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.