially over stepped any boundries of what human's call personal space, he's now invaded 'Rasmus' bubble'. His smile becomes a sneer. And then, he's beyond any possible personal space, deleating the space between them until his chest is mere inches from the human.

If you're paying attintion, you'll notice his chest doesn't move like anything else's when they breath. In fact, you'll notice he isn't breathing at all. You'll also notice, should you care, that his flesh is as cold as it is pale.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you smell nice."

He hadn't inhailed when he'd neared Rasmus, how would he know how he smelled. And how was that relevent at all to being Rude? He opened his wings, Creating a cave around the human, trapping him in the corner. One claw comes up and rests under Rasmus' chin, a suprisingly gentle touch.

"You've got a name, velvilje?"

((Velvilje (vail - vil - jja) means wishes to be deceased. Verkur's already chosen his name.))

But the fact was, Verkur wasn't, and would never be, a human. And if he was, he'd still probably be just as bad. He'd find some way around his mortal constrictions, and would be a cannibal. So no matter what way you put it, Verkur was still horrible. And come to think of it, he would never play nice with his toys, whether they were human, plastic junk toys, or real, living, breathing human beings. Sadly enough, the living and breathing part wasn't true after Verkur was done with them.

Rasmus stood perfectly still as the demon closed more and more space between him, his face blank of any expression although his stomach is knotted in fear.

Rasmus is perhaps disgusted by the demon's smile, for no matter what expression was on his cold, lifeless face, Rasmus still couldn't tell what his intentions were, and he couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Then... he raised his hands to... attack? No, that wasn't it. The demon started clicking his claws together, and Rasmus nervously tried to take a step back, before realizing he was already backed all the way into a corner.

One foot between them left, and Rasmus was starting to feel uncomfortable. He no longer had anymore personal space, and could no longer execute any plans of possible escape. Verkur had destoryed any hopes of doing that, though, the moment he had walked in, invited himself in, and closed the door behind him.

Even though Verkur inched closer and closer, Rasmus remained still, and the only part of him that was moving was his chest, for he had to breathe. Unlike Verkur's, as Rasmus observes. Because, in the silence, and when a demon is so close to you, there's little else for you to do.

"Yes. I bathe regularly." Rasmus is perhaps going too far with this sarcastic remark. And no, Rasmus didn't notice that Verkur didn't inhale him at all when he was stepping closer.

When he enclosed him with his wings, he swallowed harder than he had ever done beofre, trying to get the lump out of his throat, and the knots out of his stomach. He shuddered at the demon's mere touch, even if it was considered gentle.

"Yes. It's Rasmus." Not Velvilje. Why was he calling him that? "And don't touch me," he added, trying to push away Verkur. He didn't enjoy something so frightening that close to him, invading his space.

Verkur had destoryed any hopes of doing that, though, the moment he had walked in, invited himself in, and closed the door behind him.

Verkur saw it the other way around. It had not been he who had shot off one of those vile human instruments of a wepon and disturbed the demons...cleaning time. In fact, he saw that gunshot as a personal welcome, a hearty invitation. To shoot with intintion of death and not actually kill anything.

Yes, I bathe regularily, as did the demon, in both blood and water. Have you ever wondered what actually happened to those people on the news, filed and forgotten, labeled missing. Do you ever wonder where they’ve gone to, or why no one’s really tried to find them? Verkur doesn’t. In fact, he could probably tell you were at least half of those corpses are lying. And what he did to kill them.

“Rasmus.” He repeated the word, for that was all it was to him, slowly, allowing his whispering hiss of a voice adapt to yet another word of a language that his mouth wasn’t constructed to speak. “I don’t like it.” He decided finally. As if he had the final say...and who knew, maybe he did.

don't touch me!

don't touch me!

Who was giving the orders here!? How could a feeble human even dare to command the demon of chaos! How could it even fathom the very idea!

Verkur’s claw pressed upward slightly, the gentle touch gone and the sharp tip of the claw pressing tightly against the part where the chin and throat of his human connected.

...his human…

that’s right. Verkur had now decided that Rasmus would not die. In fact, he would be very much kept alive by the demon himself. See, as demon of chaos, he enjoys killing, but that’s not what he is. He is chaos, not death. And he enjoys ruining life, ruining his beings lives. And now, he had another being. Another one to slowly toy with, to play with, to see how long he could stretch the game before his new human broke. It’s like taking a doll and pulling at it’s head carefully to see how slowly you could make the head pop off.

Verkur always seemed to see things the other way around. He saw things the way humans did not, and could not, possibly fathom. But that wasn't always a good thing, and Rasmus would rather leave it that way. Demons thought their own way, and humans did likewise.

Besides, it wasn't like he intended to fire off that gun and make the demon feel like he had to be. How curious, he was. And anyway, how did Verkur know that he wasn't dead? That he hadn't shot himself, like he was planning on doing?

Yes, Rasmus does wonder about those people. Every single day. Wonders if the police officers really have found those missing bodies, or those missing people that he sees in the news and reads in the paper. He wondered, since his father was labeled missing, if they would ever find him. And if Rasmus knew if somebody killed his father, he'd strangle them. He went without a father his whole life, and the thought that he could've had one made him angry. He could've, he just didn't.

He waited, hesitantly, for Verkur's reply. He seemed to be testing out his name, and he didn't like it. Who was a demon to say if he liked his name or not? "Nobody asked you." He glared up at him, defensively. He was Swedish. What did Verkur have against Swedish names? He could care less about the demon's opinion, anyway.

The thought had briefly crossed his mind that he didn't know this... thing's name. He could care less, really, but it beat having to refer to him as 'that thing', and it would've been nice to know.

Rasmus knew perfectly well that the demon was in charge here, and that he probably already knew he was, too. He felt his claw press tightly up against his throat and winced slightly. Verkur probably didn't like it when humans talked back to him and ordered him around. Because, after all, demons were so much better than mere mortals. Humans were so inferior compared to demons, and humans should learn to bow to the demons.

Unfortunately, Rasmus wasn't going to do that. He absent-mindedly wondered how many people he'd killed already. How many people he'd done this to. It didn't matter, really. All that mattered was that it was being done to him, and he really didn't like it.

Sure, Verkur is going to keep him, but that much Rasmus doesn't know. He's definitely inhuman, he can tell, but as far as he can tell, he resembled death quite a lot. He still hasn't figured out what he is, yet, though. Doesn't know he's a dead thing. Hasn't been given enough information.

Then, almost like he had an intelligent thought, he remembered the gun. If he could just get out of his grasp for one second, it'd be long enough to grab the gun and shoot him. After all, there were still bullets in it.

Perfect. That was a good idea. But... how to get Verkur to go away? He obviously wasn't responding to his complaints and pushes, which were probably just considered gentle nudges to him.

"Do you..." he managed, swallowing, Verkur's claw still on perhaps the most vital part of his body, "find this amusing?"

He tried to jerk his head away from Verkur, and closed his eyes, wishing he had never set that gun off. He'd signaled his doom when he had done so.

Of course he thought his own way. To verkur, there was not other way except his own way. To the demon, the world should revolve around his way. There should be no other way. Verkur hadn’t known that the man hadn’t been dead, he’d come to investigate who had shot off the human noise maker and discovered instead of a corpse, a new toy. How delightful. He hadn’t expected that, but then, suprises are always a nice thing...sometimes.

How often could Rasmus wonder who took his father? Verkur wouldn’t know if it was Rasmus’ father, he did not concern himself with the meals family. Just with the meal its self. And who knows, maybe Rasmus’ father had been lucky and the demon had not picked him up. He should be so lucky.

Nobody asked you.

The claw came off of Rasmus’ chin so fast that it left a thin cut that you could see before you could even feel it, and his large hand wrapped around Rasmus’ throat, pressing him to the wall, his claws locking into the wood like knives thrown at the wall. Try pulling that out with the demon’s weight added to it and you’ll just be waisting your time.

“That’s because I ask the questions.”

What demons? Yes, Vyncyra was superior to humans and most things mortal, and he knew that. That was the source of his cockiness, for where he’d come from, he was not the strongest. He wasn’t the weakest but was far from the strongest. In fact, you might place him somewhere in the middle of weak and strong, though closer to weak. He was only a Driva, a gate guardian. But other demons? Demons of this world? He would laugh at you. He would be insulted. The demons of this world deserved to be smacked. They were unworthy of the title.

Verkur isn’t worried about this though. He ignores the demons, tries to ignore the gods, and focuses his attention on his games. He doesn’t want you to bow and scrape to him. He doesn’t have a need for humans, they’re simply...make good play things.

If only poor Rasmus knew that he was indeed dead. But it would be fun, to see what would happen should someone try to kill him...again. He’s been cut, and that alone had been enough to make the human piss themselves. But then, a smile touches his lips, revealing all the dagger sharp teeth, the vampiric fangs.

“Indeed I do, Velvilje. Indeed I do.” His other hand had reached up and run claws through Rasmus’ hair, a tickling sort of sensation against the scalp.

…wishing he had never set that gun off. He'd signaled his doom when he had done so.

Wasn’t death what he’d wanted? Wouldn’t doom just be a little funner?.....for who?

To Rasmus, it didn't matter if there were seperate ways of thinking. To Rasmus, simplicity was best, and everything should be simple. Everything should simply be one way, and there should be but one way of thinking, speaking, acting, and whatever else. And as for shooting off that gun, he'd rather have shot himself than dealt with Verkur. And to Rasmus, surprises weren't always lovely. Especially the ones Verkur thought were nice.

Rasmus wondered all the time about that, and his mind had come up with all kinds of weird possibilities. Like, for example, maybe he got run over by some unknown train, and his body got picked off by some predator? Anything to keep from having to admit to himself that maybe he just left because he hated his family. No, Rasmus didn't like that idea.

My, my. Temper, temper. It was only a little statement, Verkur. It wasn't like Rasmus was doing anything offensive to you.

"No," was his simple answer to something that wasn't exactly meant to be replied to. He didn't like the way Verkur just toyed with him. This toy, though easily broken in body, had an unbreakable spirit and attitude.

Verkur large, strong hands closed around Ramus' throat, and he winced again, both inwardly and outwardly. That destroyed his hopes of getting the gun, for now. "Shit..." he managed to get out, staring at Verkur. He couldn't tell if he'd made him angry or if this was just how he played with his humans.

"Someday, that'll get you killed." How, Rasmus didn't know, but it was possible. Possible? Maybe it was just to make him sound more threatening and less threatened.

"And my name's Rasmus." Those words are spoken with incredible anger, as Verkur runs his claws through his hair.

"Someday, that'll get you killed."

This deeply amused the demon. Very deeply. Though, one who did not know might not be able to see exactly what is so humorous or amusing about it. And for those who did know would find very little amusment and humor.

"You can not kill the dead, Velvilje."

He said this as if Rasmus was stupid for not already knowing this.

"I am already dead...or rather...I was never really alive."

He said this as if Rasmus was stupid for having to be told this. He should have already known. Actually, Verkur had been born dead. But that was the way his breed worked. You are born dead to an already dead demon, then you kill it off. If it doesn't die, it will kill you. How could Rasmus not possibly already know this!

(sorry it's short)

Rasmus wasn't aware that something so simple a remark, or a topic, could amuse Verkur. He wasn't even aware how much it amused him at all, and if he did, it'd probably just confuse him. He saw nothing amusing about that.

"You can not kill the dead, Velvilje."

At that comment from the demon, suddenly Rasmus went very, very pale. Paler than he already was. All anger turned to absolute sheer terror, and his breath caught in his throat. All emotion but fear drained from his face. He froze.

"I...I..." Suddenly, he found that he couldn't talk back to the... dead thing, and he was finding it hard to even form words. Instead, he stood there, stammering.

He would've felt a lot safer, and better, if Verkur had refrained from saying that. That absolutely mutilated his plan of shooting him, and made him sick to his stomach.

Now, he stood there with his mouth open, but nothing came out. Nothing at all. His lower lip trembled, his body followed in trembling, and he looked as if he were about to choke.

(Arrgh. So sorry. I know I can write better. <_<)

Verkur made a sound in his throat at the beging of Rasmus' trembling, much like the soft, pleased purr of a cat who ate the canary...and got away with it.

He pulled his claws from the wall, a splintering crackle following suit as Rasmus shoulders were showered with splinters of wood. The claws had made a clean cut into the wood but it seemed that the building and it's wood was just to old to cut it. He let go of Rasmus' shoulders and dropped his large hand over Rasmus' chest.

Right over his heart.

"Strong beat...fast beat." He cocked his head to the side like a curious puppy. Were he nearly anything other then a demon, it might have been cute. But he was a demon and it was simply frightening effect. "So, you're blood is pumping fast...Velvilje...why are you so pale?"

It was spoken in a mockingly sing-song voice.

(Sorry this one was short)

Rasmus had shut his eyes, not daring to look at Verkur any longer. It was funny how that worked, really. One minute he was back-talking the demon, and the next, when he figured out he was dead, he was stiff as a board, and white as a ghost. If anything, that sound that Verkur made certainly didn't sound like a soft, pleased purr.

Rasmus hated dead things. He was so terrified of them, because he knew they couldn't be killed, and this one looked like it wanted to take advantage of his fear. Rasmus looked as if he were going to be sick.

He opened his eyes again, still trembling, when Verkur pulled his claws out of the wall, and wood decorated his shoulders unwantedly.

He practically stoppped breathing when Verkur dropped his hand over his heart, but not for long. Of course his blood was pumping fast. He was terrified. And who could blame him?

He almost whimpered, but held it back, and clamped his mouth shut. Then came Verkur's imitation of something cute, which looked more like something horrified. Rasmus eyes still stayed open.

Was he going to admit he was afraid? For what it was worth, yes. Verkur was so intimidating. And so.. dead, too.

"I.. dead..." What he meant to explain was his fear of dead things, but it was an obvious failed attempt.

(No worries, Emrys. Quality, not quantity. And I always see quality in your posts.)

(sorry It's taken so long. My muse went on vaccation. It's just getting settled back in so this may be crappy and/or short)

Verkur made a 'tut tut' sort of sound, shaking his head slowly at Rasmus. His hair fell away from his sharp elf-like ears and strands of it hung over his white eyes.

"Did anyone tell you that it's rude?" He tossed Rasmus' comment about being rude back at him as if they'd been friends all their...well...Rasmus' life. "Speaking in broken terms. I would think you excuse for a human language should come easy enough to you."

(Again, no worries. :))

Rasmus eyed Verkur for a moment, before looking away again. He was dangerously bordering towards getting sick right at this moment, and eye contact with the demon who had damning white eyes wasn't the greatest idea. His glasses weren't exactly sunglasses, either, so they couldn't hide Rasmus' fear. He didn't like that.

He swallowed very hard. "N-no," Rasmus stammered. "N-nobody." Miserable, cowardly, piece of shit.

"um-hm." He suddenly let his hand fall away from Rasmus's body. Maybe he ould slide to the floor and faint. That would be amusing. Or maybe he would try to get the gun and test what Verkur said was true. That would be foolish. At any rate the demon walked away from rasmus.

"Why do you want to die human, if you hate the dead?"

Weak stomach and fear killls. Rasmus almost fell to the floor, almost as if startled that the demon made space between him, but he staggered and caught himself, nonetheless. And even though the demon was in the room, he went right ahead and vomited, still shaking with fear.

As Verkur could see, Rasmus had a serious issue with dead things.

Rasmus remained still, now crouched in the corner, spitting. He didn't dare see what the demon was doing, just concentrated on the floor. The disgusting floor, now.

"H-h... Humanity... is foolish." he muttered, trying to get back some of the defiance he held in his tone before, but it wasn't happeneing. It only came out as a rather... strangled reply.

"Do... stupid things," he managed, although still shaking. He just couldn't get comfortable with something so... dead... in the room. What he meant was that humans did stupid, foolish things.

"Dead... no... longer living... Breathing..." he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, looking as if he were going to get sick again. "Ceases... unn.. un.... un-like, you."

"I... would rather... d-die than... suffer looking at you. Suffer... you." He said, weakly, the thought never crossing his mind that that could be insulting to the demon. "Things...." there was a very long pause, "like... y-you."

Verkur chuckled softly. Scared of dead things was he? And He supossed he was afraid of blood and mud and creepy crawly things too.

The demon spread his wings open and bent to retreive the man made gun that Rasmus had fired. He opened the chamber and allowed the bullets to clatter to the wooden floor. He then twisted the short barrel of the weapon like a wad of paper, rendering it useless.

"Do you know that if you try this again, I'll bring you back to life and keep you tied up in my home like a pet. And I'll feed you dead things to live off of and give you dirty water to drink?"

A bluff but god he was convincing. He dropped the gun and looked to Rasmus for an answer. Well, that bluff should be enough to keep his new human from snuffing himself out for a while.

Rasmus, finally having the courage to do so, looked in Verkur's direction, just in time to see that he was destroying his only weapon. It mattered not, really, since Verkur was already dead, but now Rasmus was thinking of it rather as a self-mutilation thing all over again.

"N-no, you wouldn't." Rasmus stammered, the look on his face clearly asking, 'would you?'. After all, he didn't quite know what the demon was and wasn't capable of.

He remained still, in a crouced position, then started rocking back and forth on his heels. He was wondering if there was even the slightest chance of Verkur leaving him alone.

(Bah, short post.)

"Of course I would." Verkur said this in a motherly soothing tone. As if acknowlegeing that he would do such a thing was suposed to make Rasmus feel better. He let his wings fold close to his back again and walked to the door.

The demon pushed the door wide open and allowed the sunlight to flood the room. He then moved back to the rocking form of Rasmus and wrapped a huge hand around his wrist, pulling him to his feet. He let go and pointed to the door.

"Go home, Velvilje." He remaind in place, still pointing. "And don't do anything stupid. I'll know if you do." That wasn't a bluff. Then he smiled charmingly. To deliver the worst news of all. "I'll see you soon."