Joker's Wild, Chapter 2:

And so, after meeting the smug suave bastard, and the lovely Irish lass who I would seriously love to get in my – to spend more time with, of course, if it weren't for Samantha, we were told by none other then the grand bastard himself – Raymond Reynolds – to wait outside the office for a bit while he made a couple'a phone calls. I guess one of them was making an arrangement with the Sunset City Police Department of Supernatural Affairs – and I couldn't believe that was actually a thing – but I couldn't quite picture what else he could be doing. Oh, I could no doubt imagine; I just don't think my thoughts on his particular actions would be entirely accurate. Funny as hell, though...

Seeing as we had a couple'a minutes to kill, I decided to strike up some conversation with Fiona. About what, well, in case you haven't already guessed, there were a couple of things bothering me about the last five minutes. I didn't question much at the time – Samantha, you know – but now I had some time to think. And I also had a lovely young woman to pump for info...

"So...", I asked her, trying to act pretty casual, but not overly so, "Raymond Reynolds, huh? Guy seems to know a lot. Must be pretty well-read..."

"Oh," she exclaimed, smiling while holding up a finger in front of her, "you must be talking about Mr. Reynold's mind reading, right?"

This girl turned out be cleverer then I thought. "Figured me out, huh?", as I wryly put it.

"Yeah, well," she said, "what else could you be talkin' about? 'Know a lot,' 'pretty well-read'; of course, he'd probably berate me right now for telling you this. 'Fiona, why on Earth would you just reveal such special talents when you aren't 100% certain that that the fellow you're speaking to is aware of said abilities?! Grow a brain, woman!"

"Whoa," I blew out. "Kind of harsh, isn't he?"

"Well," he said, "it's really just an exaggeration. He usually tries to be nice about it, but when he's in a bad mood, he can really let 'em fly."

"I'm surprised how you can put up with him."

"Well, he can come across as kinda' hard, but he means well, and he always apologizes if he ever gets too cross. But, he is really smart, which is why he's the leader of this group."

Now I was curious. "Group, you say? So there are more of you?"

"Yeah!", she happily yelled out. "There's Ryoma, for one. He's from Japan, I think, but he wields a mean blade. There's also other neat things about him, but you can learn more when you meet him. There's also..."

She seemed to tense up there and then; as if the 'whoever' she was talking about was an unsettling subject for her. And seeing as I later met this fine individual... yeah; her unease about her was completely validated. You'll see too, when she comes in...

"Rachel," she said, for the first time visibly not happy. Her arms were crossed, and she was now facing away from me. "Her name's Rachel. The moody, voluptuous, sultry dark creature of the night, whore!-" She then stopped herself right in place, as if she'd forgot herself. She slowly took several deep, long breaths; when she was done, she slowly turned back around, looking a bit ashamed.

"Hey, hey," I asked her, "what's the matter? Is she really that bad?"

"...I'm sorry," she at first quietly replied, her hands clasping one another in front of her, before her voice ramped up again, "but Rachel is... I can't really talk about her without completely forgetting myself! She just... look. 'Case you haven't figured it out yet, I kind have a strong religious belief system. Sort of. Catholic. And Rachel...

"Well, what? Is she some sort of slut, or whore? Is that what's got you so riled up?"

"...It's not just that. Rachel's... look, I don't really want to talk about her right now. You'll see her when you meet her, okay?"

"But-" Fortunately for her, she was saved by a bit of miraculous timing. I wondered if this had suddenly turned into a movie, as lo&behold, the door suddenly opened up behind us, and out of it came none other then Raymond.

"Right then!", he gleefully exclaimed, clasping his large hands together. "It's all taken care of. We'll go to the Devil's Nest to pick up Rachel, and then we'll-"

"Wait, wait, wait a minute!" Fiona was not happy. In fact, she was the complete and polar opposite of 'happy.' She rapidly pointed a finger at Raymond, as if she was trying to snipe him with a rifle. Repeatedly. "We have to pick up that- that-"

"Yes," Raymond sternly replied. "Yes, we do. I was under the impression that, while you still do not like Rachel – and trust me, she still feels the same about you – you could at least tolerate her."

She figuratively stepped back at this; her body eased up, and her eyes widened in shock. "Ye... yes. I... I can, yes..."

"Then we have nothing to worry about," said Raymond, smiling at her gleefully. "Come on..."

And so, with Fiona simply resigning herself to the task at hand, she followed after Raymond as they headed down the old, rickety stairs that ought to be condemned. And I was left wondering just how bad this 'Rachel' woman could be, for the sweet, lovely Fiona to get so worked up over her. Or maybe, 'sultry dark creature of the night' was more then a metaphorical statement. Of course, that would just lead to even more questions, and I think I already had enough for the day, with the central one being a question that I tried to answer before we got sidetracked by the 'sultry creature of darkness'; what was up with Raymond? He knew what I was thinking, he had ties to the police – okay, the Supernatural police – and he... well, 'eccentric' might have been too mild a word. Not to mention, there was a moment back there, a brief moment, where he just seemed to... go out of it. As if trying to think back upon an earlier time, but just not quite being able to do so. The man's mysteries were slowly piling up. Of course, for now, Samantha was what was important. After that was taken care of though...

Oh, yeah, and 'The Devil's Nest'. The hell?

But, for now, it was time to get down to business. I shrugged it all off for the time, wondered to myself just what the 'Devil's Nest' could possibly be, and rushed downstairs to follow the others...

"Uh,huh, yeah. Very impressive. Top-notch establishment, I'm sure."

That's what I said when I first set my eyes on the Devil's Nest. Of course, on the surface, it looked nothing like what you'd expect a Devil's Nest to look like. Unless, of course, a 'Devil's Nest' was supposed to look like a small black building without even a name to tell us just what the place is.

"Oh, trust me," said the grinning smug suave charming bastard, "it is. When you're dealing in this sort of world, you have to learn to not always trust first appearances."

"Oh, is that so?", I harped back.

"Oh, of course," he smugly replied. "Why do you think I dragged you along?"

"Come again?"

"You might not look like much, but I think you'll come through when it matters. And even when it doesn't. But none of that will matter if we don't make progress. Let's head in, shall we?"

Still grinning, he walked to the small black door with the red handle, bowed, and stretched out his arms to the door like a butler."After you," he said. I looked at Fiona; she simply shrugged, as if telling me to just suck it up and head in. So, with more then a bit of reluctance, I slowly grasped the handle, and – in a moment of 'just wanting to get this over with' – my arm flew the door wide open. Oh, and then Raymond lifted up his leg and literally booted me in through the door. Fun times.

I found myself sprawled on the ground, face first. The first thing I saw was a black square tile, roughly the size of my face. I then slowly started to get up, and I saw several more tiles; each was either black or red, and there didn't seem to any real rhyme or reason to their placement. No real order, or modus operandi. Then I got myself fully off the floor and dusted myself off, and that's when I got my first real look at the place. And if I hadn't already felt a certain degree of pain just a moment ago, I would have sworn I was dreaming. All around were... I didn't know what to call them. There were some humans, yes, but... there were what I think were ghosts, ghouls, goblins, moving skeletons, foxy ladies, (literal foxy ladies, fur, tail, everything,) wolfmen&women, and so much more. I was simply... I'd say awestruck, but that would imply there was an actual word for what I was seeing there at the time. Finally, after a time, I slowly started to feel myself move again, and was about to bolt for the door with one swift turn-around of the body... except that Raymond was now standing right behind me. He was still grinning, but it was a softer grin now, a kinder, more well-meaning one.

"Almost shocked myself the first time as well," he said. "This", he went on, stretching out his arm as if to showcase the wonder that was on display here, "is the true heart of this fine city. It shows what this city truly is; a remnant of times long past, where all of these beings before you were in much greater numbers, all across the globe. However, as time passed, we humans started to grow in numbers, force, and – perhaps most importantly – sheer ruthlessness and ingenuity. We were also quite fearful of what wasn't us. Except for those we could fight, or eat. And seeing as some of these creatures proved to be rather edible..."

His eyes widened and his teeth clenched. I think he was actually rather horrified at the prospect he just described. I was probably even more-so. "Uh, ahem," he went on. "In any case, nowadays, these beings must remain in hiding, so as to not become extinct. This also includes the forbidden races; those that are so dangerous even to other sentient species that most of them, aside from a few selections on a per-individual basis, were not even welcome here. And speaking of 'here', this is-"

"The finest bar&club in the city." When I looked to see just this new voice was coming from, I was half expecting to see a drop-dead gorgeous femme fetale with long, beautiful flowing black hair that touched the very ground.

I only got half that.

It was a woman all right, and her hair was so long that it did touch the ground. But it was red hair; jumbled, mussed hair that hadn't been touched by a single comb. And the body the hair was attached to, you may ask? It was that of a woman I thought was in her late 20's, but was not exactly sure, in large part to due to the tiny bloodshed-red scales that covered her entire body, head to toe. She also wasn't wearing a scrap of clothing, which you might think would be a man's dream, except that the scales covered anything that could count as a 'naughty-bit'. Makes you wonder how she ever got any. Or if she ever could. And to go with the scales, her legs were like that of a mighty lizard's; her feet were the same, long and elongated, and were coupled with long sharp claws, the color of obsidian stone. Her hands were likewise, with long fingers, and lengthy claws. However, as I would later learn, she could bring in these claws; her fingers would then 'close up' around where the claws would normally be, turning into fingers not unlike those of a human, aside from the length. When she spoke, you could see small sharp teeth all across her mouth, like that of a feral cat's. She had a long, thin, prehensile tail, dangling from atop her arse. She had two black horns protruding from her forehead; they were thick, long, twisted, and curvy; they each looked the same, yet were also opposite of each other, and they each managed to reach a foot above her head. And finally, there were the eyes; sharp, narrow, dangerous black iris's, with the eyeball's themselves exhibiting a luminous bright yellow; all in all, her eyes were like that of a mighty komodo dragon. (I saw one at the zoo once; haven't been there since I fell into a komodo-exhibit as a child. Nasty experience that was...) It was as if she was looking straight into - into the very essence of your being. Although, unlike Raymond, I don't think she could actually literally do that. She was smiling more often then not; a sort of sadistic, killer smirk that could make you wet yourself. Not that that actually happened to myself, mind you...

"Raaaaayymond", she said to the man, almost seductively, and just to cement the deal, she slowly strode across the floor to our location, each time stretching out her legs and arms as much as inhumanly possible for maximum impact. If weren't for her... well, her 'demon-ess', I guess you could call it, my jaw'd be dropping to the floor. Fiona was looking away, her face appearing slightly perturbed; probably for the same reasons she didn't like Rachel, but she didn't appear as downright disgusted with this woman as she was with the 'sultry' one. Made you wonder why...

Raymond, on the other hand, was eclectic. I suppose he was so used to all this already that he didn't really mind, but even then, I suspected he might have had a 'thing' going on with this... demoness, I guess you could call her. "Santessa," he lowly called out; when she finally made her way over, he lifted up her hand, grabbed her bodess, (though) with his hand not actually touching her,) and made as if to give her a deep, long kiss – only to back away after a moment.

"This," he said, turning back to me, his face appearing just a tad disappointed, "is Santessa. In case you haven't guessed already -"

"Let me explain myself, hm, Raymond darling?", she said.

"Of course, of course," Raymond replied.

"My name" she began, turning to me, still wearing that sadistic grin, "is Santessa. In case your brain happens to be the size of inconsequential cosmic dust, you may have likely already figured out just what I am."

Indeed, I did. "Demoness?", I coolly replied, my hands in my pant's pockets.

"Quite," stated Santessa. "I have no trouble relating my tale to... Micky Chandlers, was it? Raymond darling already told me all about you on the phone."

"Did he?", I said, a tad annoyed, glaring to the side at Raymond. He simply brushed me off, and grinned back.

"Yes, he did," Santessa went on, her arms now crossed "And I'll get to that, – or he will, who knows – but let us start from the beginning. I began as... in fact, I'm not quite sure what I began as. A whore, a contessa, perhaps simply a lowly worker, but regardless of what I did before, the first thing I can remember is the fires of Hell itself."

Fiona winced, and I could understand why. I was a bit disturbed myself; you grow up hearing about how you need to be a good Christian your entire life, or else you'll go to 'the bad place', as my parents called it when I was little. And when I finally read Dante's Inferno... well, let's just say it didn't exactly paint a pretty picture of the place. So imagine my potential terror when I learned that place might actually, possibly, be very, very real.

"Now, this is the system for Hell as I understand it," Santessa went on. "If one qualifies for Hell, then the crimes and offenses that they committed in life ultimately result in what form you become when you reach the place. The lightest possible sentencing is your memory and form remaining completely intact, and a chance at spiritual parole. The heaviest possible sentencing is everything that made you you, being completely and utterly stripped away, and your soul is shaped and sculpted into the most hideous abomination imaginable. And for myself to call something an abomination – I think you get the idea. I received something along the middle road; my memories were all taken away, but I still had a somewhat human appearance, and an actual human personality. However, since I have no recollection of my previous life, I found myself wondering if the personality I have is not true, original personality, or if it was a new one, created specifically for my new existence. But, regardless, after some time – I'm not really sure how long; 10 years, 50? – I was called to stand amongst the Infernal Tribunal; a trio of some of Hell's nastiest demons that still maintained sentient thought. They decide the ultimate rulings for all demons. They also decide when a possible error has been made, and that's what they called me up to discover. You see... they were concerned that they might have made a mistake."

That bit shocked me. Imagine if you were a virtual Saint, living your life in the service of the One&Only, and you still get tossed to the spiritual clink because of a big ol' bureaucratic screw-up.

"They said," Santessa continued, decidingly looking more annoyed then depressed, "that the primary action in which I was sent to Hell for had 'multiple factors', and that they weren't entirely sure if I was truly responsible for the crime that I was supposed to have committed. And yet, they still won't tell me what the crime was. Their 'reasoning', as they put it, is that I wouldn't even remember it anyway, so they won't tell me just what occurred during my past life."

"Well," I asked, out of curiosity, "wouldn't you like to know? The least they could do is tell you why you were sentenced to a place of eternal suffering, despite the fact that you may not actually have been guilty of any real crimes..."

"Eh, I don't really give a crap," she said, waving her hand out as if she was slapping down the very notion of knowing the truth. "Well, in a manner of speaking. I like who I am, for the 'me' I am, is the only 'me' I've ever known. And I'm fine with that. But, well, they sent me back here, to Earth. To find out the truth of the case, and I suppose that also extends into discovering who I truly was, before my death. And if I don't find out the truth in 50 years... they'll give the worst possible judgment out of failure to complete my job."

"...Waitaminute,",I said. "Don't they have specialists for this?"

"They're trying to cut down on manual labor," she said, "because the Judges want to contribute as little to the world as possible, and by sending out specialized agents, they think that they would actually be making contributions by ensuring that hard work and results actually get made. In addition, it means that the sentence-ee has a much more likely chance of receiving the worst possible punishment. And that's what I'm down for, if I fail to discover the truth of my past; the primary event that sentenced me to Hell, and anyone else who might have been involved in that event. And that," she went on, in an ironically spiteful tone, "is the gospel truth. In the meantime though, I needed a place to stay, and a means of income. Mind you, we demons don't need to eat, sleep, drink, or anything of the sort, but we do like our bling, if we can get our hands on some. It's not on my person right now, but it is around. So, in order to get the proper funds I needed, I used the modest sum of money provided to me by the Infernal Judges – given to me in case I needed it – and founded this fine establishment. Since then, it's become the place to be for anyone – and I mean anyone – tohang out and enjoy themselves. Everyone respects and acknowledge that, seeing as the drinks and... other services, are among the best this city has to offer.

Fiona tossed her head and rolled her eyes; I barely noticed, because – perhaps like Fiona – I noticed that there might be certain 'implication's' at work here. "'Other services?' Do they start with a 'bro' and end with 'thel? Geez', I bet the furries'ed go wild at this one..."

"'Furrries'?", she said, as though she didn't understand what the full meaning of the word 'prostitution' entailed. Of course, she also didn't seem to understand just what 'furry' meant, until Raymond took it upon himself to whisper sweet nothing's into his lovers ear. And those 'nothings', of course, based off of what he told me at a later date, were explaining the whole 'Furry' business. In the end, she had only one quick response, complete with a scratching of the chin, for this amazing new discovery; "...We can make money off of this..."

"So," said Raymond, once the demoness has explained her rendition of her... interesting backstory, "what do you think?"

To be honest, I wasn't sure what to think. And that's what I told him. "I'm... not entirely sure what to think. It's all... the bar, the... thingies in the bar, Hell,; its-"

"Took me while to fully take it all in as well," said Fiona. "And it can still be hard not to just shoot everything in sight But... I've learned that not every creature is like that. Many are... perfectly acceptable sentient beings. I just... I realize that I still have some issues that I need to iron out. If that can ever really be accomplished."

"I think you've come a long way, Fiona," said Raymond, for once dropping his air of the smug suave charming clever bastard. In fact, like this, he seemed somewhat like a father to Fiona; he was loving and supportive, and his other instances of coming across as a demanding a-hole may have just been the result's of him trying to look out for her. Of course, I had still only recently come into the picture, so I wasn't one to say. "You realize your problems, but you're doing your best to conquer them," he continued. "You're doing a fine job."

"...Thanks," she muttered back, trying to hider her blushing by turning away, albeit unsuccessfully.

"But back to my original question," rebounded Raymond, grinning liked a bastard once more. " : what do you think?"

"I think... that I don't know shit."

"E-xactly!"," he yelled out, holding out his arms as if he'd won a great victory. "You don't know shit. You don't know how the world truly works. Or at least, you didn't, but you're starting to. We needed to come over here to pick up Rachel, but I figured, why not take the opportunity to teach you a lesson you may sorely need? This included having Santessa tell your her lifestory – or at least, as much as she could recall. If further made clear to you that there is so much you do not know; that the world is nothing like most humans imagine it to be. But knowing this allows one to break past their mental censors that tell them that whatever is different then what they perceive as normal or possible, is wrong. In time, you will truly believe that a pig can fly. And under the right circumstances, they can, trust me on this."

Much I'd like to believe otherwise... he had a point. I mean, I could have tried to cope with the sort of things I was getting into – for Samantha, of course – but if I saw something I truly wasn't prepared for on the actual mission, and had no means to cope, I could have been done for. "So...", I started to say, "what you basically did was shock me into that believing that anything, absolutely anything, could be true."

"Did it work?", asked the still grinning bastard?

"...Much as I hate to say it... I think it did." And he was right. I could now believe that there were twirling spirals of flame 10 feet above us, providing the light required to make this place seem like a real hellpit. I could also believe that this place was much larger on the inside then on the outside; it spanned... I'd say, 40-50 feet square, when you got a good look at it, with tables painted to look like bloody eyeballs, and chairs that were designed as if they were giant mouths, ready to chomp your ass off. It was quite the sight. And speaking of 'sights'...

"By the way, Raymond," I asked him, "so, you're romantically involved with this..."

"Santessa," he cheerfully replied, "and yes, you can call it that, if you wish."

"But, ahem; correct me if I'm wrong, but thought you said you abstained from-"

"Oh, but I do, I do!", he volleyed back. "Although not necessarily out of choice. Of all the fine, lovely women I've met since –" he caught himself, then and there, and while I think I know the reason now, I didn't know it then. "-since ages ago, yes! It was surprising to me as well!" His face then started to grimace; his eyes lost their shining brilliance. "And it was also surprising to learn that her skin is 1000 degrees Fahrenheit."

All sorts of insane, fiery mental images came to my mind. Mostly of Raymond trying to 'do it' with our lovely demoness, only to find himself as the portrait from some 'flambe' variant of a recipe, shortly after. "Oh," he chided me, pawing me off, "no, no, no! If it was anything like that, would I be here to tell the tale?" And for what was not the last time, I had forgotten that the charming bastard here could read my mind. To an extent. That was still a question I intended to answer, but there were other, more important matters at hand. "No," he went on. "We simply tried to exchange a simple, loving kiss. Nothing more. Unfortunately, I found myself in the hospital ward in the next five minutes, cursing God, fire, the cavemen who discovered fire, and anything possible that could lead to fire in any way, shape, or form. Thankfully, after a lovely bout of surgery, I was right as rain! Which is what I sorely needed at the time, but didn't get, let me tell you. When he saw each other again after, I told her that I didn't blame her. I blamed myself for not thinking ahead; of course demons would be hotter then hot, they come from the hottest place in existence! But, I suppose I was simply blinded by our relationship. Since then, I 've managed to acquire heat resistant clothing which lets us touch to an extent, but kissing... That is still still in the future for us, and I've yet no idea how far."

"Ain't that a fuckin' shame?"

The speaker of this particular sentence you have just been privy to was sitting on the far left side of the bar, not far from the rest of us. I could only see her back at first; she was wearing a sharp, blood-red suit, and – much like Fiona – her hair, albeit being pitch-black instead of red, draped down over over her arse, (that would actually one-up Fiona, now that I think of it,) though unlike Fiona, this woman hadn't bothered to dress her hair; as as if she didn't care about appearances in the slightest, and so didn't give so much as a strand of her hair a papercut. Or much in the way of proper combing or make-up. When she slowly turned around to face us, though – her eyes looked like that of a human's – wait, no; no they did not. Her iris's were somewhat like Santessa's; primal and bestial, but whereas Santessa's iris's were still black, this woman's iris's were bloodshed red, and they seemed as though they were about to ram straight over wherever they set their gaze. They were also narrowed for the time being, and as for her mouth, for now at least, she was grimacing up a storm. But she'd come around. Eventually. She'd had noticed us as soon as we came in, as it turned out, but only now decided to make her move. And when she opened her mouth to speak – you could clearly see those sharp glimmering fangs, that seemed as if they were ready and poised to go straight for the jugular sooner then you could say, 'Damn hot!' It was pretty clear just what this monstrosity was; a foul, vicious freak of nature, that could only be called –

"Rachel!", said Raymond delightedly.

Or, that too. Whatever floats your boat.

So, this was Rachel. When Fiona called her a 'sultry, voluptuous, dark creature of the night,' I really had no idea how literal she was being. Speaking of Fiona, her fingers, now right above their holsters, were twitching&wretching up a storm, and her eyes were glaring, dead-set at Rachel, as if she desperately wanted to shoot the vamp', but just couldn't bring herself to. Rachel seemed to notice this too, and seemed just about to make a move, before Raymond firmly placed his hand upon Fiona's shoulder. "Now, now my dear; would you truly wish to spoil the grand mood of this evening? Please, relax! Calm yourself. Here, have a nice spot of tea! Oh, barkeep!"

Now, as I would later learn, the barkeep at this fine establishment was known as 'the bear'. As I would also learn, perhaps considerably sooner, this particular title was pretty literal. From what I think was some sort of room in the back, lumbered a great big bear of a man. Except it wasn't exactly a man. Really, what it was, was a giant bear with the eyes of a human and opposable thumbs. Oh, and he was wearing a bear's equivalent of your stander barkeep attire. Even had little round glasses. Cute.

When it had made it's way to the crackled&frayed red, orange&yellow counter, it let out a sort of low, yet strangely pleasant growl, as if it were trying to communicate.

"Pleased to see you as well, Beary," said the grinning bastard, leaning on the countertop. The bear continued to let out a further series of low growls, with Raymond responding to each and every one. "Yes, the weather's been lovely today! ...Oh, your sister decided to take an early hibernation? ...Did what with the corn-starch and the flamingo? ...My, that is amusing! Oh, say, could you give a spot of tea, to Miss Fiona, here? I daresay she could use it."

The bear simply let out yet another low growl, and lumbered to the room that it had initially came out of. "This should just a take a moment," Raymond delightfully informed us.

"...How-", I tried to ask, before Raymond gave me an answer that, if I had been there today, might have figured out then, but just couldn't get my head around at the time.

"Simple", he replied, smirking gleefully, and pointing at his right eye; the one underneath the eyepatch. "I read his thoughts."

"Oh. Right." It was pretty simple when you thought about it, but I'd still just met the man, and so I wasn't yet accustomed to how this part of the world worked.

"Now then," he said to himself, turning towards Rachel, crossing his arms, and not seeming as gleeful or delightful as he had just been. "So; had a fun day today Rachel? Perusing the town? Staying out of trouble, I hope?"

"Hey," she said, appearing a bit put off, "I've been keeping to myself, like you want. I stay out the sun as much as possible, I don't go on any hunts, I haven't been- "

And then I finally noticed it. Sitting right in front of her atop the counter was a big ol' mug full of sticky, juicy blood. Unless it was ketch-up or something, but this certainly didn't seem to be the case, considering just who the mug belonged to. "What the hell is that?!", I yelled out, pointing to the mug. I got a couple of weird looks from the locals, but I guess they just shrugged it off as yet another poor human getting himself drunk off his ass, (and as I would later learn, that happens a lot around here,) so they just passed me off.

"What do you think you're doing', you little bloody idiot!?" The smug bastard was, for the first time, truly cross. His brow was furrowed, his teeth were clenched, and he meant business. "Attracting attention is the last thing we want to. Especially if a Hunter was listening in. That would be bad news, let me tell you... Oh, no offense, Fiona." In case you're wondering what a Hunter is, don't worry. They aren't too relevant in the here and now, but I'll tell you about them soon enough. 'Course, if you want the quickie version; at their most basic, Hunter's are, well, Hunters. They go after various foul beasties across the world, hunting them down, all in the name of making the world a better place. Of course, it doesn't occur to them that some of these 'beasties' are actually quite civilized and well-behaved, Fiona here, a Hunter herself, realizes that, which is part of the reason she's onboard our crew, as I'd later learn. But, enough about them for now. Right now, I was still getting my ass chewed by Raymond.

"Hey, sorry," I apologized – or at least, I made an attempt at an apology, "but I didn't know; how could I?"

Raymond gave me a long, stern glare, then reluctantly retracted his gaze. "You're quite right; you couldn't have known. But in the future, please don't make a spectacle of yourself, especially when in the presence of -"

"Of big bad vamp's', that right?", said Rachel, cocking an eyebrow.

"...If you'd like to call it that...", Raymond replied, trying his best not to step on anyone's toes.

"Look," he went on, now turning over to me, "we vamp's aren't exactly Mr – or in my case, Ms.Popular around – hell, not just here, anywhere, come to think of it. That's because most of us are not only blood-sucking fiends, – or at least, that's what we're thought of – that's numero uno, but we don't really make much of an effort to get the hell past that. We're sultry, unpleasant, rude, crude, say whatever we damn well please, do whatever the hell we want," and then, in an act that made me truly believe what she was selling, the line on her face called a mouth grew and enlarged in what looked like an instant, into a dangerous, sharp-as-hell grin that scared the bejuzusses out me. She then went on, with, "-the hell we want, and we love every minute of it." And just as suddenly as the killer grin came, it went, leaving behind a sullen frown. "That's the kind of reputation we get. And we deserve every bit of it."

Well, as you might have guessed, this left me with quite the impression, and with it, one big question that I'm sure even you might be asking; "Why the hell is she on this team?"

The demoness then decided to speak. "Rachel is... different. Just like I am not slaughtering countless innocents and ravaging all those of the opposite sex and then some, Rachel has also chosen a... less bloody path. See that blood there?"

I took another good look at the mug. "Yeeeeess?"

"That's pig's blood. Rachel has sworn off of human blood for the most part, for the last few years now."

"Most part, you say?"

"Yeah, well," said the sultry vampiress, swigging down another dose of what I guess was now pig's blood, "when we go on a case, we tend to run into those who, more often then not, got's guy's trying to kill us left an' right. So, taking care of 'em, in those instances..." And as she said this, a hint of her former killer, blood-thirsty grin could be seen at the right-edge of her mouth; a glimpse of sharp, primed teeth. "In those instances, it's considered self-defense. Let's just say that those guys we 'take care of ' won't need to worry about donating to the blood-bank..."

Aside from making me increasingly concerned about having to hopelessly fight off dozens of trained goons when we got in the casino, I was also wondering just why a clearly still-amoral vampire would try to go back on what, really, was her very nature. And when I learned the truth... well, let's just say it gave me some things to think about.

In the meantime, our new friend Beary had finally arrived with Fiona's 'spot of tea.' Which I think she may have really needed, seeing as her teeth were clenched to the umpteenth degree, and her fingers were trigger-happy-good! As soon as Beary plunked the cup'o'tea on the table, Fiona darted straight over, clasped the cup with both hands, and downed it in a single sitting. But I guess it worked; whatever was in that tea, it made her stop the teeth-clenching, quit the finger-twitching, and all in all, helped her just calm down. At least, momentairally.

"Had a little too much ovaletine today, huh 'Finny?", taunted the sultry vampiress.

"I –!", That one may had actually hit a bit too close to home, as she started to growl and grimace at her fierce opponent. Rachel simply smiled, and took in stride; it was almost – no, not almost; she did enjoy this!

"Oh, far be it from me to call out the holier-then-though Fiona Finnegan on her drinking habits... No, wait; considering my own situation, I suppose I it is far from me to do so. Ah well, I'll do it anyway."

"You... you..." Fiona, now volcano-red, right at the cheeks, looked just about ready to blow. "You fucking cu-"

"Whoa, whoa there, missy's; remember where we are, please..." Literally coming between the two, his arms&hands outstretched, the smug mediating bastard did his best to try and calm the tempers between the two lasses. The key word being 'try.'

"...You really don't want to start this, 'Finny.' I'm kinda' hungry, and I think a young virgin's blo-"

"Virgin?!" And it was then that Fiona brought one of her guns to the fore; she cocked it straight at Rachel's pretty face.

Rachel simply laughed it off, oh-so casually, with a flick of a hand. "Oh, that won't work on me, Finny'. As evidenced by the last time you tried that."

Fiona's eyes were so wide now, you'd think they'd practically burst out of her skull. Just as seemed when tensions were finally set to lead into a bloody, irresolvable conclusion –

"Hrrrrrrryyyyyaaaaaugh!"

Thank god. Using perhaps all the willpower she could muster, Fiona lifted up her current gut-arm, and threw her weapon straight to the ground. She breathed heavily, muttering to herself a variety of words that you wouldn't want thrown around on children's television.

"I can hearyou, you know," stated Rachel. "Hope you pray to your Lord&Savior for forgiveness after this."

"That-" cried Fiona, but –

"Don't. Do it." Raymond, standing very much tall and resolved, his shoulders crossed, was essentially saying 'I can read your thoughts. I know what you're thinking. Don't make come over there."

I wasn't exactly sure what she was thinking, but whatever it was, it was enough for Raymond to exert his authority. The Irish lass, after glaring first at Raymond, then at Rachel, (who simply looked the other way and continued with her lovely bloody beverage,) told Raymond that 'I'll wait outside." She was short, straight, blunt, & to the point, unlike her usual care-free self, and stomped straight out the door. Raymond then gave Rachel her own stern glare, at which she simply responded with a coy glance, and a sip from her glass.

This was certainly going to be an interesting night...