Michael returned with the interdiction badge after thanking the Artificer named Alain. After he turned over a badge from the hundred placed on a rack, Alain began to question Michael with the validity of the story he provided.
"Mr. Hadyn, I'm not quite sure that these are people who you would keep as company. Even though they are skilled, they are a bit...violent."
"Which is exactly why I'm staying with them. There's more controversy against my research than there is support. If I want to stay safe, than I need to integrate myself with a group that won't be suspicious of my work, or who won't stop me once I get what I need," Michael whispered to the man before grabbing the badge and thanking the man.
He walked back to the group that was nearly in conflict and attempted to intervened before things got out hand.
"So then, my friends. Are we ready to leave?"

Ugh. These arrows are so damn hard to see...Might have to dissolve a few Capsules for aura, Dante thought to himself. He couldn't travel with several quivers on his back, and his bike would provide the perfect storage space...

"Anyone care to lead me back to the tavern? I need to retrieve my motorcycle before a fellow thief decides to sell it," he asked, somewhat anxious to make a getaway before the captain noticed that his belt was much lighter than it had been.

Kicking off from the wall with the verve of a man half his age, Shealtiel volunteers. "Certainly, Lucifer. Follow me. Call it a guess, but you can see me the most clearly, can't you?" He snaps up his can and points to the others. "As for the rest of you, perhaps it might be expedient to speak with the Captain about the possibility of divesting him of one of his beloved vehicles? If we were truly the brigands we affect, we would demand air transportation, but I don't think I would go quite that far."

He sets off back to the tavern, assuming Dante is competent enough to follow him.

Dante stifled a growl at the throwing-around of his first name, and corrected the old man. "Rue's is about as blindingly bright as yours. And speaking of air transportation...Would they happen to have some solar wings? Not that I need them, of course," he hastily added.

My time, Lev.

Lev slunk behind Dante, leaning extremely close to his back. He opened his mouth, growling softly as he gently brushed his canines across the skin of his neck.

"And mine is dark, and you'll never see it coming. And then I'll finish the meal I started, Meat."

He took off, jerking a tooth across Dante's neck. He left a faint trail of blood behind, marking his prey.

Returning to Rue, he grinned at her wildly as he spoke, his speech not matching his expression.

"I had to sleep. Keeping this body alive is taxing at best. Are we on our way?"

Dante barely resisted flinching as he felt Lev...no, the lion...lean close...

He couldn't stop himself from inhaling sharply as the canine grazed his skin. The demon was right. He'd seen the black aura when it was mixed in with Lev's, but, by itself...it was invisible to him. It had been invisible just now.

He raised a hand to pull down the front of his scarf, lifting up the back to cover his neck. My...weakness...? I can't see there...neither can I sense anything if he came from in front, either... A brief shiver ran down his spine before he realized he'd stopped in his tracks and his hands were covered in sweat. Cold sweat. Maybe I was too arrogant... he thought to himself as he started off again after the old man.

After taking a few steps, Feenai realized that she'd never be able to walk long distances carrying all this equipment, let alone actually be in any shape to do something if something were to happen. Everyone else was getting ready to go so she quickly jogged back up to the captain. "Sir, I know that we have asked a lot of you, and I deeply appreciate all you have done for us. However, we have a long journey ahead of us and if we could have a convoy jeep, or perhaps a van, to travel in, I know I would be grateful." She was panting slightly at the end of this, because the gear she was carrying was rather heavy for her slight frame. Since this was somewhat important, she also sent a small feeling of her own helplessness into the captain's mind, though doing so made her feel dirty again. I either need to learn how to feel better about that or STOP doing it.

As they walk back to the tavern, Shealtiel looks sidelong over at Dante. "So, did your parents actually name you Lucifer? And if so, I question, was the inspiration the most glorious of angels, or a seditious rebel high on his splendor? I do what wonder whatever happened to him. If he survived the Eschaton, he hasn't announced it to anyone. Maybe he went crawling back to Empyrean to play pretend on the Throne." It becomes apparent to Dante after a moment that Shealtiel isn't actually talking to him anymore.

Michael saw the scowl on the captain's face and then attempted to talk to him privately, seeing that his companions are going a bit beyond imposing.
"I assure you captain. Although it looks unprofitable to let us go, especially with so much equipment, you have my word that it will turn out in your best interest. Trust me."

Dante spoke, if only to shake himself fully free from that paralyzing fear he'd experienced just a few moments ago.

"Yes, that's my given name. What I call myself now was actually added much later. By myself, after the rioting. As to the meaning...Heh...Probably the former. Although it does seem that I followed the path of the latter. Resorting to killing for the sake of money, squandered as quickly as I get it...Doesn't seem all too angelic to me. Like I said earlier...I'll thank the Saint in hell."

He rubbed his eyes under the cloth. Though sightless, they still were irritating when dry. He pulled the torn handkerchief down from his face and sighed. He was used to be blind, that was for sure, but it didn't mean that he had forgotten what it was like to be able to see. To really see, in colors, with detail, everything.

They were approaching the pub and the motorcycle when Dante noticed that the aura from the Capsules was considerably dimmer. He opened the compartment under the seat, felt around, and laughed ruefully.

"Looks like my friends have made off with enough nutrients to sustain a man a month."

Shealtiel considers Dante's words for some time. Eventually, he replies, "I somehow doubt you'll find Typasius there. Though, where the souls of Saints in fact go, given the nature of their second deaths, is a matter of some debate. And without a cold-handed judge upon the heavenly throne, I doubt it works the way it used to, anyway. I've never met the soul of the Saint, so I doubt they end up in Sheol." Once again he gets the impression that Dante isn't listening to him as he rambles on.

As the man raises the seat of the bike and begins searching, with a growing look of agitation, Shealtiel tells him, "I think I'll spare you my musings on the nature of justice," with the merest suggestion of a smile.

Feenai looked over the available vehicles while scanning the Network for usability. She finally settled on an armored personnel carrier, which looked bulky but should be enough to carry everyone as well as Dante's motorcycle if necessary. They wouldn't be using this to sneak up on anyone, but it would be very useful if they needed a defensible spot. She got the key from the depot's manager and climbed in, letting Jeanne sit in the driver's bay next to her as she used the Network to figure out exactly what to do. With a few careful tries, she managed to maneuver the large vehicle out of the place it was parked and out the doors to the main street of Corinth, and drove it out to the edge of town to await everyone else.

Lev growled, speaking in his oil-mixed-with sandpaper voice. It was filled with displeasure and impatience, and it showed easily as he addressed Rue once again.

"We're wasting time. The timid one has a personnel carrier. If they're heading for the churches, that is going to be our best chance. I-"

He stopped speaking, noticing she was staring at her blade. He stepped closer, shoving his face almost against her own as he whispered.

"Do you hear me? I am satisfied right now. I am content. But I am Hunger, and Hunger does not rest very long. It won't be long until I am done, ah...repairing Lev's mind. When I am, I go back in the box, and the dull one comes out again. He will not be much for advice. It is time to make a decision while I still have control."

Jeanne sat next to Fee without a word, glancing around the interior of the APC. It was much more roomy than she would have imagined, but even then, the few windows made her a little worried. She was about to speak up to Fee to ask her if she knew how to drive it when the vehicle started to move and the psychic maneuvered through the streets.

The theurge was content with sitting and watching the buildings and people go by, and expected to do the same while traveling to the swords. But instead, Fee stopped the APC and seemed to wait. It only took Jeanne a minute to realize that she was waiting for the others, and she sighed. Despite - or possibly because of - all their fighting ability, she didn't trust any of them, least of all the old man.

Dante huffed indignantly, then shrugged. Live by the sword, die by the sword... He stuffed the Captain's money pouch into the compartment and slammed it shut.

"I'm going back. I'm still intent on...getting my...bounty," he finished somewhat lamely. "What about it? My bike's good to carry two people."

He swung his leg over the seat and started up the motorcycle.

Shrugging, Shealtiel seats himself behind the blind man. As reliant as he is upon his necromantic magick, Shealtiel has no qualms about exploiting the advantages of technologies when it serves his purpose. He wonders if the others will be ready when they return.

Now....for some fun. Dante could see much better now, what with using the bike's energy like a power-sapping gadget. He put almost his whole weight on the accelerator, and the bike shot to a startling speed in a matter of seconds. Hoping the old man had the brains to hang on tightly to the back of the seat, the hunter wove through the crowd and turned into a relatively empty alley.

With some help from the motorcycle, Dante noticed a wall ahead of him. Er....oops. Wonder if I have enough gas for this, and whatever traveling we'll need to do... The gray brick wall, only waist-high, would have been easy to clear if the bike only had to support Dante's own weight. Still, ten feet away, he pulled the bike into a wheelie at the same time he kicked on the booster. The result was a blinding (if he could see) display of sparks as the motorcycle flew mere inches above the top of the wall.

Would've been perfect if someone hadn't decided to hang their invisible laundry over that wall, Dante grumbled to himself as he flung a wet shirt away from his face, then reached backwards to make sure the old man was still there.

If he were not still brimming with vigor from the soul he devoured, Shealtiel would likely have blacked out from Dante's perilous show-boating. As it stands, he merely holds on tight and weathers the bounty hunter's antics with a grim set of his mouth, accepting it as payback for calling him Lucifer earlier.

*Nothing to see here*

As Dante and the old man shot out of the alley on the motorcycle, the hunter noticed the red aura straight ahead, and did debate for a few seconds whether or not to simply run the pair over. Would spare me a ton of trouble later... Unconsciously he was already veering off slightly, and suddenly pulled up, cutting across what his path would have been if he'd plowed into the Armory.

He screeched to a stop no more than two feet away from the psychic, and despite the presence of the gunman, could help but break out in a wide grin.

Lev grinned at Rue, leaning closer. Her knife pressed against his neck, his slow movement producing a trickle of blood from his throat. He searched her eyes for any sign of fear for him. He stared in silence. The heat from air mixing with his open blood was extremely noticeable to him. It made him hungry. He leaned closer, pressing the knife against him even more.

"Ruebella. A sharpened stone will not rid you of me. You may employ this body, but I own it. You terminate that contract, and I have no reason not to terminate you. The "Whore" as she's called could do with one less child. And don't think I don't eat children. They're quite tender. You're older than what I usually devour, but you would do. Your skin, so succulent. Blood ripe. Your tendons. So tender, your tendons..."

He drifted off for a moment, beginning to salivate at the concept of eating Rue. She was powerful. Such power like that could satisfy his hunger for a while. He contemplated it while the blade continued to dig against him. After a moment he stepped away, laughing to himself.

"Oh, but think of those I will devour if we don't part ways! The prospect of eating you is enticing, but holding off means so much more! You win, Ruebella!"

He turned, hearing the motorcycle of the Meat he had eaten not too long ago. He eyed it as it came closer, judging the distance. He calmly produced the battered old revolver Lev had once impaled upon his hand. Removing the stake from his pocket as well, he grinned back to Rue as he spoke to her.

"I have done what I needed to do. I have bled the history from his mind. He does not remember-"

He stopped as the motorcycle screeched to a halt just three feet away. He eyed the blind one with a bored demeanor, as if he had just pulled some childish prank.

"Meat. Ohhh, Meat. I see you have delivered yourself to me. So close. I can smell your blood. How does it feel? How does it feel to know that I have eaten you? A part of who you are? That it has been broken down, consumed entirely? That it now fuels me, that it mixes with this body I possess? Does it scare you?"

He forgot Rue, stepping closer to the blind one. He ran the pointed end of the stake down his front, lightly trailing it across his chest.

"Maybe people should be crucified with a stake through their chest, instead of their hands. But it would ruin the meat...but I have stayed too long. Remember Meat, don't spill your own blood. Or I'll be there to devour the rest."

With a grin, he plunged the stake back through his left hand. For a moment he looked pained. Then, expressionless as his unconscious form fell to the ground.

Dismounting from the motorcycle, Shealtiel wanders over to the comatose form of Lev, scrutinizing him. Speaking to Ruebella without glancing up, he says, "So, it flees before me. Do you think it fears contact with me? I admit, I do not know which of us would prevail if it came to that, but why must it? Surely this entity knows all manner of... insights. I would very much like the opportunity to meet it formally. Perhaps next time."

He finally glances over to the Babylonian psychic . "What have you gleaned from it so far? Are its thoughts even decipherable? I can't imagine such a creature thinks in patterns easily recognizable to humans."

The grin was wiped from Dante's face as quickly as it had come up. Slightly paler than normal, he reached for his handgun. It would be easy...A full round. Headshot. But then he's only destroy the body, and what if the demon decided to make his new home in him?

"If I ever spill my own blood...it won't be for you," Dante muttered, resisting the urge to kick Lev's prone form.

"Well, I don't. He's useful for drawing fire, if nothing else. And I mean to get some answers from the demon, regardless of how long I have to wait." Shealtiel glances back at Dante.

"Do you have anything to restrain him with?"

Sliding his gaze over to Rue, he tells her, "I reiterate, if you're planning to leave the city, it would be in your best interest to accompany us. Don't let your ego get you killed. You're not a goddess, and even if you were, there are nastier things out there. This area seems to becoming quite perilous of late."

"To restrain the man, or to restrain the demon?" He jabbed a thumb towards the length of chain wrapped around his left arm. "I might be using that for other things, though."

"The man. I do believe I can keep the demon quiescent if it rouses itself again. And the binding would only be temporary. If the others did as I asked, I'm sure the vehicle they acquired will have something on-board we can use to keep him restrained. Just sling him over the back of your bike, if you will."

Shealtiel chuckles, the hint of something malevolent creeping into his tone. "If the theurge can stomach my presence, I can't imagine she would do any less for you. Regardless..." he takes a step toward her, "I'm curious about you, as well. What are you doing so far from home? What are you seeking? And why are you so quick to turn away an offer of assistance? I shudder to imagine how you've managed to make it this far with that attitude. But, if you're so dead set on refusing aid, so be it. Don't expect me to mourn over your likely very unfortunate end. I've absolved my thin moral duty in offering you my assistance. Do with it what you will."

Turning away, thoroughly disinterested in whether she comes to her senses or not, he gestures to Dante. "All right, let's go. We should get out of the city while there's still daylight. I've had quite enough of this place."

With a slight growl of annoyance, Dante lay Lev across the seat and turned his head to follow the old man towards Feenai's aura.

Michael sat in on the entire conversation, from Lev's demon to Ruebella wiping her hands of Lev to finally seeing the servant of sheol give up on her. But I still need her. "Then take this, good friend." He handed Altiel a slip of paper with a coding adress on it. "It's my inbox on the amorpha. We'll meet up at the seven churches or somewhere else eventually." He then approached Ruebella, extending a different kind of invitation. "Do you mind if I accompany you? I can tell you that I recently added slaying an entire Dybukk hoard to my resume." He then looked at her directly in the eye and said a more serious tone "I still want that information."

Up close, the face that Ruebella made actually looked a little cute to Michael. It was almost as though she were reluctant to face the fact that her best help came from the artificer she rejected the day before, but he'd never say that aloud. That would ruin the mood that had been created from the moment. He turned to the captain and asked for permission to take another car. Being directed to the garage, he was interested at the fact that there were not only military vehicles, but more casual cars as well, like motercycles and even an old covertable from before the eschaton.
"Well then, Madam Red. I hope you enjoy, the night's accomedations." Michael emphasize her name as though it was a joke to even call her that anymore, now that her real name had been said.
He motioned his arms to a car that he noted to be a masterpiece as soon as he saw it, the Bugatti Veyron, a two seater with a W16 engine-16 cylinders in 4 banks of 4 cylinders fed by four turbochargers. He knew before he opened the hood that the engine had already been adjusted for solar energy. Going from zero to sixty in two and a half seconds, he was pretty sure that most demons could be avoided if neccesary.

As Michael got into the car, he found the keys inside of the ignition already. "How convenient." The actual workings of cars were generally easy to recognize, since he would be expected to be able to repair this sort of thing as an artificer.
"We shall," he said, giving his most charming grin to the woman. After seating himself and buckling in, he started the car and rolled down the window.
"Captain, your service will not be forgotten by me. One day I'll pay your back; I swear it," he said shifting into first gear. He started out going slowly inside of the city. Letting the common survivors move out of the way he navigated to the edge of the city. He assumed it was away from the rest of the group because the large armored car was no where in sight. He stopped the car.
"So where to?" he said to Ruebella. In the back of his mind he wanted to get a lot of his immediate questions out of the way such as 'what would you like to be called' and 'what is your long term goal, anyhow' and he wanted to get his information. However to a person like her, Michael wanted to worked better than the last contractor and be cautious with his words, never saying more than what is polite and/or absolutely neccesary to say.