<span style="font-style: italic">Your words sting, my darling,</span>Mathias thought in reply as Vivienne entered their midst, a controlled ball of fire and methodical chaos as always. Her scorn for his gorgeous goatee would never subside, it seemed.<span style="font-style: italic">Perhaps you would find the view more enjoyable if you were on your knees in front of me?</span><br/><br/>He smirked, turning his attention back to Oliver before Viv’s face could display her feelings about what he’d sent in her direction; he was sure he knew how’d she look anyway.<br/><br/>“I know this may seem a bit scary,” he said gently as the grin vanished to be replaced by a powerfully sympathetic look, his head aiming almost straight downward so as to maintain eye contact with the much shorter individual, “but I assure you, you are safe. So long as we are with you, you have my word that no harm shall come to you. And any questions you might have will be answered in full.”<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">I would rather kiss this sniveling excuse for an adult than ever get on my knees in front of someone like you.</span><br/><br/>Vivienne’s expression remained pleasant, if, briefly, a little stiff. If humans had been anything more than currency, she would have felt sorry for the poor individual in front of them. Matt’s acting was - painful. She wondered how anyone could ever believe the obviously false show of caring and kindness he put on.<span style="font-style: italic">Any questions will be answered in full. Good Lord.</span><br/><br/>“There’s a very pleasant little café called ‘La Pâtisserie’,” Vivienne replied. Her smile widened just a hair with genuine delight. It was clean, intimate, and, most importantly, French, which meant that everything was as close to perfect as it could be. “However, I sadly don’t believe it’s open at this time of night. There is an all-night diner, nearby, however. That suits me just fine. It’s - very American, but I’ve heard their milkshakes are rather delicious.” She retched mentally at the thought of milkshakes, but it seemed just the thing to calm this child with. Sweet and creamy. She looked back and forth from Mathias to Oliver. Maybe it was just the vile, blended-ice-cream-in-a-glass, but she was beginning to feel a little odd.<br/><br/>“We can discuss further there. What say you, gentlemen?” She clasped her hands in front of her, looking just about ready to go.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">No need to make excuses, dear Viv. I could tell you liked this one. Perhaps you have a thing for infantile mortals? Maybe they make you feel powerful by comparison? Whatever makes you happy, my sweet. I am nothing if not understanding and accepting. It comes with the territory.</span><br/><br/>He needed to provide no further explanation; his benevolence was apparent to anyone who knew him, that much was a certainty.<br/><br/>As Vivienne brought up the French café, a wry grin formed on Mathias’ face; of course her expression would brighten upon mentioning something of that nature. The woman was convinced of the superiority of all things French, as only a French person could be. Personally, he preferred the pastries to the people, and second place was a mile behind.<br/><br/>When she mentioned milkshakes he was forced to stifle a groan. Vivienne pretending to be interested in milkshakes was about as farfetched as the idea of her doing any actual work.<br/><br/>“Milkshakes sound wonderful,” he agreed, fighting to keep his expression neutral as he turned for the door. He stopped soon after initiating the movement, however, as he then noticed something… strange. There was something different about his surroundings, and it took him a moment to identify it. Once he did, however, there was no doubt in his mind.<br/><br/>He looked over at Vivienne for a fraction of a second before moving to the exit.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">There is the stench of Reaper interference in the air. Evasion won't be possible, not with the mortal. Be ready.</span><br/><br/>"Well, let's be off then."<br/><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/>The apartment building's dingy brickwork was of an indecipherable color in the poor lighting; there were roughly twelve floors to the construct, judging by the number of horizontal window rows that could be seen from the alley. It was a third floor window, a square of bright yellow light that was impossible to miss given its drab surroundings, that caught Trent's eye.<br/><br/>He peered into the opening, dark brown eyes lighting up as a mischievous grin formed on his rounded, olive complexioned face. He ran a near-spectral set of fingers through his short black hair, as the edge of a very red tongue poked out of his mouth just enough to moisten his lips.<br/><br/>The woman, busy toweling her hair dry, seemed to be unaware of the fact that her breasts were clearly visible to anyone who happened to be looking; Trent squinted, peering academically at her nipples, which were quite large when one considered the size of the jugs themselves. They weren't too big, but they were about as perky as a person could ever want. If they were into that sort of thing, anyway.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Not that I could ever squeeze the fucking things anyway,</span>he thought bitterly as he glanced down at his slightly transparent hands, his rounded face a mask of annoyance. It was just his luck, really, that he'd finally spot a great pair only to be unable to touch them. Not that he would've obtained any real satisfaction from such an act, but still - he like touching soft things. It was likely the same thing that inspired dog haters to pick up and cuddle puppies, he supposed. Even if they did consider strangling them while doing so. To each their own.<br/><br/>The alleyway made a sharp right upon reaching the building; at the corner up ahead there was a large green dumpster covered in what appeared to be a century's worth of everything disgusting beneath the sun, and beyond that Trent could hear a dull slapping sound that carried a familiar ring to it. Curious, he half-walked, half-drifted down the alley, gazing sorrowfully down at the bottom hem of his toga as it floated an inch off the ground. The garment had once been white, but upon his violent descent from the heavens its hue had turned to a deep black, a reminder of his failings and of the ticking clock that hovered perpetually overhead.<br/><br/>He reached the dumpster and looked over to its other side, to discover that he wasn't the only one who'd noticed the free show.<br/><br/>A tall black man in a tattered old coat was masturbating furiously, his face tensed up in concentration as he stared up at the woman; she was taking her sweet time with her hair, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that she knew she was exposing herself to the outside world - it was also clear that she didn't mind one bit.<br/><br/>The alleyway wanker, clearly homeless, was unaware of Trent's proximity to him; the fallen angel was fairly certain that it wouldn't have mattered to the stranger either way, but an instant later Trent became aware of two very important details. One, the man's aura carried a brightness that made it clear that he was toting around a soul that was somewhere around level 6, and two, there were flashing lights approaching in the distance on the vagrant's other side.<br/><br/>"Hey, buddy," Trent said as he drew closer, taking care to avoid looking down at the man's fervent strokes. It was difficult to keep his eyes up, and to be honest it probably didn't even matter since the fellow's attention was so urgently fixed elsewhere. Still, he made the effort regardless.<br/><br/>"Maybe you should wrap this up, huh? The cops are coming."<br/><br/>"Shit!" the other man cried out, still stroking vigorously, almost frantically, his eyes still desperately locked onto the shimmering rack high above them. "I can't… I can't stop masturbating!"<br/><br/>"Well you're going to have to," the ghostly former angel replied, peering upward to follow the other's eyes to the window. He looked back down to the man, and then a bit further down, below his waistline before recoiling as if stung. He'd never seen one quite so crooked before. The fellow clearly needed to go a bit easier on himself.<br/><br/>"Plus, it looks like she's done."<br/><br/>He was right - the woman had finished drying off and was leaving their line of sight, with one final smirk at the world outside as she did so. Trent heard a groan, followed by the rapid pattering of footsteps as the man raced past him, his bent erection wobbling violently from side to side with each stride he took.<br/><br/>The cop car had pulled over at the mouth of the alley; Trent had nothing to fear from them, obviously, but he still needed to stay close to the sprinting, boner-wielding stranger.<br/><br/>"I can't let this one get away. Fuck!"