AN: Man, I haven't submitted anything here in a while. Hope some people still know I exist. This here is an RPing session between a friend and me. Belphegor is mine, Fitch is hers. Enjoy.

Belphegor made her way through the crisp night air of the city streets. She fought the urge to clamp her fingers over her nose as the people passed by her. Such an awful smell, human. It was for this reason that she usually avoided crowded places. Tonight, however, she had a mission. Someone to kill so she could get paid.

Fitch trailed at a safe distance behind the strange person who, somehow, seemed to slip through the crowd as easily as water ran down a drain. The person didn't look like anyone he usually saw in the course of his day, which meant he or she was foreign. In Fitch's mind, "foreign" meant "rich." He kept his sights on the stranger, seeking a purse or money bag he could pinch.

Focused on her target, Belphegor failed to notice to person trailing her. She was concentrating on the signature her client had given her, the man's scent leading her down a trail of raw meat and old eggs until she reached an apartment building where the scent was the strongest. Discreetly making her way down an alley, she decided taking an alternative route inside would be a better alternative to the front door.

Fitch grit his teeth when his target slipped down a side alley. "Damn," he thought. "It's going to be a hell of a lot harder now that the stranger's stayed from the crowd..."

Still, he never gave up on easy money, so Fitch kept to the shadows and followed behind, certain that he'd be able to rob this stranger blind without any difficulties.

Belphegor surveyed the walls carefully. Brick; plenty of ridges. She removed her shoes and tied them together, slinging them over her shoulder. She then proceeded to climb the wall, using the scales on her fingers to gain purchase on the crumbling brick.

Once he saw the stranger scale the wall, Fitch seriously considered turning around and picking another target. A second thought occurred to him afterwards, however, and he considered that this stranger might be another thief. And if the stranger was a thief, it was quite likely he or she was stashing the loot from an earlier job. And if that was the case, all Fitch would have to do was hide out and wait for the thief to leave, and then make off with the valuables.

Fitch knew the city as well as he knew his own hands, and he quickly ran up the stairs of the adjacent building. From the roof of this building, he would be able to reach the other.

Reaching the top of the building, Belphegor took a moment to put her shoes back on. Her feet were sensitive, and it was always best to wear the shoes unless the situation called for otherwise. Focusing immensely on her target, she found him to be directly beneath her. From his vital signs, she could sense that he was sleeping. That made this all the easier.

She reached down to rip a part of the concrete up, a slight screeching the only indication that she had done so. Nimbly, she jumped down into the small hole, failing to notice that her fire-stone pendant, her most prized possession, had fallen on the cold concrete above.

Fitch easily made the jump from one rooftop to the next. His target had vanished, but he had a pretty good idea of where he or she had gone. There was, he observed, a hole in the ceiling. He was about to sneak down into the building when the moonlight caught on something on the concrete. It shone brightly, beckoning him, and Fitch reached down and picked it up. It was a necklace of some sort, exceedingly beautiful, and probably quite valuable.

Now Fitch was left with a predicament. He could wait to see if the stranger really was hiding more valuables, or he could cut his losses and sell the pendant before the stranger even knew it was missing. "Finders Keepers, after all," Fitch reasoned. "If the stranger was careless enough to lose it, they don't deserve it."

Deciding that a pendant in the hand was worth more than a possible secret stash, the thief leapt back to his previous rooftop. As long as he was out of sight before the stranger came back, there would be no way Fitch would ever be caught...

...At least, he hoped.

Belphegor's target, a former mob member that had gotten a little too greedy with the money, was an easy kill. He woke up once to plead for his life, but a quick slash to the throat silenced him forever.

"Pathetic," she muttered. She hadn't even needed to become her demon form to take this one down. She climbed easily back onto the roof and noticed something was wrong; he pendant wasn't knocking against her collarbone like usual. Her hand flew to where the necklace usually rested, but it was no longer there. She searched the rooftop but couldn't seem to locate the bright stone.

No need to panic, she reasoned. I'll just track it. I'll have it back in no time. She focused on the necklace's signature and began to follow it.

Fitch ran down narrow alleys, twisting and turning in numerous directions. More than once an angry shopkeeper snapped at him to watch where he was going, but Fitch didn't care. Hell, by tomorrow he'd probably OWN most of these scumbags' shops! The necklace had to be worth a lot of money, more money than he'd ever made before!

He had a hiding place, a hollowed-out section of stone beneath a bridge that used to cross a stream, though by now the water had long-since dried. The entrance was small; most people would never be able to fit inside it. Also, it was discrete, which meant Fitch could hide everything he owned and he never had to worry about anyone coming across it.

"Perfect," he said to himself once he was safely in his lair. He held up the stone and grinned. "Looks like my luck's about to change!"

Belphegor realized the stone was, in fact, moving. She became very angry as she walked briskly towards the signature. She didn't run because running was demeaning and below her. Walking was fast enough; she would find the scumbag that had stolen her necklace and put them to justice.

Her search led her to a small bridge, where the signature seemed to pause. It seemed like it was coming from below the bridge, so she checked. Unfortunately, there were no people under it, or her necklace. Then she spotted the hole in the rock.

Fitch heard something, barely, on the stone outside. "No way," he told himself. "No one could have followed me across the city!"

He threw the chain of the pendant around his neck and tucked it into his shirt. Fitch reached for a dagger (stolen off of a spoiled nobleman's son the year before) and unsheathed it. There was little chance the intruder could get in, but it didn't hurt to be prepared.

Belphegor slipped through the crack with little difficulty. Being very skinny in her human form, she could often fit into tight spaces. She was slightly surprised when she found a small treasure-trove inside the mere rock. The outside appearance had fooled her into believing it was smaller. What surprised her most, however, was the boy standing before her, holding a knife as if it would make any difference. She could sense the necklace still, out of sight but certainly not hidden.

"Hand it over," she growled, calmly extending her hand. Her eyes flashed dangerously. If the boy gave it back without a fight, she would take it and be on her way. If, however, he decided to be stupid, she would have to take drastic measures.

A woman? Fitch couldn't help but think. A woman?!?

But he couldn't help but notice that she didn't look quite right for a human woman, though he couldn't explain exactly why. There was a killer's glint to her eyes, however, and that was enough to make him cautious.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Fitch replied stubbornly. "And this is my place. Get out."

Belphegor didn't ask twice. She stepped forward, hand still outstretched towards the faint glow coming from under the boy's shirt, where the pendant was calling out for its master.

Fitch jerked back, careful not to clutch the pendant under his shirt, just in case the woman wasn't sure he had it.

"I said get out!" he snapped, slashing at the woman in front of him. He wasn't surprised when he didn't hit her, but he had been hoping. "I don't have anything of yours! Finders Keepers!"

Belphegor, growing impatient with this human's insolence, grasped the dagger in her hand and yanked it away, crushing it like paper before tossing it aside.

"Give me back my pendant," she growled, grabbing the front of the boy's shirt.

Who was this woman, who could crush weapons like dry leaves? Fitch was beginning to see that he had been very stupid in selecting his target this time. Now, he could either turn over the pendant and escape with his life, or he could continue to guard his pride and have the pendant stolen anyway.

Given his position between a rock and a hard place, Fitch grit his teeth. As hard as life was, he still preferred it over death.

"Fine!" he said at last, pulling the pendant out from beneath his shirt. "Take the damned thing!"

Belphegor snatched the pendant from the boy's hands and secured it around her own neck. She knew, however, that she could not let this deed go unpunished. This boy would learn not to steal from demons.

She placed a finger on the red stone of her pendant, which had begun to glow a bright red. Lighting fast, she gripped the boy's neck with her other hand, smoke curling from under her fingers.

Fitch writhed in the woman's grip, resisting the urge to scream like a child. He knew suddenly, with a clarity that the doomed always seem to possess, that this was some kind of demon, a creature out of nightmare and legend.

He'd always assumed they weren't real, that they were a legend used to frighten children into obeying their parents. Well, if he had known such creatures actually existed, he could have worked harder at listening.

"Let me go!" he shouted at her. "I gave it back! Let me go!"

"Little boys should learn to obey what they're told," Belphegor mocked in a sing-song voice, a wild look creeping onto her face. "For your insolence and thievery, I swear by the Devil you will be punished."

"You dropped the damned thing!" Fitch shouted. "NOT FAIR!"

He was dimly aware of hitting the creature's arms, but her grip was stronger than iron.

Belphegor dearly wanted to simply burn the boy's head off and be done with it, but she didn't kill unless given reason to. Her grip tightened slightly, enough for her to note the panicked way with which the boy breathed, before she released him, leaving only a seal covering the pale skin.

Fitch felt his skin burning and reached up to touch it. "What the hell did you do to me?" he demanded, his fear giving way to rage.

"A curse," she said simply. "You wanted this pendant so much; now if you are more than half a mile away from it you will die." It was a harsh curse, to be sure, but one she felt the boy deserved. He was obviously one of the scum of humanity, if any of the species could be called admirable. He needed a lesson in morals, and she would give it, even if she couldn't stand his smell.

Fitch felt the blood drain from his face. "Wha...what?" he stammered. The anger built up in him again and he shouted, "You can't do that!"

"I believe, human, that I just did." Coolly, Belphegor made her way to the entrance. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to be paid. You may follow or you may remain here and wait out the last five minutes of your life. It's your choice."

Fitch didn't want to be near the woman anymore. He wanted to be as far away from her as possible.

Unfortunately, that would mean his death, and Fitch had already decided he had no desire to die. Cursing under his breath, he scrambled after the demon.

"What do you mean, 'paid'?" Fitch asked. "Paid for what?"

"If you must know, I'm a freelance assassin." These words were spoken with such nonchalance, as if the thought of taking another life were as unimportant as what to have for breakfast. Belphegor did not think of human life as very valuable, so killing them was an easy and non-guilty act for her. However, she only did it for her job. Whether it was valuable or not, a life was a life and it belonged to someone. Being a human life made no difference.

An assassin, Fitch thought, numbly. Not only am I stuck following a demon, but she's an assassin!

He didn't ask anymore questions; he was too frightened of the answers. Instead, he followed behind the demon, careful to keep up with her pace. He wondered how long she was planning on keeping up this curse, but then decided he probably didn't want to know the answer to that, either.

Belphegor had to walk unbearably slow so the human could follow her. She was tempted to just be done with him then and there; just lift the curse and leave. But she couldn't do that. She had her pride, and would not look like a fool. Besides, it would be nice having a slave for a little while.

"What's your name?" she asked shortly. She might as well know it, if he would be accompanying her.

"Fitcher," he responded automatically. "Fitch for short."

He winced even as he spoke. He had not intended to tell her the truth, but he supposed it didn't really matter. She likely didn't even care what his name was. From the look on her face, she probably didn't care much for humans.

"What's yours?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Belphegor," she answered simply, leaving it at that. There was no more she wanted to know about the boy, and no more she wanted to tell about herself. At least not for now. If the questions came, she would answer them, because she did not avoid direct questions. As long as he remained disinterested, however, so would she.