<span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">This wasn't the vacation he had in mind. He found himself smiling, even laughing a bit at the cliche - and then he was calm once again. Impossibly, chillingly calm. He seemed not to blink, and not to breathe, eyes focused to - perhaps through - the two-way mirror opposite his chair. <span style="color: #FFBF40">"First impressions are important,"</span> he said aloud to no one, unwavering gaze stuck forward. The noises coming through the ventilation above the interrogation room seemed to mute themselves, as if important, world-shaking words were about to be spoken. Instead, he reached an arm forward, picked a stale bagel from the table, and bit into it, relishing the ugliness of the loud crunching sound. He took each bite with deliberate, patient slowness, an upward curve on his lips every time he visualized the people on the other side of the glass.<br/><br/>This had to be good shit for them. Face to face with the devil's own, war wounds still fresh enough to sting every time he spoke, or tilted his head. He almost envied them. It's hard to be impressed when you're the devil. *A* devil, really, but why split hairs? He was going to be the talk of their little club even before he saved them all. As he crunched through the bagel, his reflection looked silently back at him. Tall, with light skin and features that were sometimes charming and sometimes fully mischievous. Lean body under a brown jacket, black shirt and jeans. Not an outfit that screamed 'effort', though he was evidently very concerned with the appearance of his hair as it seemed perfectly styled, curls that stopped just above his shoulders.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBF40">"First impressions,"</span> he said again, <span style="color: #FFBF40">"are important."</span> Flicking crumbs off his hand, he slicked his copper hair back, closing his eyes for a moment in a learned association. <span style="color: #FFBF40">"And the first thing I did when I stumbled across you collection of ne'er do wells was wave a white flag!"</span> He had started that sentence in a normal voice but ended it in a shout, standing so fast the chair he had been sitting on impacted the wall behind him with a heavy thud. Walking past (or maybe through) the table, he stood just in front of the two-way mirror. <span style="color: #FFBF40">"And the first thing you did was leave me in a small room with nothing to do!"</span><br/><br/>For a moment his face was one of anger, but then it was suddenly calm again. He shook his head and took a step back, raising his arms over his head as if a gun were pointed at him. Behind the glass, there probably were weapons trained on him. <span style="color: #FFBF40">"I need to speak to your commander. Soon. Like... Very soon."</span> His eyes, points of icy blue light, looked up in a clearly feigned vulnerability. Not because he was lying, but because he was trying to express emotion and he wasn't usually good at subtle. <span style="color: #FFBF40">"This isn't any more comfortable for me than it is for you guys. So, c'mon... Friends?"</span> He smiled widely, maybe too widely, as he reached his arm back farther than it should have been able to reach and plucked another bagel from the plate, crunching it into pieces in front of the mirror. <span style="color: #FFBF40">"When I run out of these, I'm going to get angry."</span> Threatening and pleading were much the same thing in Hell, he was doing his best to distinguish them here but it wasn't always useful.</span>