The squeaking of the creature's boots signaled its presence long before Walker actually looked over in its direction. She was a bit too aware of the rumors surrounding it, ranging from the relatively mundane to the - admittedly - quite catastrophic. Admittedly, the aristocrat wanted none of it, as she wiped a hand across her face and continued on her way for the most part, because allowing a strange and "potentially dangerous" beast to follow you in the middle of an isolated area is always a smart decision.

At least she eventually looked back over her shoulder, just to see whether the thing that was following her really was the elusive Hmmm.

Wait, big mistake!

Suddenly, the woman was stunned by a piercing cry coming from the creature as it fell backwards onto the floor and started to roll through it. For a moment, Walker was genuinely speechless, her mouth hanging open while it drew in a breath - signified with a sharp inhale - and fell limp. Huh.

"Is... Is everything okay?" she asked with a raised brow before taking a step forward. As far as she was concerned, the beast was still breathing, but... Maybe that was her being a bit too desensitized to death thanks to her mother talking about it so much. Goodness, that was uncomfortable to even think about. She shuddered and glanced off to the side. "I mean no harm, but... You really did surprise me there for a second, even with your boots and noises."

Her question seemed to be answered when Hmmm's muscles started to twitch, causing her to let out a gasp while taking a step back. Spoke too soon, apparently.

Never mind, then... thought the woman with a grimace while biting down on her lip, That is... Sort of unfortunate, if that is the case... Her eyes weren't exactly focused on the confetti streamers the creature was throwing out to simulate entrails, but the flashes of red were definitely enough to make her uncomfortable enough to take more steps back until the aristocrat inched her way out of the scene.

She had no idea what she did, in all frankness, but she sure as hell wasn't going to repeat that anytime soon.

Brown was a surprisingly simple fellow. She saw cats or any creature that vaguely resembled a feline, she instantly loved them with all of her raisin-sized, likely shriveled and blackened heart.

Or, to say it in more casual terms, she would've been the "crazy cat lady" archetype if she wasn't already so occupied with fossils. After all, she could only have on dominating interest at a time, right? (As a treat, of course.)

The woman fiddled with a trinket that the wizard had offered her not too long ago: a pretty-looking class ring that also doubled as a seal ring. Brown just thought it was neat to look at; she sure as hell wasn't going to verify any documents anytime soon, though... In all honesty, at least the thought of ruining a document's validity through her own sour reputation was enough to entertain her, as she ascended up the stairs to her room. There, she ran her fingers through her hair, allowing some of the strands to come loose, before eyeing her reflection in the mirror.

"You might look damn fine by the end of all this," the middle-aged woman told herself before hearing a... Rustle, then a knock.

What the fuck!?

Brown's concentration was broken as she looked over to her closet, her lip curling back into a snarl as she slowly walked over to it. Her hand danced near her pocket for a second before she took a dagger out with one hand, then gently held the door of her closet with another...

With a sniff, she spat, "I swear to fucking god, if another thief found their way in my house...", before moving the door aside and... Brown nearly dropped the dagger in shock, but for better or for worse, she kept the weapon clutched in her hands; however, the important bit was that her grip had slackened, and it now seemed like the aristocrat was just carrying the weapon around - rather than ready to use it at any second. Well, at least this is much better than a thief...

Setting the dagger off to the side, Brown giggled and stooped down to meet the spitting and hissing quasit, wrapped up in an article of clothing that - luckily - Brown didn't care too much about. (Besides, she had the money. She could always just commission the tailor again if it was marred beyond repair.) Goodness, was it just as adorable as last time. She ignored its struggles in favor of petting its head, not exactly caring if she got her hand mauled by that lamprey-like set of teeth. The only thing that would've made this worse was the copious amounts of baby talk the woman prevented herself from uttering by biting down on her tongue, but...

That was a conditioned response, and she was alone. She had nothing to lose... Right?

"Awww, look at yoooouuuu," she cooed while gently stroking the cloth that held the poor quasit hostage, before hoisting the little bundle up in the air like it was a baby, "You were trying to eat one of my buttons now, weren't you?" Brown giggled as the woman carefully rotated her finding, before giving the other party a huge grin. In all honesty, her eyes sparkled as if she was a young girl all over again, except this time, nobody could stop her from being a low-key cat mom. Not even her dead husband. "I'll feed one to you later, sweet baby honey... But for now... I bet you want to get out of that bundle now, huh? You must be so tired after thrashing like that... Licorice cake... Let me take you downstairs to give you some room, darling..." Stroking the quasit's head once more, Brown closed the closet without a further word, humming to herself as if she had suddenly turned all... Broody, just like a mother hen.

Her dagger lay noticeably off to the side, untouched, unused. The thought of doing harm in this moment wouldn't have dared crossed her mind.

Malakai had been hesitant to let someone take care of his quasit, knowing exactly how much of a trouble maker it was, but he had an event to go to that he absolutely could not get into trouble at. So, Buttons ended up in Matcha's care. Its owner had told it to be good, and it tried, but eventually it got bored and began to stir up trouble again. Mostly by trying to sneak up on people and scare them, thankfully not stealing any buttons so far.

However, Matcha put an end to that behavior, instead proposing different games. Turned out that Buttons didn't like fetch, since it just sat there and flicked its tail, unimpressed. Tug of war had a bit more success, but it eventually managed to gnaw through the rope, leaving them unable to play that anymore. They ended up on the last game of chase, which is what it really enjoyed, using the opportunity to figure out different ways to track Matcha rather than running right after him.

The little beast was panting by the end, but it was purring hard, pleased that it had exercised its mind and muscles. When the barista tried coaxing it off of him, it flopped over onto the grass, still purring. That stopped though when it was time to go, with it whining and refusing to get up. It was tired and didn't want to move. Matcha would probably have more luck just picking up Buttons and carrying it at this point.

Just like that one time Selene had approached the other Half, something of her presents seemed to..Mess with things. Nathaniel's pupils were splits while holding his own wrist as tightly as he could. His fingers were out of control, twitching. Alieneted. Small sparks of dark energy ran over the back of his hands, over his fingers, it frighted him. This power frighted him. And yet... He felt so powerful. Nathaniel bared his teeth. Panting while still holding his wrist with all of his might. Scared what his hands would do if he plucked his fingers away. Scared of what he could do with all this power. The Void buzzed like an nest of angry bees in chest. Nathaniel's mind was numb and the only thing he could think off was using his powers. Using it on hér. Oh, he wanted to crush Selene's skull between his own hands, watching that smug smile of her's twist in a grimace of pain. Crack it like an egg. Nathaniel could almost feel it. The blood. He had done so before. 

Nathaniel stared up at the demon. Fangs still exposed, his eyes wild. He hated her. Void, he hated her. "You can let go of me now, " Nathaniel said. Even his voice sounded more like an animal-growling then human. But calm. He smiled. More a twisted mix between and grin and a snarl. Wide and fangy. "You've defeated me, fair and square. What do you want? Gold? Smuggled goods? I can give you whatever or whoever you like.." He said. Promises he had nó intention to keep. No. The only promise he vowed was that he was going to kill her. She will fall under his mortal hands. 

Honestly, the fact that Dolores even produced a checkmate was... Astounding. She stared down at the chessboard in awe for at least a minute, completely speechless as she struggled to come up with something to say. Of course, the "older" woman didn't want to gloat - or otherwise put the other party down - as... She remembered far too many folk who were rather proud to a fault whenever they won, and she was so used to just putting her losses aside and allowing them to savor their victories.

That, and the fact that nobody really played with maids. They were meant to work, and games were all but a distraction to what they were supposed to do. Sure, maybe Dolores picked up some knowledge from observing her employers playing chess over her years of work, but...

Even then, it just didn't make sense. She never got to thumb a chess piece unless she was cleaning it, or otherwise picking one up off the floor, and the older woman really didn't know how strategy worked. Dolores lived to comfort and serve people, not try tearing them down emotionally, physically, or socially. Yes, this even included victories. If someone asked to play a game with her, she was supposed to lose; she had to lose. It made her look like a slacker, but it was supposed to fuel her employers' egos.

She could only hope her own didn't suffer the same boost as she finally shifted a muscle and brought a hand up to her chest.

"I... I didn't mean to, really," she muttered almost apologetically. Ouch. The pain of her victory was made even worse by the fact that - apparently - her guest was supposed to be bad at games. Oh goodness, did I affirm that insecurity? Dolores clutched her hands to her head in near panic before suddenly biting down on her lip and barely stifling a loud sigh. Likewise, the sigh would've been better than actually uttering anything else afterwards.

Besides, who was she to be "good" at chess? Chess was supposed to be a sport of intellectuals, of the upper class. Dolores was none of that, and she honestly believed that none of the connotations fit her; she was, is, and always would be a plain maid who was destined to die in obscurity, with no legacy to support her than what was provided through anecdotes.

The elderly woman's lips pursed together as she added after an eternity of silence, "That's nice, miss, but... Do you want a rematch? I swear I didn't mean to win. I... I don't think I was supposed to win. I've never even played chess before. This must come off as a humiliation to you, yes?" Her hand fumbled across the table for her cup of tea, which she picked up ever so gingerly before giving it a sip. "This isn't what I deserve, to be honest with you. I kept trying to sabotage myself, but..."

Here I am, I guess.

Yikes!

Oooh, tough guy.

Noel towered over Brown, his breath heavy and reeking of whiskey, emotions running high as he studied her half-crumpled form. He was indeed drunk as fuck, and hopefully that would cause his regrets to be more prominent once he sobered up, because as of that moment, he felt no guilt over brawling a lady in a poor bar and in such an undignified manner. Two intoxicated people stumbling over each other was never graceful, and toss in the fact that one was a lumbering old man...

There was that hubris, though. They might as well rip each other apart over it, as the more the woman spoke to him, the more he sneered down at her. "And I'm not dead," he rasped, "You, though-- You're looking pretty fucking close." He took a step closer to her. "But, not too fucking pretty, anymore." And then another step, this one heftier than the last. "As pretty as a street wench."

He scowled as his daughter was mentioned, dark eyes glowering upon the woman before him. Then, he barked out a harsh laugh. "Smart girl, then." he remarked, "I'd be a bitch to you, too." Except he wasn't an angsty teenager, so he didn't have an excuse to ream her like one. He did, however, have no brain, even at the ripe age of sixty-eight. "But, no. This? This is all me. I'd just like to strangle you, or gut you like a rabbit. Have you seen a rabbit get gutted before? You give it a good, long, hard push, and the intestines'll expel that way."

Noel took in a deep breath, his gaze steady on her. Did she actually think he was going to drag her to a hospital? He let out a snort as he continued his approach, and though he caught sight of her strapped dagger, it seemed he could care less. He leaned in closer to her, making certain that she would be able to smell his foul breath and the sweat lingering off of him.

"The wolf should help itself." he said, "Unless, you're no wolf at all."

Now is the best time to turn the tables and stab him.

Finally, Brown didn't have to drink any more fucking tea.

Her relief was rather clear, as her eyes quickly broke away from the still-quite-full teacup and focused back on the mistress: Selene herself. With a sigh, the middle-aged woman leaned against her chaise while holding a hand against her head. Was it worth telling Timothy that she was shitty with waiting? Probably not. For her, men like him - let alone damn servants - didn't deserve much shit; if she were to complain and whine like a bitch, she'd probably do it to Selene, who was at least her equal in ranking.

Even if Brown was still just the tiniest bit pissy over the foiled assassination attempt. But at least she didn't crave violence right now!

Nonetheless, she chuckled and cooed rather coyly, "Oh, it wasn't exactly of my own volition. Social obligation is one son of a bitch, you know. I have a feeling that refusing the offer of a demoness would do more harm to my reputation than accepting it, wouldn't you agree?" Hey there. Was she joking, or trying to be passive-aggressive? Brown sure didn't answer as she watched the games being dished out for both parties to play with. "But I suppose it's true," hummed the aristocrat, "just to make it fair... Just to make it even. Homes are always rather intimate spaces anyway. You are expected to invite someone into your home after they invite you into theirs. It's one of the strongest signs of trust I know, to be honest with you."

She raised her brow when that... One party was brought up. Her smooth smile from before grew into an almost wicked grin as she ever so carefully eyed the demoness, then leaned in with a sense of... Fervor in her eyes. Oh no.

"Oh, I heard," the woman replied with a rough rumble, "He was real fucking pissed over it. I think you don't need to me specify whom the unfortunate man is. I may be friends with him, but I still like dragging him into this shit every so often. It's fun, really." She shifted a card over to the center of the table before twirling an empty hand rather deftly. The game, as monotonous as it was to her (thanks to years of playing it out of aristocratic obligation), was... Fun. But not as fun as talking shit about Johnson, apparently. "Besides, men always react so strongly to this type of stuff. It's a shame, because they always brag about being so fucking tough, but drag them into a situation that just endangers their poor little masculinity for a bit..." Brown trailed off to start laughing, almost slamming her hand down on the table in sheer amusement.

"... They start whining and crying! Even though they claim to never go down to that level! Fucking stupid! Fucking hypocritical!" Encouraging Brown's misandry is always a bad idea.

Brown pushed up another card before shaking her head and grunting, "He's not as hard as to wear down as you might think. I've done that to him many times over. He is a hypocrite at the finest. Do not wear it like a crown when you reach his breaking point. It's not even worth it. He just whines like some bitch and starts kissing your ass in order to make sure you don't kick his. It is a bit pitiful, but he is nothing more than a political flounder." She chuckled while holding her deck close to her bosom. "He bites until you bite back, then all he does is bark. I would feel bad for him if it was just a fluke, but it is unfortunately a habit..." Her words came to a stop as she realized that she had - somehow - won her game. With a raise of her brow, she looked up at Selene before elegantly setting her cards aside and folding her hands together.

"I suppose, dear. But I hope you're genuinely learning, and not just going through the motions. I know a man who just might be guilty of that..." Gee. Johnson again? Fair, but stop bringing him up. He didn't deserve relevance right now.

Wraith glared at the clear marks on the floor which had a series of X's and O's on it, marks which had been made in the dust of the concrete floor of him home. This had started because Wraith was going after a target who was rumoured to be incredibly dangerous, usually this wouldn't be much of an issue, if Wraith wasn't completely sleep deprived from several nights of nightmares and was pretty sure he was getting sick. It wouldn't be too surprising, given how cold his "home" was, it didn't even have glass in the window. Selene had insisted that he left the mission for tonight in order to get some sleep and go after his target when he was feeling better, and with Wraith being stubborn, he brushed off the idea of resting in favour of his mission. So here he was, playing noughts and crosses, or tic tak toe or X's and O's as he found it was sometimes called as well, with Selene to settle the matter. He had no idea why this game had so many names, couldn't the makers have just settled on one, surely a game didn't need that many names.

When Selene suggested a game to settle on what was going to happen, Wraith had tilted his head in confusion explaining that he didn't know any games, not even ones that were commonly played by children. He was pretty sure he saw a look of shock on Selene's face when he said this, or maybe the lack of sleep was making him see things, both were plausible. The shifter listened to Selene explain the rules of the game, it seemed simple enough, or so he thought. But after Selene had won the first go, Wraith drew another grid in the dirt, not wanting to admit defeat. After 5 rounds of loosing without a single win, he called it quits and laid back on his mats.

"Alright......" He said giving a deep sigh. "....you win, I'll stay here and rest." He rolled onto his side and coughed a few times. After he pulled the thin blanket, which had a couple of holes in it, over him before drawing another grid in the dust, mentally trying to figure out how he could have lost so many times. "Maybe......you can show me some more games.....to pass the time..." He said softly, he was only just feeling how exhausted he really was, his body was already trying to pull him into a deep sleep. 

He could hear Selene talk about a game called rock, paper, scissors. "Err....I could maybe find a rock around here....possibly paper......I don't own scissors though......" He explained as he look at his friend who was now sitting on the mat he was lying on. He blinked when she gave a laugh and explained that they didn't physically need those things as it was just the shapes they were suppose to make with their hand. Wraith tilted his head slightly but listened to how to play, though Selene insisted that he got some sleep first.

"I will sleep if you win this game." He said before raising one of his hands, ready to play this new game. Sure enough he lost. He gave a grunt and a sigh before dropping his hand to the ground. He really wasn't cut out for games. 

Wraith was in a pretty sour mood all day, he barely got any sleep last night, a mission lead turned out to be false and ended up being an ambush, he had a run in with local law enforcement and to top it off Johnson had entered his territory and started to backtalk him. All the anger and frustration throughout the day finally came loose when Wraith turned around and swiped at the older man, his nails temporarily turning into sharp claws before returning back to their normal state. He really wasn't in the mood for this. 

He could hear Johnson cursing him out, but in his rage Wraith's world felt distant, driven solely by survival and anger. When his hearing finally came back he could hear the other man saying how his friend wouldn't be happy about Wraith attacking him. The shifter gave a scoff. "No old man...I think you will find that I drew the line" He snarled back. "At least I don't rely on others to win my battles for me." He said turning around and disappearing into the shadows.

He heard Johnson then shout that he never should have met him. A waste of talent and energy huh?......You don't even know the half of it old man. He thought as he kept walking.

This was objectively the worst way to go down, even if Johnson was younger than the middle-aged, egotistical ass that deserved to be hated. You see… He was still a prick, even in his twenties. It was as unfortunate and egregious as it sounded, in all honesty.

“That doesn’t change the fact that she seems like a weak creature,” Johnson scoffed while glancing over at the gelatinous mess that was supposed to be his lead Pokemon- Duosion. It was just a Duosion. He sighed before sniffing, “Besides, I know from personal experience that most Pokemon have to be caught with the help of another Pokemon instead of bred, because they are normally so powerful that trying to catch one yourself will often lead to more harm than good. Even the smallest, weakest creatures native to my region have this unfortunate fact placed upon them…” The Duosion accompanying Johnson gurgled for a second before glaring back at the other party.

Disgusting.

“But sure. If you think you even stand a chance. Go ahead. Go forth with that duel of yours. I don’t mean anything against you, of course, but it’s only evitable that you’ll be disappointed as the primary result of all this.”

Oh… Great. Johnson being an egotistical son of a bitch - even in his twenties? Great. His Duosion paid no mind to it, and - of course - it was something that needed to be knocked down as soon as possible. It was a dangerous trait to carry, yet here was the youth, convinced that he could somehow bend that rule to his whim - like how his companion Pokemon could bend a spoon using its psychic powers.

With a sniff, Johnson stated, “Let the battle begin,” and waved his hand.

If only the man lost, just to teach his bitch ass a lesson. But alas, he won. It soon became clear that his Duosion’s psychic powers were simply too overwhelming for the glowing lizard, causing Johnson to sneer - yet still raise his brows as if he was surprised by the outcome. Gross. He knew that it was coming, if only because of his monumental ego. If rationality was the main drive behind his motives like he claimed it was, he would’ve approached the battle more carefully, more formally. It just seemed like a game to him though, unfortunately, and it was - of course - terrible.

Absolutely terrible. Never do that again.

“It wasn’t a bad battle, but I reckon that it didn’t give my Duosion much experience,” sighed Johnson while gently rubbing the Duosion’s thin outer membrane, careful not to pierce it and accidentally dip his hand into the gelatinous fluid contained within. Eugh. He raised a brow before giving the other party a surprisingly mirthful smile, however.

“It’s fine, though. I think it’d be more of a learning experience for you than anything else.”

And without a further word, Johnson turned around and walked back towards his residence, his Duosion following not too far behind. Whoop his ass. It’s what he deserves.