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"That's where she gets to show more of her intelligence," Felix explained, rubbing at his chin a bit in contemplation, "and more of her sadistic tendencies. Torture is prior to death in all cases, but as people can vary with how much they can take... the actual method of death is quite different. It also means that the cases become more difficult for normal people to connect together. However, I'm beginning to believe they're catching on, which means we have to work fast." He had the files of information he'd collected in his car, regretting he didn't bring them in with him. Though that might've drawn a bit of suspicion... He probably should've worn a suit and grabbed his FBI credentials if he wanted to go that route.
He hummed in response, confirming both questions that the male inquired. As for how he was tracking this specific demon... "Well, the killings certainly aren't enough to track her, but... the one thing that sticks out..." He took a deep inhale, "is that she brands the targets far before she kills them. In fact, the theory is that she does it before all kills to mock the police, but... I don't believe that, obviously." He brushed a hand through his hair, grumbling about it falling in his face every so often.
"She has a nasty habit of playing games with me, sending me clues of her whereabouts in whatever way she can and she has many, many ways. Believe me when I say I'm well aware it's not a solid method of tracking, but that isn't the only method I've considered... as I've said, she's fairly evasive toward a good majority of my other means," Felix explained further, falling silent when he was done with his side of the conversation. Expanding upon the demon's methods would take far too long, they'd be left there the entire day and then some, he theorised. Sighing, he eyed the coffee on the table from the corner of his eye, contemplating if he should have another sip of it. And his love of coffee ruled him over, he recognised that much as he reached over to grab the cup, bringing it to his lips. The coffee might've been bad, but it had a kick that he couldn't describe.
After a long drink from his mug, he sat it back down on the table, narrowing his eyes at the cup itself. He mulled over his information, having suddenly forgotten about a good majority of it now that he was being asked questions. Seemed like that was a solid method to keep him from forgetting everything he ever knew, asking questions he would've already answered in a timely manner if he was just given the chance. Oh well, maybe coming up with his words was a way to keep from stumbling over them too much; of course the information had to be dug around for, but he didn't have too much trouble recalling it after a moment or so.
"Probably the worst time to ask this, but what are your thoughts?" Felix inquired, brow raising as he observed the male across from himself.
[center Well, wasn't he just a ball of sunshine? This was bound to be just oodles of fun. In fact, Kläuss could hardly wait. With about as much enthusiasm as he might've had for eating a bowl of thumb tacks, he regarded the male before him. Whatever the deal was, he could sense... what was it, a lack of interest? Couldn't put his finger on it, exactly, but hey -so long as they weren't getting personal and all.
Munching absently on his breakfast in the meantime, Kläuss listened to Felix explain what the situation he had on his hands was all about. It took a special kind of self control not to start in with "that sounds like a you problem that doesn't involve me" bit. Especially since the only reason they were at this table had strictly to do with business.
Mulling over what details he'd been offered, the brunet silently agreed. A body count any more than one was bad news for this place. They had more businesses than they did customers as it was... deplete those numbers any more and they were on their way to full on ghost town, he guessed. Well. Looked like he couldn't exactly turn down the job.
"Okay; what's her M.O. exactly? You said she's evasive, so I guess she isn't the hide-in-plain-sight sort? Does she shift?" He wanted details. Even if he looked a lot more like he'd have preferred to be anywhere but there in that moment.
Something told Kläuss this could only go two ways. Either they were going to get on well enough to sort this shit out like professionals, or their conversation skills were going to hinder communication a hell of a lot. Whatever the case, he guessed it was best to just let things play out.
It wasn't long before the waitress had returned to clear his plate and offer him more juice. He accepted the juice and refused the offer of a pastory tacked on at the end. Too much food. He wasn't going to be good for much if he got grub wasted. What kind of amateur would he look like then?
"Even more importantly, how are you tracking her?" Better to know what didn't work so he could figure out what might and offer ideas.
Eyes cutting toward the window of the booth, Kläuss studied the overcast sky beyond the pane. The weather was going to be disgusting, guaranteed. The thought alone illicited an inward groan.
Price of being a rider, he guessed. If it rained, that sure was gonna be a bitch, though.
Felix felt content leaning back to talk casually, as if the two had been good friends for awhile. Believe him when he says that he was definitely not comfortable with the setting nor the person in front of him. As long as he didn't say anything too personal, he would be fine - at least, he considered not dying and being hard to track down due to a list of aliases a mile long, 'fine.' For all this guy knew, he could've been given another alias that Felix just became accustomed to. Lord knows he has a large pool to draw from. Dr. Aitken, a veterinarian who had a habit of taking in stray animals of all kinds - rough, but sweet toward animals. Jackson Jacobs, called a child genius by his peers, grew up to be a socially awkward baker. Special Agent De La Fontaine, your typical by-the-books FBI agent; necessary for getting into crime scenes where the FBI was required. Usually useful for hunts that were particularly gruesome, he'd probably come in handy for this one, too, as he had been for the past few weeks.
An almost infinite pool that Felix relied on heavily for his job. And strangely enough, people didn't seem to realise that all three of those people had the same face; different hair due to some miniscule changes and eye colour due to contacts, but otherwise the same person. He didn't know if people were stupid or just didn't care who he was unless he needed to show them some ID; SA De La Fontaine definitely got the most requests for that given his occupation. And yet, had the least amount of attire... Guess he really only needed one suit.
Returning to matters at hand, though, Felix found himself shrugging in response to Kläuss' question. What did he need 'hands' for? He found himself sarcastically answering in his mind, [i quite a lot of things, actually]. His expression remained stoic, however, grinned dropped into a straight line as he looked the other male over.
"I'm sure you understand what I mean when I say that I have someone who's being particularly... troublesome," due to the amount of people around, he had to lower his voice when he spoke, but ultimately didn't move from his relaxed-looking position. He allowed a sigh to pass from his lips, his gaze switching down to the plate in front of him, moving it aside so that he could avoid nausea that sat in the pit of his stomach, making it tingle in a way he was all too familiar with. Social anxiety wasn't pleasant, but it was necessary to endure in his line of work.
Finally leaning forward, he balanced his weight on his elbows, lacing fingers together and resting his chin on them. He'd waited for the people sitting behind him to up and leave before he made his move, confident that both he and his temporary companion could keep their voices low. If not, then... well, he never liked to cause a scene, but if it were necessary, so be it.
"A demon, primarily, though I've known her to work with others - manipulation is in their name, no?" His voice was featherlight, hardly a whisper by any means. "She's... particularly evasive and frankly, I find her quite irritating. And as much as it makes me sick to admit it, some help would be nice. Combined efforts in the end could prove to be worthwhile as it would avoid a large body count, which I'm sure you understand is never good for anyone, especially if it were to occur in a small town such as this... it'd be absolute chaos."
"[i Felix...]" He pronounced the man's name with a bit of consideration, a strange glint in his eye. The pleasure was all his, huh? Sure was a charmer. This was bound to be fun. "Business, it is." Getting down to the nitty gritty of things right off the bat? Why the hell not. This wasn't a social call, after all. Kläuss was perfectly aware of the unfinished work to be done, and he had no issue with diving right in.
Sipping at his orange juice, he eyed the mug of coffee Felix had been sipping on. [i Poor bastard.] Guess no one had told him. Good rule of thumb was never to order the coffee unless you were in the upper east side. Everything shy of that was a step below cat piss. Not that he'd ever had it... the cat piss, anyway.
"What is it you're working on currently that you need hands for?" His deep voice was more of a rumble than anything, the male inspecting him with a hooded gaze. Really, Kläuss came off remarkably nonchalant to many. Which tended to give off the impression that he was somehow lazy or useless. Neither of these things- [i One of these things] was entirely untrue. He was pretty useful once he got serious about an assignment, and depending upon what Felix was dealing with, he could either help a lot or a little.
Unlike his company, he seemed perfectly fine to eat. Kläuss began to pick apart a muffin upon its arrival, lightly scraping fresh, unsalted butter across its toasted belly. Maybe it was all his time spent having to engage in all sorts of messes, but nothing really killed his appetite. Well, what little he ever had of one, anyway. He'd have wasted away to nothing with all the shit he'd seen by then, otherwise.
His eyes cut up to study Felix again, gaze unreadable. It wasn't so frequently that anybody looked him up, so he had to wonder how this guy had come across his name.
Who sent him? And who were they to go dropping his name as it suited? Maybe a former client, or alternatively, this Felix had done some digging.
Kläuss liked to think that he was relatively difficult to track down, but he never exactly turned down an invitation when he was called upon. That was just bad manners, no?
Besides. He was looking forward to seeing what this venture would have in store. When was the last time he'd really been in the game?
A grin tugged at the corners of his lips, though he managed to cover it by taking a sip of his coffee. Needn't appear too eager to meet his partner, if they were to be such. His over-eagerness could make him seem as though he were naive or childish, something he truly never understood.
[i Screw it], he thought, shaking his head as he set his mug back on the napkin he'd sprawled out for it on the table next to his plate of food. The mug had something ridiculous scrawled on it, making him turn the odd drawing toward himself to avoid the embarrassment that the sight of it would've brought. These 'mom and pop' diners usually had weird mugs that workers or even the owners had brought from home or bought at a nearby crafts store - maybe even made themselves, so he should've been accustomed to the strangeness of them, but he never really did.
He raised his hand to cut the waitress off as he overlooked his to-be-hunting-companion, thanking her for her service as it was and returning to his warm coffee. It tasted awful, but it was the best he was going to get unless he bought some and made it in his hotel room. Too bad he didn't own a thermal cup, he could really use one these days. Always being on the run made it hard to find a good drink and even harder to finish it before he had to get moving again.
Then again, maybe the phrase 'on the run' might've not been the best way to say it. As far as anyone knew, however, he was just drifting instead.
Narrowing his eyes slightly at the male in front of him, he took one more sip from his mug, holding it in his hand while he stuck out the other one to shake his hand.
Kläuss, huh? The name didn't sound like anything he'd come across before. Then again, his name wasn't any better; when was the last time he'd ever met another Festus? Never, that's when.
As his grin returned, his eyes turned down to his plate of food that was hardly picked at, much less eaten; bacon barely nibbled on and eggs he hadn't even touched. His stomach was in knots, he couldn't manage to eat the food, much less keep it in later on.
"Felix," he finally replied, gazing back up to examine present company, "I think you'll find the pleasure's all mine." He chuckled, though amusement was not the first thing on his mind as it ended abrupt and silence replaced the space of it. Faking laughter was [i not] his strong suit, but maybe it was worse when he [i actually] laughed... evidence presented prior.
"I suppose you'd like to get right to business?"
[center Wrong place. Go figure. Still, it wasn't so much a big deal. Kläuss managed to get to the right one without much trouble. Not without frustration of course, but it was a course correction made easily enough. Sighing deeply, he crossed through the threshold and was immediately hit with the wall of chatter.
How could they stand to make so much noise? If he hadn't been here for business he'd have walked right back out. Crowded places, unless he was making he active effort to disappear, were [i not] his thing. Luminous gaze skipping from table to table, spotting his target wasn't all that difficult.
He was wearing a red shirt, after all. Had he done it purposely to stand out? So much for a low profile. Kläuss stepped forward, his stride long as he made his way over. Maybe he should've dressed with a little something more than black from head to toe, but short of going in to the office, he hardly opted for any other colours. Maybe a coloured tie here or there, but for the most part, he was a shadow.
Sliding not so easily into the booth, he extended one of his long legs so that his steel embellished, pointed toe boot rested against the outer face of the opposing seat. Long-legged struggles... this was why he tended to prefer cafes and shit. They hardly went for booths.
He tried not to offer much attention to the group sitting nearby. Someone was staring, and staring wasn't polite. The waitress with too much on her hands took his order and before long, they were left with relative privacy to make introductions.
For the first time since dismounting his bike, Kläuss ran his fingers through his cropped dark locks. Surprisingly, that alone made him look less like a crazy person. He'd yanked off the helmet without shaking it out and as a result? Instant Bellevue status.
Extending a hand, he studied the other male curiously. "Kläuss... it's a pleasure." In the light, his eyes tended to play tricks. Ordinarily, they were a vibrant blue, but it wasn't so infrequent that one would show green.
Sizing the guy up before him, Kläuss wondered vaguely how old he was. It had nothing to do specifically with the task at hand, but he couldn't exactly pin an age to him. He was grateful to the waitress for the OJ and in her absence took a generous pull from his glass.
Much better than the coffee he'd had that morning. Now just to wait for his breakfast...]
Despite heavy boots pounding on early morning, protesting floors, there remained a kick in his step as he paced around his hotel room. Deciding what to wear wasn't normally a huge decision for him; he'd throw on whatever collared shirt he had and his jacket, which normally hid whatever he was wearing anyway. But he had an important day going for him; he didn't have to look like royalty, but he had to look nice. Like he knew what he was doing. He couldn't look like he was still a wet-behind-the-ears rookie, especially since he'd been in the game for a few years now. He had to look competent.
Stepping back, he looked over his two choices, chewing on his bottom lip. Red, he was told, was his colour more than anything, but grey seemed more sophisticated. He stood to decide for a moment or so, wrinkling his brow as he tried to picture both scenarios - maybe if he wore red, his to-be-partner would like how he looked, but maybe if he wore grey, his partner would think he knew more than he actually did. It was tough, to say the least, at least for him.
Picking the two shirts off the bed, he walked over to his bag, which was thrown onto one of the chairs against the window. He stuffed the grey one back into the bag, deciding to wear the red one as it appealed more to him than anything. He decided he liked the idea of his partner not thinking he was a hunting genius in order to avoid any embarrassment later on, if they decided to be his partner after all.
After slipping his shirt on, he grabbed his keys and headed out to his car with nothing but the clothes on his back, his bag tossed in the passenger side of his car, and a few stow-away weaponry kept hidden on his person. Should it come to it, and he hoped it didn't, he would actually need a way to protect himself. He wasn't one to stop and smell the roses as it were, so he hurried on his way, eager to settle down for a nice cup of coffee and some breakfast while talking over the hunt that had been giving him so much trouble these past few weeks. The creature he'd been hunting had been evading him at every turn and leaving a pile of bodies in its wake, which, needless to say, had to stop; he originally didn't believe he needed help, but after finding body after body, he knew it was time to change his strategy.
Piling onto the road, he came bumper to bumper with traffic that was unbearable. Stop, go, stop, go, stop- Swearing to himself, he finally decided to take an out of the way route, turning off of the main road and heading down some backroads that seemed particularly dangerous to get to his destination. He hoped he was late by the time he got there. But with his driving, that was almost impossible.
He decided a spot on the corner might be better than the parking lot of the diner itself, which seemed pretty packed the first time he rounded the block. Might as well deal with a few less quarters than finding a spot in a small town diner where everyone and their mother ate. Engine cut, keys grabbed, and collar of his shirt adjusted, he headed across the street and into the diner, grabbing an empty booth nearest to the kitchen where he could smell food cooking and hot coffee brewing.
He made a short order as the waitress came around to him, telling her that he might be joined by someone later in order to have her round back when his to-be-partner came by. If they did; he wasn't sure they were going to show.
A single ring of the door opening caught his attention along with what looked to be a mess of a person - at least, he thought so. Then again, in this town, everyone looked like a mess to him. Still, he matched the description. Grinning like a giddy child, he made a subtle wave when a look passed over his section of the diner, gesturing to his table without trying to make a fool of himself or just downright looking stupid. Most people knew each other in this town, so he hadn't seen them throw up their arms and call out to one another, but even if he did, he still would feel like an idiot for doing the same.
As it came, his waitress soon returned with his coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs. Needless to say, he was already getting an earful from his 'Gladys' as she talked about how hard her job was - certainly trying to get a larger tip out of him, no doubt, so having some company right away would do him just fight.
Then again, if his company talked as much as this ageing old woman did, he'd probably go insane.
[center Early mornings were terrible. Not the worst, but they were still absolutely horrid. What time was it - five? Groaning, the brunet fumbled across his nightstand with numb fingers, silently cursing this damned insomnia. It was a wonder he was still running. Usually when you overworked machinery, it quit, but maybe his didn't mind the lack of sleep. So long as he fed it a good malt and kept the coffin nails coming, he could drag himself through another day.
Still, Kläuss couldn't complain. Early mornings were a step above late nights and nothing compared to a long day. Which, by the way, he was two hundred percent positive was ahead of him.
He lit up, took a drag, and suddenly the man wished he'd had the sense to roll out of bed and get some coffee going. The activity would've gotten his blood flowing at least. The room itself was freezing, but he wasn't home often enough to care for putting the heat on.
Then again, such was life on the grind.
It was the usual once he'd finally pried himself away from his bed. Coffee the shade of obsidian, peanut butter slithered toast, and a short workout before he made rounds in the shower and his closet. He had to look like a person today. After all, first impressions were everything, weren't they? Anyone who said they weren't, was lying.
First impressions set the tone. He wasn't sure what his would be. Probably a screaming, disorganised cacophony of sorts. He tended to leave that impression, somehow - usually on purpose.
Snatching up a small bag of gear, he made his way down to his bike and locked up on his way out. He wasn't going all that far, but he was oddly particular about being on time.
The air was refreshing; it reminded him of early spring, when cool moisture was abundant and everything smelled like fresh rain and was painted in the most assuring shades of blue and grey. It was less harsh than sunlight, these overcast days. Maybe he'd gotten too used to working in the dark, but going out during the day almost never felt right. Even if he did have a day job. It wasn't like he saw much sun unless he was chasing some sonofabitch across pavement. Man, he hated it when they ran.
Nearly screeching to a stop, he'd barely parked before his leg had swung back, the man balancing off to once side as he coasted into a spot. Stand down, helmet off, keys retrieved. Time to go to work.
He was supposed to be assisting on some sort of difficult case, so this was more of a rendezvous than anything to talk details, but it was seldom he ever turned down a job. As he dipped into the meet up location - a dîner that must've stood since the city had first been built, his cyan blue gaze combed mostly empty booths and freshly wiped tables. Now where was this partner-to-be of his?
Wouldn't that just be a bitch if he'd ended up at the wrong diner? It was only one of - oh - six in the area? Oh, yeah... Kläuss wasn't worried at [i all].
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