Kaori observed the banter between the hunter and the ghostly girl with mild amusement. “For the record; I haven’t threatened you since you woke up,” Gray directed at her from behind the oddly comical mask. She didn’t need to see his face to know he was probably smirking, she could sense that in his voice. 

The faintest trace of a smile crept onto her pink lips. This chase would be thrilling. It would be a shame when it came to a close, and the hunter’s life ended.  Briefly, she fantasized about the possibility of savoring his life, keeping him in her service. Something about that picture seemed wrong, though. She had never been a fan of the mindless company of thralls. Would his blood taste as sweet if he couldn’t defend himself? No, his life would come to a dramatic, climax of an ending, and it would be all the more satisfying because of its ferocity. 

Beth’s words pulled her from her daydream like a bucket of ice water, "Can you believe him?" Something about her opposition to Gray sparked a flame of possessiveness in Kaori – an animal protective of its kill. 

She took the words "Shower's free," as the groups concession to her conditions.  

Rather than dwell here, and divulge sensitive information to a risky, rag-tag group of desperate supernatural beings, Kaori wanted to sprint from the room in the direction of the shower. She was a lone-wolf by nature. It was natural to prefer her privacy as she recovered.  The cleansing touch of water would wash away the red soaked into her skin and matted in her midnight hair. She would be strong and radiant when she emerged, her most comfortable state.

But instead, she resigned to her task when Beth piped up again, "Anyone else like to share?" Kaori looked out into many a pair of eyes that watched her expectantly, as if she were a goose about to lay a golden egg. 

She perched on the edge of a small table near the corner of the room, her leather-clad legs crossing one over the other. She didn't want to display it, but she was still feeling rather weak, and the breaking of her bounds had cost more of her energy than she cared to let on. 

"If Rikker died at the hands of Charles Gordon, I'm afraid your problems have multiplied," she began. She felt as if she were a teacher in the midst of a group of children, eager for their story. 

She continued, "From what I've heard, he used to be pretty notorious for his duels. It's an old fashioned tradition, no one really gets involved except for old vampires with a sense of 'honor' or something, but Gordon's were especially ugly. I've personally never met him - he's probably closer to the three times my age - but from what I've heard, he's ruthless in a way that makes Rikker look like a kitten." She paused, considering for a moment, "Rikker was...sloppy as a leader. Too distracted with profit. Gordon is a military man. Imagine if you took the raw power of a vampire and organized them, made them into soldiers. That's what you'll be dealing with if Charles Gordon is involved. Plus, he knows you're coming."

Casually, she lifted a hand to touch the shaft of her long hair, assessing the mess of blood that had caked some of the locks together. She was desperate for that shower. “I may have some information that could help you even the playing field...there’s a storehouse in the city that de Lacy used to keep heavily guarded. I can’t say for sure what’s inside, but whatever it is must be either extremely valuable or lethal. With the recent power change, I’m guessing no one’s claimed it yet.” She looked up at the group expectantly, “I can take you there, if we’re all clear about my terms?” she pressed, making it clear that she wanted their explicit agreement.