Mathias was only a few paces away from the door when he heard the voice; the condescending tone made his eyes narrow as he froze in place, staring at the broken speaker from which the speech was emitting.<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Stir up the sheep, and they’ll send the shepherds.”</span><br/><br/><br/>A warning, then. From a coward who preferred to hide behind some fried sound equipment. Mathias smiled before directing his response to nowhere in particular, as he knew the box was nothing more than a superficial means of conveyance.<br/><br/>"The lost ones are my sheep, and<span style="font-style: italic">I</span>am the shepherd. But the wolves shall be taught to fear my steel, if they think to interfere with my good work."<br/><br/>He waited for a moment, but no response was forthcoming. He snorted, deciding that the merits of this particular voice fell far short of those that resided within his own head. At least those voices had the courage and diplomacy to identify themselves. They did when he asked them to, anyway. What use was a disembodied voice with no courtesy?<br/><br/>With a scornful shake of his head, Mathias continued towards the exit, dismissing the interruption entirely as his boots resumed making the suction cup sounds they'd been creating as he walked over the sticky floor. Vivienne was close- in fact, she was much closer than he'd expected her to be. He paused once again, holding off on pulling the door open, the brows over the pale blue eyes furrowing thoughtfully.<br/><br/>Before he could do much more than register his surprise at the demon's unexpected proximity to him, the door opened.<br/><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/><br/>The sad slab of wood gave beneath his hand instantly, and his eyes immediately focused for distance. The sound of crashing hadn’t been right next to the front door, after all. “Tai, are y –“<br/><br/>A forceful jolt shot up the bridge of Oliver’s nose as it collided with something very solid and unyielding. His own momentum bounced most of his body against the mass (but with less pain than had been visited upon his face) and his empty hand instinctively reached to brace against the door frame.<br/><br/>Eyes squeezed shut to prevent them from watering with the sting of impact, the soft-spoken young man still turned his head and let the quick, “Sorry, sorry,” tumble out of his mouth towards the blockade. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew the chances were very good he was apologizing to an over-turned table or a tall speaker that had been displaced by the mass exodus; it wouldn’t have been the first time he had expressed cordial regret to inanimate objects. Still, he’d rather be polite to a piece of equipment than rude to a –<br/><br/>Chest?<br/><br/>His eyes flickered open and identified what was definitely the ridge of a collarbone, covered in a dismal grey material. Immediately the liquid-optics shot upward to seek the face of the innocent man that he had thoughtlessly assaulted, another apology already bubbling up from his mouth with more than a little sincerity. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to – “<br/><br/>Something about the angle that he needed to tilt his head to see into the figure’s face, the realization that the body attached to it hadn’t rebounded a fraction of a centimeter post-collision, and the icy silver of the corresponding horns came together to effectively dissolve the rest of his sentence. His eyes widened for a moment, but to his credit the mop-haired musician chose not to dwell. “… uh, y-you know, all that.”<br/><br/>An apologetic smile turned the corners of his lips, brow quirking to match even as a little flush colored his ears.<br/><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/><br/>Mathias watched with little reaction as the man walked into him and recoiled back as if he'd just gained a very intimate familiarity with a brick wall; when the large round eyes, shining with unshed tears, flicked up to his face, the mortal grew somewhat flustered. Even so, he still managed to finish off what had started out as an apology.<br/><br/>Although the Prince's attention had been wholly fixed on the man ever since he'd entered the decrepit establishment, this was his first chance at a close examination.<br/><br/>It was difficult to be sure, as there were special circumstances at play (the individual had just walked into his chest, after all), but to Mathias it seemed that the man carried something of a trusting nature about himself. It could simply have been his intuition, the mortal's inherent politeness, or perhaps the aura of discernible disorientation that currently enveloped him, but the demon still took note of his suspicions as he smiled genially down at the somewhat flustered musician.<br/><br/>"Not at all! It is I who should apologize, I shouldn't have been standing so close to the doorway. There's no way you could've seen me," he said with a grin, mindful of the fact that the man probably could've seen him from outside on a foggy day had he bothered to open his eyes and pay attention. "It's my fault, really. Are you alright?"<br/><br/>The smile he wore softened slightly, altered by the concern he felt for the mortal's wellbeing. Of course he was concerned- the name Lazaahn was synonymous with compassion, after all.<br/><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/><br/>Oliver couldn’t put his finger on it, exactly. The man had been very kind, given his own rude and entirely characteristic behavior. The small horns, brazenly visible, marked him for what he was, but even had they not been present the musician did not think he the man could have passed for mortal. It wasn’t his size, the unconventional style of clothing and hair, or even the snowy-pale color of his irises; the shorter man had grown up in this city, after all, and this was hardly his first experience interacting with a demon (even though he had never seen one with horns before now). No, it was something else. Something not visible… something that made his skin tingle as though given the lightest kiss by a sheet of electricity.<br/><br/>Well, he was probably just over-reacting or imagining things. The demon certainly seemed really nice. Oliver let his smile broaden to show a small flash of white teeth, apologetic tone fading from his demeanor quickly. “I’m fine," he started softly, "Tha - ”<br/><br/>His smile dropped as another thrash and a few grunts of exertion reached his ears. His long eyelashes dipped down as he turned his gaze back to a normal level (rather than what felt like straight up), and he tilted his head to see around the demon’s left arm. The lashes came back up as his eyes widened in alarm. In much the same fashion as he had entered the building, Oliver unthinkingly moved around the hard-chested demon in one movement of his lanky body, eyes still locked on the prone figures stretched on the floor.<br/><br/>“Are you all right?” he called to the nearest one as he quickly approached, a woman with long, blonde hair that spilled over the sticky floor and pooled around her head.<br/><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/><br/>The mortal moved quickly and seemingly without conscious thought upon noticing the captives on the floor; he edged around Mathias and immediately began moving towards the demons struggling on the ground, their momentary discourse already forgotten. There was a split second opening, during which the Prince could have easily stopped him from proceeding, but he elected to forgo that particular tactic. He had no intention of harming the man, and there was nothing to suggest he couldn't use the floor-bound demons to his advantage.<br/><br/>It took him just two steps to match five from the much shorter individual, and when he did it only took a relatively light grip on his shoulder to stop him in his tracks, still several yards shy of the other demons.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Vivienne,</span>he thought, sending the words directly to her mind with buttery ease given how close she was,<span style="font-style: italic">I may need you to corroborate.</span>The woman likely hadn't reentered yet for fear of overwhelming the man, knowing he'd have run into Mathias, but such concerns no longer mattered.<br/><br/>"I would advise against approaching those individuals, friend," he said with a smile and a light shake of his head. One of the demons, the thin one with the golden hair, raised her head with difficulty, snarling up at him, but with a twitch of a finger the weight pressing down on the trio doubled and her face smacked back down onto the sticky floor, her furious voice now muffled beyond comprehension as her hair pooled out around her once more.<br/><br/>"They are what I would call enemies, you see."<br/><br/>Truth. They would have stood in the way of his goal, which made them his enemies.<br/><br/>"They were coming after you, and I stopped them."<br/><br/>Truth again. His honesty was only trumped by his natural empathy for those around him. He was a Prince among Princes, really. Vivienne knew it too, though the woman was loath to admit it. He wondered if she resented him as a result of the deep attraction she undoubtedly felt towards him, no doubt influenced by his good looks and his inherently benevolent nature. He sent the thought her way, his smile widening as he imagined her reaction.<br/><br/>"My associate and I wish only the best for you. We would prefer to keep you safe from such… disreputable characters."<br/><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><br/><br/>Before he could get to the woman’s side, a hand blanketed his shoulder and abruptly stopped his forward movement; his legs and head still tried to go forward with the momentum but his torso remained locked effortlessly by fingers that engulfed half of his collarbone. The concerned tilt of his brow increased and his lips parted, empty and unrestrained arm reaching out to the young woman still on the floor- an arm that was quickly withdrawn as a bestial snarl escaped her lips. Concern turned to alarm and Oliver turned back to the kind demon, eyes darting to the trio of floor fixtures only twice as the blonde one spat into the grimy floorboards.<br/><br/>“A-after me?” Oliver echoed softly, easily-read confusion removing the alarm as quickly as it had come, “I’m sorry, I don’t… No one would… Why would anyone come after me?” He didn’t want to think about it; he’d never met any of those individuals on the floor, and didn't think he had ever even come into contact with anyone important enough to<span style="font-style: italic">send</span>people after him. However, he didn’t doubt the demon with the arctic gaze and soft smile. He had no reason to lie to him, after all, and had certainly been kind enough to stop him from getting his hand bitten by a furious blonde woman.