<div style="background-color:#353535; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Charlie turned around sharply at the sound of Levis' voice, sharp and cold as ice. "No need for you to be rude as well," she hissed under her breath. What was the matter with these two? They were almost acting as if Stewart was the same boyfriend who had kicked Levis out. The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife. A slow throbbing was beginning at the back of Charlie's head, and she squeezed her eyes shut briefly before returning to her odd, but hot neighbor.<br/><br/>"Talked?" One of Charlie's eyebrows was raised so high it was almost disappearing into her wild curls. Black solidarity or not, Stewart was behaving more and more oddly as time passed. And he, too, kept glancing at something just above her head. <span style="font-style: italic">What on Earth is with these people?</span> Maybe letting Library-Levis into her apartment at this hour had not been such a good idea after all. It had only attracted trouble, albeit some of the trouble was very handsome. She could have done without the other parts, which included a beginning headache and someone she had to share her wine with.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Comes with the territory, Matt? Well, for once, you are quite right. Being a Prince of Hell certainly does mean you have an obligation to subject anyone near you to the torture of being in your company.</span> Sadly, further quips were interrupted by the sudden need to get down to business again. A heavy smell of ozone hung in the air; a mental twinge rather than an actual sensory experience. <span style="font-style: italic">Reapers.</span> She blamed the prospect of acquiring a IX-soul on their not having detected the things earlier, but at the same time, it was an undeniable fact that reapers were the sneakiest bastards around.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Well, let's be off, then."</span><br/><br/>"It does look like rain, doesn't it," Vivienne continued conversationally, glancing upwards at the darkening clouds. "Would be a shame if we were caught out in it. I don't have a coat with me. Milkshakes, here we come!" She added brightly, silently begging her long-dead mother for forgiveness. She deftly snaked her arm under Oliver's, lifting her shoulders slightly with a barely audible "yay!" <span style="font-style: italic">Forgive me, father, for I have sinned...</span></div></div>