Butcher didn't make the comment that came to mind when Damien identified his sister as Lilith.  Their parents had named them both after very dark figures in the folklore of religion.  Likely they'd named one of their children Lucifer or Caine.  He chuckled when the solo reacted to the buzzing under his seat.  He didn't mention that if it had been a bomb, they'd both be dead.  For some reason people didn't like having their mortality pointed out.<br/><br/>Butcher started upright in his chair, almost rising to his feet.  "Verdammt rotes zimmer,"  he snorted.  "I thought those were a myth but I wouldn't put anything past the bastards out there.  Too much money and not enough humanity."  He looked at the tablet again and frowned.  "Or not.  Might be an auction."<br/><br/>On second look, Butcher decided that they were looking at an auction site, rather than a red room.  "You know what is rotes zimmer?  The red room?"  Damien looked like he came from money despite not having soft hands, so it was vaguely possibly his morality was inversely proportional to his bank account.  Still, he wasn't going to assume the young man knew anything about the darker corners of the web.<br/><br/>He ran a hand across the back of his neck.  He still wasn't used to finding the area hairless.  There was stubble growing, almost long enough to feel like crushed velvet.  She'd liked playing with his hair when it was long enough to reach his shoulders.  That was why he'd cut it.  Because she'd liked it.  He'd found a few women since that liked the feel of his head either when it was freshly shaved or after a week's growth.  The women on the tablet looked young and fit.  They'd likely live long enough to hate their new lives as sex slaves.  He didn't want to think that they might meet a more brutal fate.