[color=lightgray][@Pirouette] [@Forgiveness]

The sting of the bitter winter air had awoken Shiloh that morning with a jolt.

The draft - it must've been the draft. From the crack in the wall. The demon emerged from underneath a layer of heavy blanket, eyeing up the panel off wood underneath the window across from him accusingly. Damn it. He knew his decision to put off patching up the thing would come back to bite him in the ass; just because he was more resistant to the cold than a human didn't mean he'd necessarily be comfortable in below zero temperatures, as he'd found out the hard way on multiple occasions.

Shiloh hastily pulled on his vest over the rumpled dress shirt he'd already been wearing in some sort of effort to shield himself from the elements, clambering out of bed. Sleeping at all last night had probably been a mistake, he didn't even actually need it at all - that was a human thing, after all. He guessed it could've been described as a bad habit, something he had trouble shaking off. Although he couldn't really blame himself too much for doing it this time. It was a tough job he'd finished yesterday. Still somewhat groggy, Shiloh rolled up his sleeves and changed the bandages wrapped around his right arm before finishing dressing himself and grabbing his usual array of weapons from the bedside table. It was morning again; that meant it was time for his daily visit to the saloon. He was still injured, yes, but it really couldn't have mattered to him less unless it was debilitating. He could still move all four his limbs, and nothing felt broken - in other words, it was good enough for him. Shiloh adjusted his coat around his shoulders before walking out the door, and towards the main street of Wichita.

The house the demon owned was on the outskirts of town, on the same side of the street as the saloon and the opposite side of the church. The church he avoided for obvious reasons - the saloon he kept close for both its supply of alcohol and idle gossip, not to mention clients for his mercenary business. He knew the place inside and out; so it was only natural that he noticed the tension in the room as he entered, although it dissipated so quickly he almost thought he'd imagined it. The stranger leaving the building briefly caught his attention, dual toned eyes looking rather jarring in combination with the brightly coloured hair. He turned, observing him curiously for a moment. Unusual. He'd have to keep that one in mind. Shiloh eventually turned away from the mysterious man and ordered his usual dose of whiskey from the bartender. This time, however, he poured it straight into a flask; he'd save it for later.

He walked over to the board hung up on the far wall, where jobs were posted infrequently. He'd occasionally pick something up here - occasionally being the key word. But he supposed he'd give it a chance today; he needed something less high speed and dangerous, for once, at least until he healed up and everything was back in order. He smoothed out a few of the papers on the board, pausing as he noticed one that looked like it'd only recently been hung up. Something about grave robbers… He casually ripped the paper from the wall, ignoring the irritated look the bartender shot him out of the corner of his eye. Shiloh's interest slowly rose as he skimmed over the rest of the text - the job had been proposed by the town undertaker himself. Now that was interesting. he'd heard his fair share of rumours about the man, like everyone else in town had, but the difference with him was that he'd never managed to catch a glimpse of him or the supposed undead child that followed him around before.

He pocketed the paper and headed back outside onto the street. Shiloh narrowed his eyes as he neared the Sheriff's office, instantly recognizing the man calling out in the doorway as he noticed the colour of his hair. [color=powderblue]"Are you here to assist the Undertaker as well?"[/color] he questioned, going out on a limb as he stopped some distance away from the alchemist.[/color]