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She joins him on the floor of the sewers with further words of derisive advice and then a soft thud. Her supernatural elegance is juxtaposed perfectly by her aggressiveness. Sullivan hasn’t known her long enough to call her by name, but he’s so accustomed to her attitude that he automatically laughs cheerfully at everything she says. The laugh is in his eyes more than it is a sound to fill the stale, stinking air. It also shows in the way his face changes into a vision of relaxed joy and unrestrained mirth. People like Sullivan have flexible brains; like all that humour bubbling around in him is yoga for the synapses. It’s easier to smile and laugh in these situations, and it’s better than to get upset or pissed off which, at the end of the day, is exhausting in and of itself.

Julius Cesar once famously wrote that the one who gets angry ends up being worse than before he got angry. Gregory the Great also said that the punishment of those who hate is their own hatred which consumes them. For those reasons, to “kill them with kindness” is the best way you can react against someone who has done some wrong to you. This will leave them confused, as they probably expect anger or hatred, and all you have for them is kindness. Hatred kills. Killing with kindness is the opposite of killing with hatred. It is to be able to rise above your emotions, control yourself, control the situation, and show everyone that there is nothing in this world that will make you turn into someone else. It’s a sign of strength, love, and of humanity to others - for hatred leads to anger and anger leads to suffering.

“Well that’s a relief,” he says. “I can handle dead people and mushrooms.”

It’s not long before his mirth transforms into confusion and she has him dumbstruck, though. Sullivan doesn't know what to say at first, which isn't typical behaviour for him. He generally has a choice of wisecracks and silly remarks to utilise for any occasion; he is the human equivalent of a Swiss Army humour device. Her comment about unconscious bigotry has him at a complete loss, however. He can't tell for certain, but, from the less scathing nature of her tone and the way her eyes aren't quite rolling at him, Sullivan is willing to put money on the fact that she might finally be coming around to him. She even gives him a name to call her by, which could be fake, but he’s happy with the olive branch and actually kind of likes it. He's never met an Every before and it's probably because they broke the mould with this one.

By the golden arc of his lighter’s glow, Every’s facial features are exaggerated and her colours are muted. In the dimness, her eyes turn from their mix of chocolate and lime shades to a singular black which makes each pupil indiscernible. She looks different in the dark – intimidating, despite her size. It makes his stomach perform an uncomfortable flip. The light bouncing around those cracked walls bleeding moisture from the sodden earth makes him just as uncomfortable. He reaches into his jacket for an extra source of light, but the battery of his smart phone is at 33% - it won’t give them even 10 minutes before dying out completely, so he makes do with what he has for now, or at least until his lighter fluid burns up. Sullivan feels better for hearing her voice ringing in his ears, even if she has nothing nice to say about him again.

“I have a gun,” he says with a light smirk to correct her earlier assumption. “I just ran out of bullets. There were a lot of zombies before you came. I actually thought it was the gunfire that drew you out of hiding and to me. Did you not hear that? I’m pretty sure our giant friend did. It’s like I was ringing the dinner bell for him. Her. It. Or, whatever the hell that thing is.”

As if its ears are burning at the mention, the tunnel they are in trembles when the beast slams its body against the ground above. The motions come like labour pains - irregular in strength and frequency, broken by muted wails and cries. Sullivan doesn’t notice that he’s holding his breath until his chest burns, forcing an exhale.

“That is one angry mother—”

His breathless complaint is bitten off and spat back out when the creature roars like a bull before stampeding away. He waits for a moment, until the earthquakes become barely decipherable sound waves, then finishes his sentence.

“—******.”

If one were to ask Every what she thought she would be doing that evening, casually standing in a sewer with a paladin and discussing the safety hazards in there fell far from an expectation. He laughed at her words and she lifted an eyebrow at him, wondering if she’d managed to cast a stone and strike the one clueless vampire hunter in the city. The sewers are a place that she knew well enough that once she pinpointed her location, she allowed her shoulders to relax, leaning forward to rest her hands on her thighs and let out a worthless breath of air. She listened to his laughter and tested the weight on the bite mark, pleased to feel that it hadn’t healed awkwardly with her muscle. She was a runner by nature and even though she’d been accustomed to being a vampire, there was always that distant concern that she could **** that up. It had become even moreso there when she’d learned of her transition to the mystic path, no longer able to see the muscle growing back by layer as she had as a shadow.

“If you start to hurl, hurl that way.”

Every muttered under her breath, but the venom still was absent. Her hand waved in the opposite direction where she stood and she straightened up after a few moments. She isn’t in the mood to be cleaning bile off of her shoes, even though she was almost certain after tonight’s trek in the sewers, they would be incinerated before sunrise. As they found themselves no longer in the peril of life or death, or in her case, being throttled into a pancake, she listened to the massive tantrum above them that came with the confusion of the creature. It had seen that they disappeared, but there was no idea of where they had disappeared to. It was all she could do not to shout at it to go find someone else to harass, but instead, she turned her attention back to the paladin as he breathed. Her history with his kind wasn’t a friendly. Two factions, individuals. She’d turned one, once, too, although she now simply believed Szabina should have been killed, instead. If she could scar, she would have been covered in them. If she could lose a limb for good, she’d be without her left one.

“You aren’t from around here, are you?”

The question left her lips before she could stop herself. His correction that he had a gun, that he had just ran out of bullets, confirmed to her that he was very likely not a local. “You’re in the middle of a patrol zone. There’s NADUMA members sweeping and firing guns, civilians doing the same. I thought you were one of the idiots I work with every now and then. Not some dude stuck on top of a van. Which, I’m not even going to begin pointing out the idiocy in that.” Which, to her credit, was not something that she did often enough. His uncertainty of the creature that had chased them had her eyes closing, as if she were questioning if someone were testing her patience before she opened them once again, “That was a mooncalf, I was too busy running to check out the classifician - titan or regular, but it wasn’t a Theodosian. Those just like to watch their surroundings until you attack them. No one really knows where they came from.”

She paused as the sounds came back, Every lifting her arm to block the debris of dirt and dust from falling into her eyes when she looked up and then towards Sullivan. Once it’s quiet again, she frowned. “Any particular district you need?” She asked, but began walking west, regardless.

“I promise not to hurl on you,” he replies, just as quietly.

Sullivan is as relaxed as he’s ever going to be standing around in the sewers while all manner of unknown and dangerous beasts are lurking beyond his sight. He hopes that he can trust Every enough not to be yet another one of those things or people that he has to watch his back around, but even the thought has him feeling guilty and stupid at the same time. Some would say it’s natural not to trust a predator; if every rabbit trusted every fox not to eat them, then there would be a lot less rabbits in the world. On the other hand, Every isn’t a fox and Sullivan isn’t a rabbit. They were both human once and that part of you can’t just be taken away - they wouldn’t be talking so casually if that was the case.

“Which was it that tipped you off?” he asks, grinning at her question. “My sense of openness and positivity, not forgetting my all around happy-go-lucky nature. Or maybe it was my complete ignorance to the fact that there’s some literal monster waiting to bite my face off at every turn?”

Sullivan’s tone gets heavier as he speaks; he sounds a lot more angry about the situation than he means to be and his brow is furrowed too. If he’s angry at anything - and he’s not - it’s how hostile this city is and, worse, how normal that is for everyone living here. It’s not like he hasn’t experienced this kind of thing before - the hostility part, not the supernatural element - but, maybe that’s what has him itching in his skin like this. Sullivan sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He moves the lighter away from Every and turns with the light, watching as the tunnel to their backs is suddenly brought to existence by the yellow flame.

He’s thinking about where he should be heading now that he’s in the clear. More than that, though, he’s thinking about what he should be doing with his life. Every provides a David Attenborough style response to his confusion about the monster - the mooncalf - and goes further to explain just why that side of town should be known as the no-go area from now on. In the distance as well as nearby, he can hear the sound of running water. The constant, natural sound tries to convince his ears that he’s near a stream or brook, but his nose knows better, and even in the murky light that glitters off the black waters in the carved channel beside them, Sullivan is painfully aware that it’s not the case.

“Which way is out of the patrol zone?” he says in answer to her question.

This is when he notices that Every has already started walking. He chases after her shadow and when he catches up, he walks at her side.

“If you point me in the right direction, I promise to get out of your hair.”

She could almost hear her sire and his wife, lecturing her about saving a paladins life. As if they were there, awake. It wasn’t something she’d intended to do, but there had to be give and take somewhere. Times had changed, the need to work together something she didn’t particularly like, but she was willing to work towards. It didn’t mean holding hands and singing church songs, either. With her fangs retracted, Every knew she would hold the upper hand against the Paladin if it came down to it, but even with the aura that radiated from his person, she didn’t smell or see any sign of malice on him. Still, she supposed it helped that she had the shadows bouncing off the walls, created by his lighter.

“Monsters are a bit far fetched. With the exception of the mooncalf, the ones found on the street are considerably more of the tamed sort.” She shrugged a shoulder, before elaborating, “It was the openness, and the fact I don’t recognize your face.” And, the fact that he hadn’t shot her with instinct. “Then again, you were supposedly out of ammo.” His shift of tome had her smirking. Every isn’t bothered by it; it’s evident by the way she stood, the way she listened and looked down the paths in debate of where to go, that she didn’t find him too concerning. Anger lead to mistakes. Mistakes lead to death.

She’d already begun to walk towards the exit that would take them away. River Rock is close. The river would be a familiar, comforting sight, but Wickbridge would at least take him out of the edges. She, too, as she glanced at her watch, needed to get out and search for some ingredients now that she was running behind. “It’ll be this way.” The shadow fell silent until they came to a split in the sewers. One way would lead further into the patrol zone, into Swansdale, the other to safety. She pointed down to the right, “You’re going to head that way and come across an exit leading into Wickbridge. The entrance is beside the Metronome. There’s still zombies in the area, but my associate says it’s all clear for mooncalfs.”

As she spoke, Every had Zachary do a sweep of the area. Her hazel eyes glazed over briefly as she followed through his mind, searching along with him. His range of view was better than her own, something she wondered if came with the being a wraith. Looking back to Sullivan, she stepped to her left, furthering the distance between the two from habit. Even if he wasn’t going to attack her, his aura set her on edge and she wasn’t in the mood for another fight.

“The station is to the east of it. From there, you can hope along to any platform away from it.”

“Sure. Thanks,” he says and reaches into his jacket pocket. There is a packet of slimline cigars calling his name. “Merci, Every,” he adds as he's lighting up; black smoke spills out of the seam of a smile.

Every is silent again and Sullivan keeps his thoughts on the inside. The sound of their footsteps are swallowed by the greywater as they continue to walk; Every keeps him at a distance. The tunnel curls away into infinite darkness, the light picks out the roughness of the walls and the odd spatter of hanging moss to act like sign posts; dwindling into the void as the tunnel snakes away. Sullivan can feel his patience slip as each turn looks the same. The humid air feels stagnant and dries out the back of his throat, but, he isn’t acclimated to that smell enough to breathe through his nostrils. The cigar helps with the smell and the nicotine rush helps with everything else.

When they come to a crossroads, Every stops and gives him directions toward the exit. His brow lifts, his bones becoming a bit gelatinous, and there’s a disillusioned smile on his face made up of equal parts surprise, amusement, and annoyance. Sullivan shakes his head and laughs.

“Ok,” he says before stomping on his burnt out cigar. “I guess this is goodbye.” Sullivan doesn’t offer his hand, but, he does bow his head. He begins walking in the direction she’s pointed out before spinning around to look at her. “I don’t need to tell you to take care, so. Uh. Keep being. You?” He shrugs his shoulders, boths hands lifting in a pose of surrender. Sullivan turns and starts walking away from her. “Salut.”