Rain...

Rain was annoying. Like tiny motes of defiance that all but begged to be torn asunder and made to suffer, whose existence seemed to be centered around being an inconvenience to whoever happened to walk underneath an open sky. Not only did it soak clothes, but it also made hair mat and sticky. Now those were only minor inconveniences, but even for a being whose age approached the third millennia such things had a habit of getting on one's nerves. 

[i]Especially[/i] when the wearer of said clothes had gone to great lengths to remain unnoticed when taking them a few days prior. 

A young woman walked along the streets of Barlour city, casting the occasional baleful glare at the grey and pouring sky. Her long, fiery hair hanging limp down her back and shoulders, wet and without much of its usual lustre in its soaked state. It stuck to her neck and cheeks, not quite framing—however, still emphasizing—her emerald eyes and full, curved lips. Her clothes fared no better: an already tight, white, long-sleeved shirt clung to her body like a second skin, showing off her already noticeable curvaceous body. Her simple denim jeans and dark blue vest worn over her shirt, shared the same, wet fate as everything else. 

Perhaps the only, real, oddity about this woman, were a pair of nigh invisible, vertical slits on the back of her vest and shirt. 

She had come to Barlour city in search of employment, but such was a rare thing for her. Be they humans, angels, or even demons—she cared not. A fight was a fight, and she could always get something out of that, be it information, power... or new skills. 

Even were her opponent, or employer, one of the supernaturals, she wasn't deterred. For she was one of those supernatural creatures herself. 

Her name was Lily

And she was a Demon. 

Unlike most Demons Lily did not find herself obligated to join Mundus, or whatever other Demon Prince or Princess thought themselves to be the next conqueror of the human world. It was pitiful, really, how limited their ambitions were. Ruling Earth after a bloody war that would most likely destroy half the planet, if not more? To rule over nothing would be as empty as never ruling at all. There were other, smarter means of gaining dominion of the earthly realm, and not all of them required blood being shed. At least, not by the Demons themselves. As a direct result, she had chosen not to affiliate herself with any of the demonic armies, choosing instead to wander the earth herself, gaining influence and power wherever she could. That search had brought her to Barlour, and now she was here... soaked, perturbed, and desperately looking for [i]something[/i] to occupy her interest before she lashed out in nothing but sheer annoyance. 

Relief came not long after, in the form of both explosions, shouts and growls. An eager smile spread across her rose coloured lips. Bending down in her knees she called upon her demonic powers, pushing off of the ground as a pair of large, webbed wings sprouted from her back and flapped down hard, propelling her into the air without a care in the world for who saw her. What hunters she had met during the past hundred or so years were a far cry from anything resembling a challenge. With modern weaponry like firearms and the like, Humans had grown lazy and overconfident. Just fill something with lead bullets and it was finished. Gone were the skilled swordsmen or the lightning fast archers. Now all they relied on was brute force in the form of easily predictable guns. 

She caught a draft and soared towards the sounds of battle, breathing in a much needed breath of fresher air from up-high. She could see the fighting from far away up in the air, but only one of the contestants was recognizable, in part due to his size, but also the fact that he was quite literally on fire. And he was also an old friend. 

A flap of her wings sent her on her way towards the flaming hellhound and whoever was unlucky enough to be his adversary—not that the identity of him or her mattered—intent on, at the very least, watch the fighting as it happened, if not partake in it depending on which way it was going. Or maybe just for the fun of it. 

It was a curious sight, she decided, circling far above the battleground like a vulture waiting for already present predators to leave so that she could partake in the carrion feast. Fenn, despite being a hulking behemoth even amongst his own kind, seemed to be having a difficult time. Most of the time, the flaming hairball barrelled over any opposition like a freight train with a broken brake. This time, however, someone seemed to be giving him a difficult time. And a human no less, if the use of fire arms and less than graceful movements were of any indications. 

Perhaps, she thought, this place would be a little more interesting than first anticipated.