It's only business, baby [cw]

Her fingers had barely had a change to curl under the bottom edges of her shirt in under to pull it up and over her head, when it knocked on the door. The sound had been so faint, coming all by two floors down, that the only one actually hearing it probably was Circe. It hadn’t been before she saw the pure white cat suddenly lifting its head and pointed its ears, golden eyes looking towards the spiralling staircase leading down from her bedroom floor, that she became aware that there indeed was something. A sound. A sound she heard the second time around, since she deliberately listened for it. A knock. For her it was almost inaudible, as if the sound only just brushed her hearing like the touch of a duckling feather. Her dark brow furrowed by the thought of someone at the door. The lights were all off downstairs. Even the lights on the floor directly below here had been left in darkness. The front door was locked and sealed and if that hadn’t indicated that the place was closed, the sign in the big display window saying ‘Closed’ should have done to trick.
But, it wasn’t that unusual for her to get visitors after having locked up. It had even been happening more often over the last year. But the difference with those times and this one, was the intensity of the knock. These were just simply too soft to what she was used to. No desperate banging. No demanding hammering. Turning her body to follow the stare of her familiar, she tilted her head in contemplation and instinctively cancelled the undressing. The cat rose to its paws and elegantly like its witch, jumped from the bed to follow her down to see just how wished for her presence. With vampires and other night dwelling creatures living in the land of Gaia it really wasn’t so late that anything would seem completely out of place.
So, on bare feet she walked down the metal stairs. All the way down to the ground floor where she was met with the expected darkness. Only lit up to be visible enough to see something by the warm-lighted street lamps outside. She tried getting a look at who it might be, through the display window by whoever it was, has placed themselves strategically in front of the mahogany door, that she couldn’t see anything from the angle she stood at. She saw only shadows. It knocked again. This time with more power than before. Her hand glided softly off the railing as she in the end just walked in a straight line to the door. And without much hesitation she turned the look with a hovering gesture of her hand, and opened the door to meet a pair - a  man and a woman.

Her lips had only justparted as to ask what their business was, when the woman held up a hand and.. snapped. It was almost an instant effect. She heard Circe’s aggressive hissing, but it was so distant that it sounded more like an echo, muddled together with the incoherent voices spoken by the pair. Her body had flopped the exact moment the fingers had snapped and then calculatedly caught by the man’s strong arms. And then thrown over his shoulder, as if she was a sack of potatoes. Her eyes were somehow still fighting together with her brain to keep her conscious but eventually her eyes closed, not seeing anything more blurry visions anyway, and her mind went black.

It was ultimately the feeling of burning heat in her cheeks that woke her up again. From having travelled through the biting cold outside without so much as a coat or shoes or socks, only medium thick clothing, to then being placed in a heated up room made her skin tingle and prickle. It was her hands and fingers that started to move first, sensing the restrictions but not register it quite yet. Then her face began to pull very vague expressions together with her eyes fluttering. Then finally they opened up, very carefully as if she woke some a relaxed sleep. A very delicate groan grew from her throat as she blinked repeatedly to remove the fuzziness from her eyes. Where… Where was she?
Even sooner than her vision cleared probably up, she noticed the colours and the lights around her. They didn’t match her own come. And it only became more and more apparent that this wasn’t anywhere recognisable as things around he too shape as well as the groggy feeling left her head.
Her eyes moved down to her hands as she realized just how heavy they felt to lift. She couldn’t lift them at all. Just what has they given h-… She quickly gathered how it wasn’t so much that her arms were heavy. No. when looking down, her wrists were solidly taped to the armrests of the chair, she had been placed in. Robust grey duct tape wrapped around more than ones, it felt like. This realization automatically brought her the last few inches to return to her senses and automatically she tried pulling and twisting her wrists free from the restrain but to no avail until she subsequently looked up and around. Properly. Searching for answers. Because surely there would be an explanation.

It wasn’t that many days ago that he’d gotten the call. His contact in Cuba telling him that the shipment of the sin-inducing drug had been canceled. That the operation he’d been working so hard on setting up had been destroyed. He’d been so overtaken by fury that he’d thrown his phone across the room. Never in his life had someone been able to ruin their organization’s plans. Sure, the cops had tried. Raided the cabaret in New York and now and then confiscated some of their goods. But they’d always been able to get back up from that. This time their production facility had been found and destroyed. Their paperwork burned. They practically had to start more or less from scratch. This kind of setback was detrimental for his business. He’d already spread the word to his most loyal clients, made deals and promises that now were empty and tarnishing to his reputation. And they were going to be pissed. Think him a fool. That thought alone filled him with abhorrence.

So, he’d done the only reasonable thing. Researched the main agents of this operation. Wanting to be one step ahead should they continue to meddle more with his business. Drag him into a lower position than they already had. It wasn’t something he’d willingly allow. Yet, he’d been hesitant to move forward with a plan once he learned that an archangel had been involved. And not just any archangel but the worst of all. He knew that if the angels were onto him or their operation, it was bad. They were persistent as hell. So, the best move would be to stay low for a while - until something else diverted their attention. However, the second agent had been a witch. An unholy being just like them. And she was the only reason that he’d decided to move forward with a plan anyway. He didn’t believe she truly was an ally to the angels, more that she’d taken a job for her own benefit at the time. This theory had only become more believable once he’d read about her. That she was an owner of a magical shop in Oakheart, selling her services to anyone in need. He’d even heard some of his acquaintances talk of what her business had helped them with. Immoral things. So, surely, she’d understand his concerns. And if anything, she might just be the key to ensuring that his business was left alone. That was his ultimate objective. Of course, the abduction might cause some mistrust from the get-go, but he hoped that she understood that he had to take his precautions. Seeing how she was the one who'd started this hostile relationship between them.

He stood with crossed arms in the doorway of his office, looking at the raven-haired witch as she awoke from her slumber. It was a rather spacious room considering the bad condition of the motel. She was placed in a wooden chair, turned to face him rather than the mahogany desk and the brown leather chair that he normally sat in. In one end of the room were two blushed green, vintage settees facing each other as well as a bookshelf and a few cabinets for documents, albeit that side of the room being fairly dark. The overall feel of the office was that it was old and worn down. There were deep cracks in the floorboards and the wallpaper had seen better days. But he hadn't bothered to fix such things. The only light illuminating the room was the desk-lamp and the light from the corridor behind him. It was first when she looked up from the restraints that he moved, catching her gaze as he stepped forward. And he wondered just how he’d lived in Gaia without knowing about this beautiful gem of a witch. “Evening,” he greeted with a thick American accent before he reached his hand around to grab the back of the chair, flipping her around so she’d continue to face him when he placed himself on top of the desk. He folded his hands and placed them in his lap as he studied her face in the brighter light of the lamp. “I’m sure you’re wondering just why I’ve brought you here,” he started before he moved his gaze to a small, round table where bottles of Cuban rum, as well as his own brand, were placed on top. That’s what they’d used to drug the guests. They'd infused it in the rum at their production facility. It being far too risky to have the drug someplace else and drugged each drink individually. He pointed towards it with a gesture of his hand as well as a small nod. “Well, there’s your clue.” He then returned his eyes to her to observe her reaction.

There. Right in front of her in fact. Awaiting her consciousness returning while watching over her like a hawk it nearly felt like. No fear or unease, per se, ran over her face, as she looked eyes with the blue-eyed man. Instead her mind immediately began analysing his features, establishing which ever threat he might be to her. She didn’t recognize him. Not by his face alone, at the very least, since she didn’t recall ever having had such pleasure to have met him before. But by the way he looked at her, she guessed he had come to know about her. In some way or another. She knew that kind of look in people like him. That confidence that they had the upper hand - not taking in the account for her being tapped down and very possibly on foreign ground. He then spoke his first word. American. A foreigner, like herself, however his accent snitched on him much more than hers did. Surely he didn’t mind that. Whatever would something like that even be of a hazard?
Of course, she didn’t return the polite greeting, neither did she confirm with him, that he had indeed been right about the questions on her head. Instinctively she leaned ever so slightly back in the chair, when his arm reached passed her, but her eyes never left him as he turned her around - or rather; turned the chair with her stuck in it, around. Her naked feet lightly grazing over the worn flooring. Only when he stepped back and the light from the table lamp hit her in the face, did her gaze break from him to instead squint at the sharp glow, which she couldn’t even hold a hand up to shade from. Not that she unconsciously tried by the faint creaking of the chair as she did another discreet attempt to free an arm. She still felt quite slow. Drowsy, one might say. And the light clearly felt brighter and more uncomfortable in the first few seconds she was exposed to it. Luckily that faded quickly enough as her eyes got used to it and she could once again look more directly at the demon, who by that time looked to have made himself pretty comfortable. Perhaps he had always been comfortable. The room. It must be his to some extent.

With a tiny bit of hesitation in looking away from him, the little witch turned her head to follow his gaze as well as his following pointing gesture. She had to admit that she didn’t catch on instantaneously when she looked at the bottles of amber liquid. At first her brows became vaguely furrowed as she was about to look back at him, making him explain further but then… then she recognized the label. At least on one of the two kinds of bottles. And although her moon pale face wasn’t as expressive as most it would still be possible to witness the change as it clicked as well as when she turned back towards the demon. “I see. Not for a drink, I assume.” Her almost monotone voice revealed a hinting smidge about how little the situation amused her. Even if he were so offer, he’d undoubtable know she’d decline. Her experienced with the exact rum wasn’t one she had been fond of.
She led herself take her eyes away from him to take a moment to really take in the room. To look around. But this time it wasn’t so much to look at the deteriorating interior design so when she reunited with her capture the first real question left her tongue: “Only me?” She had stringed enough together to why she was there. But one piece was missing. Michael. She gently tapped a finger against the curve of the wooden armrest. Testing just how much she’d be able to do without her full arm movements. “Who are you?” she asked, partly to hopefully distract his mind away from noticing much other than her voice and partly because of any reason to questions.

Most would show fear and concern in their expression, waking up in a stranger’s place tied to a chair. But the witch was surprisingly collected. Hiding her fear well. He liked that. At least, he’d always preferred the more challenging subject. Although, he still wasn’t sure it’d quite get to that. It all depended on how she played her moves. Looking at the bottles, she didn’t immediately realize what he meant. Either that or she intended to lie. But it wasn’t so odd that it'd take her a moment. The sedation would leave her a bit drowsy. However, when it finally clicked for her, a smile appeared on his lips. Good. She wasn’t going to act like she had no clue and waste his time with lies. His smile then vanished as he looked at the bottles again. Because he had aspired for them to be drunk. By all those humans visiting demon-run bars and hotels across the world. It had all been planned down to the smallest detail. And because he was the main distributor of the rum, he had been let in on most of those plans. She then asked a question that caught him off guard. Only me? Doubt grazed his expression, but it could hardly be seen from her position, looking at his side profile. Had there been more agents than the angel and the witch? If there had, he didn’t know about them. “Usually interrogations aren’t held with multiple agents in the same room, Rhyss.” He looked back at her with a calm expression, as to not reveal whether they did or didn’t have others trapped beside her. And it was the truth, after all. It was much easier to catch liars that way and manipulate with one’s captives. He should know, having spent much of his time in the second world war doing this.

He lowered his eyes to her finger as it tapped against the armrest. He knew the power witches had. And he had no interest in her turning the situation around. Or to be forced to rush into something before he got a chance to talk with her. So, he kept a close eye on any movements she made. His gaze met hers once she asked him who he was. If she ever got out of here alive, she'd be sure to figure out his name, so it hardly mattered if he told her or not. “Calvin Ambrose. I was responsible for providing the rum. And as you can imagine. I wasn’t very keen to discover that you destroyed one of my facilities. Much less all the business deals I've made.” He clenched his fist. “All of it gone. Crushed. Just like that.” He then raised it into the air and opened his palm to let imaginary crumbles fall to the floor. “Why did you do it? I mean, the angels, I get. They’ve always harassed demons from the moment of our creation. Didn’t even try to talk first. Just went straight for the crushing and murdering. But you… What are you doing working alongside them?” he asked, sincerely curious to know what a witch like her believed to gain from that. Because they'd never care about her. Not truly. They'd abandon her eventually once they were done with her. And ultimately she'd still end up in Hell with them.

”Agent?” she questioned, expressing her confusion in his choice of words. “You’re flattering me. I’ve no such qualifications.” It was, in a way, true. At no time in the time she’d spend on Cuba had she seen herself as anything of that sort. It only gave a meaning to what she had done which didn’t actually fit. There might have moments where the angel and she had referred to the ordeal as some kind of ‘mission’ but that, at least in her eyes, had only been as a necessary simplification. “But I think I get it now,” she said and stopped as if only to take an artistic pause in her speech, but she never elaborated further onto what she thought she had caught onto. Michael wasn’t there. And as far as she knew about he hadn’t had the same pleasure as she to be in the company she was in now. Well. Pleasure probably wasn’t the correct word to use.. But even if she had absolutely no way of knowing whether or not her mission partner would be brought to the chair she sad in when her interrogation was over - hopefully sooner rather than later - she had at least gotten an idea of the demons thinking. Bringing the weak in first.

Ah. He noticed. Like when poking the antenna eyes of a snail, she curled her fingers into a gentle fist as soon as she felt his eye avert toward the slight movement. He hadn’t seemed it at her first glance, but he was observant which potentially could complicate things. If things would escalate, that was. So far, apart from the restrains that kept her seated as well as the forcible way she had brought in for a talk, she got the feeling how this wasn’t truly an interrogation. Nor a direct punishment. But one thing did get confirmed by her small try-out; She was still very much able to use magic.
She knitted her brows somewhat by his notion that she apparently wasn’t expected to work by the side of angels. “They asked for my help. And I decided to give them just that. As plain as that,” she then explained, not actually lying completely since, on a surface level, this was exactly that. Her expertise had been requested and she had accepted. “Although I can’t deny that some of it was of personal interest.” The more she had come to know about the drug, the more she had found aspects of it fascinating. She despised the drug itself and its effect as she despised anything that took away the mental control she praised to highly. She didn’t remember back on her time with it in her system as unpleasant, no, it had been such a natural gradation that she had barely noticed it apart from her own behaviour. Nothing in her body had alerted the alarms at any point and had she not been very attentive about her usual self she wouldn’t have noticed. She turned to look to the bottles of rum again. What she had been interested in was the way they had found a fool-proof way to attach a personal ability to a consumable.

Little time passed, possibly no more than a calm second or two, before her eyes looked back at the demon. Calvin Ambrose. So this was him. This sculpted and strong-browed man. Not much has been spoken about him. Not much, but enough. She held her unintentional stare in his eye for a bit longer but then when finally pulling away she once again looked around her surroundings. This time with a clearer mind. “I’m guessing this place is.. Alexis Capri,” she said as if in a way to acknowledge that she indeed knew something about him. By name. The interior matched what little she had seen of the motel from a prior trip to it in the past, so she was very confident that she had hit bullseye.

He smiled briefly as she denied being an agent. In his mind, someone working for anyone to take down an operation was an agent. But the fact that she felt the need to distance herself from the term. It had to mean that she wasn’t officially employed by Heaven. And hence that she wasn't completely devoted to them, which was all he needed to know. Perhaps it had even been a one-time thing. Still, working with angels at any cost was rather incomprehensible to him. He straightened himself and unfolded his hands to place them on each side of the table.
I think I get it now. He vaguely arched a brow, anticipating her to elaborate on the statement. But she never did. However, judging from her demeanor, he highly doubted that she realized just what she'd gotten herself into - the consequences that awaited her for taking their operation down. An operation controlled by very dangerous people. Something she had to have known prior to her agreement. Archangel Michael rarely meddled with lesser crimes. “I really don’t think you do,” he tilted his head as he looked at her. He had lost a great deal of money because of her. Not to mention the fact that his reputation had taken a fall. All because she couldn't stay away. “You owe me a great deal for the damages you’ve caused. And whether you like it or not, you will pay me.” To him, it seemed like the least she could do. And he wasn't completely unreasonable. If she made the sensible decision to cooperate. To come to a suitable agreement regarding this payment. She would leave the situation in a much more favorable manner than without it. Because should she refuse... Well, then there really wasn't anything stopping him from punishing her gravely and taking whatever payment he seemed fit. However, it was always in his interest to be on the better side of people like her. People with power and influence. In the end that would benefit him far more.

She had just decided to help them? He had a hard time believing it was as plain as that. “Let me guess, they didn’t give you as much as a penny for your troubles either? Just the whole, it was for the greater-good malarkey?” He had always resented angels. They’d done nothing but stand in the way of everything that the demons did. Calvin was lucky to never have been in a direct conflict with any of them. And although he knew there was a risk of that happening after this, he was confident in his abilities to avert them and avoid his business from being further compromised. Personal interest. Now, that was much more believable. “And what interest would that be?” he asked, knowing that whatever it was, it had to be the real reason for her having said yes. “Was it the hope of seeing daddy dearest again?” A faint smirk formed on his lips. He knew that he had left her a long time ago, and as was with such things, children rarely moved on from it. He then followed her eyes to the bottles. “Or was it the drug? No wonder, really. The knowledge behind that would be of great value to a witch.” He returned his eyes to her. If this had been her motivating factor, then perhaps they indeed could come to some sort of agreement - to work together rather than against each other. After all, he was one of the few who had this knowledge.
She went quiet for a while before looking around the dark office. He nodded once as she guessed correctly. “You’ve been here before?” he asked. It was either that or she’d heard of him. At least enough to know that he managed the place.

Did she honestly believe that he owed her something? He laughed, not able to perceive that as anything but a joke. Saga had far from lost as much as he had. And even if she had, did she think it meant he was going to change his mind about his preceding statement? He didn’t care how much she’d gotten hurt during her little trip, because she only had herself to blame for that. She could have just not interfered with their operation. “Oh, please.” She was in no position to make demands - especially not one as absurd as that. He leaned slightly forward, his smile slowly fading. “I can assure you, whatever damages you think you’ve suffered, I had nothing to do with. And this...” He glanced at the rope around her wrists. “I'm just borrowing a bit of your time.” She had not gotten hurt from the fall and the sedation was practically harmless. But either way, he wouldn’t care. He’d only care about his own loss in the matter. And meddling with his business was going to cost her. That much was certain.

Her reaction to his intel on her father was just as he’d hoped. It was not obvious, but he could tell that the topic hit a soft spot in her. However, the real interest and reason for her trip had been the drug. “You’re not wrong.” The drug was impossible for others to recreate. At least, he’d never heard or seen anything like it before he'd met the creators. It didn't surprise him that she wanted to ask more about the drug, but he'd not expected her to add that detail. Because they had indeed tested a prototype in March of last year. But it had not yielded satisfactory results. There had been too many side effects, ones that were too detrimental for their business to prosper as desired, so they’d had to make some readjustments. Naturally, he wasn't going to talk to her about that, neither was he going to confirm her suspicion. More so, he wondered how she’d even suspected it in the first place. Because the nightlife of Aston had various drugs in it, and many beings living here had a natural tendency to commit sins, so he’d not thought that their experimental samples had stood out. “No, it’s only been tested in Cuba,” he lied, placing his hands behind him as he leaned back. “Are you working to take down other drug operations?” He hoped she didn't. And that she wouldn't even work with the angels again. Which also brought him to contemplate how she'd even gotten close to them. He supposed knowing magic had its advantages, but he believed there to be something more for an angel to bring her along like that. “Or helping the angels with anything else?”

He figured that she'd heard of him in business conversation, but doubted that she’d bothered to dig deeper into his story or who he was. Unlike him who'd spent a great deal of time researching into the witch before bringing her in. “If you’ve heard about me, I hope you realize that you’d be much better off working with me, so either we can come to some agreement on how you’re going to pay me, or I will just take whatever I see fit.” The last sentence was spoken slowly as he glanced down her body. Then returning to her face with a menacing gleam in his eyes. He'd definitely damage her reputation as part of that, just like she'd damaged his. But it could also result in a never-ending fight between them where they just kept standing in each other's way, and that wasn't preferable. So, he hoped she'd make the sensible decision and negotiate.

He tipped his head, giving the barest hint of a nod. There was nothing in her expression that told him that she was lying. And it made sense. She had her own business to run, so she hardly had much time to engage in the takedown of drug lords. But he was awfully curious to hear more about her cooperation with the angels. Because perhaps she did gain something from it. Even if he couldn’t think of what that possibly could be. His gaze remained fixed on her, waiting for her to respond to him. Instead, she averted her gaze away, unwilling to answer, which only made him think she was helping them with something else.

Of course. His eyes turned alight, and the menace dimmed. Now it was pure business. She was right in her presumption regarding money. She’d never be able to pay the millions he was losing because of their interference. Although expanding one’s fortune wasn't ever a bad thing. Even if he surely didn't need it. He crossed his arms, contemptuous of her refusal to work for him. How contradicting. “Except for the archangel,” he pointed out, frankly not believing that she wouldn’t work for whoever if she felt like she gained something from it. Who wouldn’t?
His gaze lowered to her wrists as she pulled at her restraints. Could she really blame him for taking this precaution? At least until he’d learned more about her. For all he knew, she’d fight the instant she awoke. And a witch fight was a grim thing. “All right,” he condoned, jumping down from the table, staring her down for a few seconds as he reached for a knife inside his jacket. “But only on the condition that your hands stay on the table where I can see them.” Surely, she’d agree. If not for the simple fact that her hands would be freed. He placed a firm hand on her lower arm whilst he carefully cut into the restraints. The blade brushed against her skin, but he made sure not to slash her. Even if his hand was itching to do so. He then turned his attention to cut her other hand free. “Now, let's talk.” He stepped aside to allow her hands to reach the desk, then walked around to the other side to take a seat in his chair. His own hands folded and placed on the table as well. Not that he had any abilities that needed his hands, because he’d already hidden many illusions. In case of her taking the leap to escape. If she walked out of the room and into the hallway, she’d just end right back in the office. It would seem like an endless maze of her not reaching the outside. And if she did so, he'd quickly turn the floors to deep water. Just to have her deep in fear.

“My debt isn’t make-believe. I’m losing millions of pounds here. All because you couldn’t keep your nose out of our business. And for what? All the drug was meant for was to boost profits in hotels and casinos. Not to make people addicted.” He briefly glanced at the bottles of rum. “The drug barely has any side effects. And now my reputation has taken a fall because I made promises that I now am in no position to keep. Last time I checked you haven’t either lost money or tarnished your business reputation for destroying mine. So, you are going to make it up to me. ” He leaned slightly forward as he looked into her eyes. Whether she wanted him to or not, he would make sure of that.

“If you say so.” He shot her a glance, still not believing she had worked alongside him. A witch like her. It was almost comical to think she believed that he wasn’t just using her for her magic. But it was of little importance. Calvin highly doubted that the archangel would pay him a visit even if they somehow had a closer relationship. And now that she’d agreed to talk on the premise that he untied her, his mind had shifted to the prospect of them negotiating a deal.
But whatever joy he’d gained from her presumed cooperation turned out to be short-lived. He’d barely registered the scent of blood and risen from his seat when she uttered the words to a spell. He looked down as his wrists became tied down by the desk itself, supposing that she thought it’d save her the time it took for her to escape. How very ignorant of her. His eyes burned with resentment as he looked back up at her. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that.” The maze of illusions was going to be agonizing. That was if she could get past the first obstacle. He yanked his arms upwards to break the wood, but it seemed that she had magically enforced it. Her next sentence made him laugh sinisterly. She was an idiot for being this persistent on not helping him, but if that was how it was going to be, then so be it. He shook his head as his laugh had turned into a smile. Unbelievable. “I have a hard time believing that, otherwise you’d discover that it’d done no real harm. What, did you hook up with someone you shouldn’t have?” He lowered his gaze sneeringly as he looked at her. “I mean whatever it was, just know that it was your mistake and only had little to do with the contents of the drug.” The smile broke into a groan as the restraints tightened. He gritted his teeth at the pain, watching her as she turned her back to him. Unaware of his ability. He didn’t say a word, knowing that she’d come right back if she walked out. In the time where she wasn’t facing him, he relaxed his hands to create a new illusion. One that would show him being restrained to the table in complete silence, exactly as she’d last seen him. But in reality, he yanked at the wrists with vigor, over and over again until the wood would break. A particular deep splinter pierced his skin at this, but he couldn’t care less of it. All he wanted was to get his hands on the witch and make her regret what she’d done.

When he broke free from the desk, his eyes fell to his bleeding wrists before they found her. Standing there with a priceless look on her face. She should have known and yet she’d thought she could get away. He liked this almost as much as her giving him the deal. He had always loved the reactions of people when they realized he’d tricked them with an illusion. Of course, she’d tricked him first. That little spell of hers was what had started it. But now they were playing by his rules rather than something most would have deemed fair in a business-minded setting.
He found a pair of magic-proof handcuffs in a drawer and approached her in invisibility. He quickly forced the cuffs shut around her wrists, breaking the illusion so she’d instead see the broken wood at the desk and him standing right in front of her. “Did you really think you could escape from me pulling that little stunt?” he looked into her eyes, having honestly thought higher of her. Perhaps some other demon wouldn’t have thought things through to this degree. Or created many precautions in case one of them didn’t work out. But for him. A criminal who’d gotten away with countless murders. That didn't seem like the Saga he’d researched not to know. It was honestly why he’d thought she’d agreed to a deal, even if it wasn’t ideal for her.

He kicked her hard in her stomach and into the wall. “What am I supposed to do with you?” He walked closer to her, ready to push her back down if she attempted to rise. She was as good as worthless in his eyes. The deal had its potential, but that was about it. He had enough witches on his side to not care about what happened to a covenless one. Especially one who stooped so low as to work for angels. “I mean it’s already a given that I’ll send my demons back to your store.” Taking her most valuable possessions would provide him the payment he firmly believed she owed him. But he could hardly stop there. Not when he had her trapped right here with him.

He raised an arrogant brow at her question. Because of course it’d be easily done. Just like they’d easily been able to take her away. And even if she had any security measures inside the shop, they’d be prepared for those and eliminate them. Calvin didn't really care for his employees to be injured in the process. But it just fell right in line with her annoying confidence regarding everything else. Something he’d gotten a burning desire to destroy. And this was only the first step in doing so. A smirk formed on his lips at her realization of the cuffs carrying magical properties. Enjoying the look on her face as well as her pointless attempts at breaking them. “That, my dear, is magic-proof cuffs.” He pointed towards her wrists where the silver cuffs were securely locked. He preferred chains that would neutralize any abilities, but he’d yet to refresh the ones he had by a witch, so this had to do. He picked up his phone to send a text to the two demons who’d kidnapped her, telling them to search the shop for any valuables. Hoping they’d succeed in stealing something of high value. He then put the phone back inside his pocket as he returned his attention to the witch.

He walked closer to her, taking a fistful of her shirt’s fabric as he forced her back onto her feet, looking intensely into her eyes. “You should’ve just taken the deal.” He’d not understood why she’d been so opposed to it, to begin with, but regardless of it, it’d just made his own night much more entertaining. He then dragged her along with a forceful grip around her arm, leading her to the staircase and down to the basement. “I’d not wanted to have to do this, you know. I mean I’ve honestly not met any witch who’d disagreed to work with me.” He glanced at her, still curious to get to know more about her. This being one of the reasons. “And don’t get me wrong. I’m honestly impressed that you made any of the archangels work with you, let alone Michael. I thought he hated the guts out of devil whores like you.” He grabbed her hair tightly as he pulled her closer to him. “But when it comes to either of us dying, we will end up in the exact same place.” His lips turned briefly upwards as he thought of this. It didn’t matter how obedient she was to the angels. In the end, they’d discard her and leave her to rot in Hell. He then tossed her into an empty room in the basement. Some stubborn blood stains imprinting the cement walls. The only other things visible being some chains by the back wall. “Do you know of my past, Saga?” he asked as he looked down at her while he closed the metal door behind him. He referred to his work as a psychiatrist, but it could as well be regarding the work he’d done for the criminal organization. However, that was just as much a present thing as it was a past one. Only asking because he was interested to know if she’d been able to gather any such information of him. He hoped that she hadn’t. He’d always preferred his criminal history to be concealed. So, if she had, he'd need to pull a few strings in that department.

He glanced at her as she said that she wondered if it was because he didn’t let them disagree. Sure, he'd blackmailed some of them, but for the most part, they weren't opposed to the idea. And certainly not to the degree that she was. It only confirmed her loyalty to the angels. Because if she was truly neutral, he didn't see why she wouldn't have agreed to a deal. But he didn't say anything to it. He just kept pushing her along. At this point, it was too late to back out anyway. He was past the idea of negotiation.

The corner of his lips turned upwards as she told him that she didn’t know of his past. That was good. Then that meant they'd made sure to keep his records hidden. After all, they did consist of illegal acts. He took a few steps closer to her, his gaze remaining fixed at her even as she looked around. He didn't care much for her next revelations. It was easy to find information about that part of his past. The plantation was in his name, and the history of it was open to the public. Besides, things had been different back then. Nobody frowned upon the mistreating of those humans. Neither did he care of her knowing that the motel was mostly a front. He'd been here so long without anyone taking much notice of that side of his business. What he cared about was the accusation she finished with. “That's not true.” Someone didn't get to where he was if it wasn't for hard work. He might not have done the kind of manual labor that his slaves did, but from a very young age, he'd wanted to be successful in whatever job he had. And that was essentially why her messing with his business had led him to the abduction. The loss of success.

“Anyway, I wasn't talking about those things.” He quickly reverted his mind back on topic, not wanting to dwell on his failed business prospects anymore tonight. “I was referring to my past as a psychiatrist,” he said with a sense of pride in his voice, being reminded of his accomplishments from that time. But just because he'd officially left the job, it didn't take away from the fact that he still occasionally returned to it. “You see, I heard of your little fear. So, I thought with my extensive research of various anxieties and phobias... I could help.” He shrugged lightly before a smirk appeared on his lips. He'd need her to stay here until his demons returned, and he couldn't think of a much better way for him to pass the time. He'd always loved the look of fear in people's eyes. “Do you have any recollection of when the fear manifested in you? A near-drowning experience perhaps?” he queried, taking another step forward to create a shorter distance between them, wanting to make sure he was close enough to grab her if she got any ideas of running for the door.

It wasn’t that he doubted the demon’s claim of her having this fear, but he still observed her closely for the final confirmation. And for someone who’d studied and induced fear in others for most of his life, he sensed this in her. The anticipation of creating an illusion further provoking this accumulated trifold. To have her scream, beg, and cry in agony. But he had to give it to her. She was very good at hiding it the way she stared into his eyes. A soft chuckle left his lips as she expressed that she wasn’t interested in his help. That reply was very predictable. Frankly, she couldn’t be more disinterested in all the potential advantages he had to offer. But he didn’t care what she thought anymore.
Her question, despite the disruption, enhanced the truth of his prior statement. She did fear being submerged in water. “The guy who threw you both into the harbor,” he replied, thinking it was obvious that’s who’d discovered it. He’d explained that once the water had hit them both, she was still conscious, yet she’d not put up a fight. She’d simply let go, paralyzed in a sense that only could be due to fear, and then she’d sunk. If she simply couldn’t swim, she’d used her energy to try and stay above the surface and most likely not let go in the first place. Perhaps used magic to get back on land. Anyway, this had forced the angel to go in after her, which had opened a window for the demons to load the most important goods from the container and escape. Calvin had found the tale amusing, to say the least, especially considering what happened afterward. All because she'd compromised their mission over something so silly. And it made him feel at least a tiny bit better about the whole thing. Even if the ending hadn't been in his favor.

He raised a brow as she decided to ask him a question. Not that it would distract his focus from her fears, but since the question was about him, she'd automatically granted his interest. Enough to let the conversation sway a bit. “Honestly? It got very difficult to keep up with all the new regulations. I mean, back in the day, nobody batted an eye to the medical field’s experimental treatments. Nor the drugs we tested. It was all part of science. Besides, our patients were often looked down upon, so the government scarcely cared about them. However, I always did.” He placed a hand above his chest where his heart was supposed to be. The truth was he only was interested in curing them for his own reputation's benefit. But of course, people had believed he'd actually cared about them. Most of his patients had even traveled far to meet him, hoping that his unique treatments would be the ones to finally cure them. “But it simply got too tedious. Too much talking and too little progress once all these protective regulations came into place.” One might say that he still could conduct his experiments in secret, but it wasn’t anything like the grand asylum he'd owned with multiple different operation rooms and where the nurses would do his every bidding. It wasn't like the time when he was looked up to for his radical work. No, he’d had to settle. And he didn't like going from that grandiosity to a regular modern psychiatrist, so when he’d gotten the phone call from the DA’s in New York, stating that they needed his help in Gaia. He’d not hesitated to accept. “I moved here because I was offered a new opportunity. But the management of this old place... Well, despite it being a great place to obtain souls, it is but temporary.” No, he had greater plans in mind. Albeit, he wouldn’t let go of his title as owner. He still needed to have some power over the motel, even if he passed on the title of manager to someone else.

“But enough about me.” He took another step and crouched in front of her as he looked into her eyes. “I am genuinely intrigued to hear more about your fear. But if you don't feel like talking, I guess we'll just jump right into it.” Already knowing that she was unlikely to comply with the talking, he placed a hand on her shoulder. Transporting both of them to a lake in Virginia, except he was sitting comfortably in a small motorboat while she had landed in the water a few meters away from him. Her hands were still tied with the magical cuffs, so her arms were a bit restricted, but she could still move her legs. He leaned slightly over the edge as he observed her initial reaction of landing in the murky, deep water, looking nearly black in the light of the night. He was curious to see if she'd even attempt to swim this time around. Her quickest way out of the water was to reach the boat since the distance to land was far in either direction.

He awaited her to reach the surface for several seconds, thinking there was a good chance that she would this time. He didn’t believe her fear to be as strong as the demon had described it, atlas it seemed that it was. She struggled from the moment water had surrounded her, succumbed by fear to the point where even the smallest hints of a fight were utterly hopeless. He watched her attentively, in his mind being able to separate the illusion from reality. Taking the moment in for as long as he could. But once the water was forced down her lungs and she started choking, he let go of the edge of the boat to make a gesture with his hand to alter the illusion. He raised her body with a telekinetic force before he grabbed a hold of her upper arm to keep her above water so she only was submerged from her shoulders down. Seeing no reason to use more of his power than necessary. “That was pathetic,” he flat-out said, giving her a condescending look that bordered to disappointment. But it didn’t last long before amusement appeared in his eyes. He enjoyed seeing her like this. Afraid. Fragile. Tormented. Much more so now he knew that he knew her usual demeanor was a lot more composed. She’d done her best not to show any emotion throughout their meeting, and now it was plastered all over her face. However, despite how pleased he was to see this, his overall expression remained serious as he observed her. As if she was nothing but a test subject. Of course, if he had been sincere in his statement of wanting to help her, he knew how to go about it. He knew that in order to turn the negative association with being underwater into something positive, she'd need to feel safe first. And already there he'd fail. Because it was far too entertaining to keep at this. Poking to her fears rather than fix them. Besides, with how defiant she'd been, he knew he'd gain nothing from helping her. She'd surely not be the least appreciative of it.

“What went through your mind when you fell into the water?” he asked, hoping she could answer him in her state. Otherwise, he'd feel obliged to drag her out of the water. He held her close to the boat, so she'd technically be able to grab onto it, but he wouldn't allow her to try and climb in. That was not going to be on her premise. And if she wanted any such thing, she'd have to beg for it first. “Was it any different back in Cuba?” From what he knew, it wasn't, but considering how traumatic that time presumably had been, he could only imagine that this time was worse. That the fear at least had been triggered faster.

He tightened his grip around her upper arm the moment she spoke. Colder? Any idiot could have guessed that. He nearly pushed her back in. He even made a movement to initiate it. But instead, he huffed and gazed up into the horizon at the distant pine trees. He let her be this time. She couldn’t be thinking very well in her state. And he could tell that her body wanted out the way it was clinging on to his arm. “It’s winter in Virginia. Of course, it’s cold.” This was a lake he’d often visited on the weekends when he was a teenager. It had been his escape. A time where he could hang out with his friends and not worry about anything. But being here now also brought him back to the night where he'd murdered one of his first victims. He had invited a girl out on a date, someone close to him, and his hunger had grown too strong. So strong that his demonic instincts took over. The next thing he remembered was holding her lifeless body in his arms. He quickly pushed the memory aside as he focused on Saga. He had no intention of ending her life that way. Not yet.

He pulled her closer to him, pressing her upper body against the hull of the boat. “No then.” He could only assume her answer meant that it had felt the same. But it still didn’t answer his first question. “And nothing went through your mind, I suppose. Your anxiety took over.” He had softened his grip at this point, thinking it would make her more willing to speak. He needed her to be more compliant if she wanted to escape from the situation. And better yet, broken enough to not talk against him - knowing well the consequence of doing so. To not give him such a vague answer as the water being colder. Of course, he did all of this with a plan to execute her later. He’d very rarely seen the Stockholm Syndrome occur in his victims, or a genuine fear that led them to never speak of his actions. Murder was always the easy way out. Even if there only was little doubt as to whether they'd cross him. “If you answer my questions truthfully and thoroughly, I'll take you out.” He lifted her slightly up. “How else am I supposed to help you battle this condition?”

The moment he loosened his grip, she tightened hers, and his eyes darkened with pleasure. The boat was the only thing keeping her afloat, even if that meant holding on to him. The action automatic, controlled by fear—one so heavy it’d drag her down the moment he let go. But it was still a crack in her stubbornness, a small win. And yet, she was quick to reject his deal. Impertinent, ungrateful. He wasn’t disappointed, offended, or angry per se. However, there was something about her words that stung. Because why couldn’t he be helpful? Why was the idea so preposterous to her? Now, he'd accepted who he was a long time ago. He’d come to terms with the darkness that lived inside him. He accepted that they were enemies. That she wouldn’t see past that. But it didn’t mean he never did anything good. That he hadn’t helped dozens of souls before eventually collecting them. In fact, he’d even wager he did some of his patients a favor when he'd taken their lives. Perhaps he hadn’t done it for the sake of good. But it was a whole lot better than what most of his peers did. Because deals were honest, a way for both partners to benefit in some way.
“As you wish.” With those words, he removed each of his fingers until he no longer held her. Until her strength was the only thing keeping her above waters, but sooner or later she’d be forced to let go of his arm. He’d tried to play nice. He’d tried to give her an opportunity to make demands, to counter his own. He’d tried to offer his help with her fear. But in the end, it mattered none. He glanced at the arm she held, considering if he should bring her aboard, prove her wrong. But it wasn’t in him. And this he knew would work.    

And he was right. She lowered her gaze in what he perceived as defeat. Her hand cramping to his arm while her body succumbed to the stinging cold. “I already told you. I want compensation.” He wanted revenge, justice, a lesson taught. Besides, demons rarely looked the other way when other beings meddled with their business. “I was told you’ve got quite a few valuables in your store. And I’m sure I can sell some of your things to the local covens. But I am a fair man. And I’ll return whatever’s stolen if you can give me something better. If you have information more valuable than coin.” He thought this to be the only other thing she could give him besides her soul. So, when she finally raised her eyes to meet his, demanding to pull her out first, he complied. In this world, in here, he was still in control of what happened to either of them. He lifted her into the boat, then sat back as the boat rocked from the sudden movements. As freezing as the water was, the air wasn’t much warmer, but it distanced her from the fear, so it was surely preferred.

Her damp hair glistened in the pale moonlight, and he couldn’t help but stare at her, wondering what she was thinking, what she knew. The information she must’ve gotten from the archangel alone could be worth gold, and she had to have many customers like him. People of all races and morality, coming to her with a special request in mind. And she’d be impartial, fair, professional. But he was sure she still gathered personal opinions of them. Good and bad alike.“Such as,” he mused, leaning slightly back. “Do you know of any upcoming affairs regarding demons? Or have you worked with any of the drug lords in Gaia?” Both of those topics had great potential, so long as she knew something he didn't. If he could prevent another attack like the one done to his business, he'd receive something far better than what he could find in her small boutique. Better was it if he could gain intel on his rivals.

The weight Saga felt when she was being pulled out of the water was in itself rather concerning. Her clothes had become threateningly heavy, having absorbed every bit of chilling liquid as the fabric fibre could and while it was a massive relief to finally be out of the surrounding terror, this made her realise even more, how she would’ve sunk like a concrete block, had she not managed to keep the strain on her upper body strength and kept holding on to the demon’s arm. Even after he had let go of her.. Like a wet dog, she collapsed into the small boat and immediately felt the clamming of her clothes as well as the freezing air taking vacancy in it in. In a matter of seconds, she felt even more cold, than she had done in the water. But she didn’t once wish she was back in it. She could handle the cold. She couldn’t handle the water. Not with Calvin playing the role as the knowing executioner.
Slowly, as she was reminded of his presence, she looked up towards him. Water still dripping from the ends of her hair; now wet and even darker if there even was such a thing as darker than black. Dark brows frowned at the sight of him and the way he seemed to look at her. She hadn’t really noticed before, just how menacing and contracting his blue eyes were. Like the beautiful waters she had just been in. “Demon activities aren’t usually what I listen out for,” she said with a voice which was already less choked up now, although it was still quick and despite her best efforts, she couldn’t completely mask the suppressed freezing shakes of her jaw. It was only a partial lie, she had told him. Really. Because while it’d be try when giving such a specifics as ‘demon activities’ she would bypass a lie detector. She didn’t bother with specifics; not racial ones at least. Her network of information spanned a larger picture. Some would say she just listened after whatever was hanging in the air.

“But I know of other individuals who work similarly as you. Presumably better hiding from eyes above by not actually advertising their substance as point on.” It hadn’t been difficult to guess just why Heaven had taken and interested in Zamora’s operation. Michael had been kind enough to disclose confirming words and behaviour regarding that. It hadn’t been the drugs themselves but the effects.
While Calvin sat back and seemingly enjoyed his time, leaned back, the little witch hadn’t moved much from her initial position. Legs bend but pushed out to one side so her behind had contact with the bottom of the boat and cuffed hands flat against it as well. A defeated position only amplified by the visible heavy, yet slowed breathing. Her shoulders were slightly pushed forward and up as well. Shivering was an understatement. Lightly scraping the wood, she closed both her hands into fists against it, hoping dearly for warmth. And out of frustration. The cuffs still kept her incapacitated and she couldn’t even find comfort in the ease of a warming spell. She de-clenched her jaw. “Mallory Moss.” Not exactly a drug lord - not in the same category as Lorenzo Zamora - but still a name known to listening ears and observant eyes. Born into wealth and a man with a baby face as a façade. “He’s been in the marked after claws of a thunderbird. Desperately,” she added knowing what such an observation meant in most of those seeking business. Not only with her but in general. The ability to spot such a thing could mean the difference between standing on the high or low ground. Mr. Ambrose would surely know this well too. “And enough cloaking to make a plane unnoticed.”

Saga wasn’t happy about willingly accommodating for the demons demands. Information was what she kept must sacred. It was her own life line. Not to mention how little this man deserved any of it. She didn’t work with forceful people like him. She had pleaded an oath to herself to not let disrespect such as this tip her. Then what was it, she was doing in that very moment? Giving in?..