Nestor offers a wry smile at the Demon's words.  “Too old, hmm?  I wonder how long we'll go on telling ourselves that.  But I don't believe we know any other way.  We'll always find ourselves pulled back in before too long... thrill of the hunt is too hard to resist.”  He turns now, refocusing his attention on the newcomer as he offers an introduction.

The Demonspawn studies the face of the man before him a moment – then, blinks, as if pulling himself away from some thought and gives a nod.  Accepts the offered hand.  [i]His grip is firm.  In response, expression shifts close to a smile.  Yet in the same instant.  Grasping.  Cold.  Like something were searching with great interest from behind the disturbing depths of those eyes.

“Well... aren't you an odd one, hmm?  A -pleasure- to make your acquaintance.”  Dulcet, feminine tones caught between the ringing of frozen chimes ringing in the back of Leonard's mind.[/i]  And then in the present – Nestor offers:

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Leonard –“ gaze shifting to the bulky doctor's bag at his side, he adds --”hope your medical knowledge is up to snuff! I've a less than stellar reputation when it comes to being injured.”  But then his attention seems to be grabbed by something elsewhere.  

(I scent the air.  Something lingers above the cloying stench of the fishman before me: stronger, darker.  Like rich loam caught between the roots of ancient trees in some primeval forest.  Hear distant howls tearing across the barren scrub of distant moors; I turn toward the source, close my eyes to truly see the creature before me.  Inscruitable, she flickers in and out several times before coalescing as that dreadful hound.  I find my features creasing into a genuine smile.  Unfathomable a creature as she might be, I always felt some shared kinship.  Friendship, maybe?  I was not even certain they held the concept.  

“Good afternoon, Fei.  I see fate conspires our paths to cross again.”  Wan moonlight creeps through the shadowy windows high above.  An ancient church, motes of dust caught between the silver rays of light.  Shattered crucifix and rotted drapes adorn the barren sanctuary; at least, it was the same image always evoked in my mind when we met.  That and the soft whisper of listless souls, drawn like a swarm to her presence.)

No sooner has Sal thrown down her suitcase while Nestor's attention diverts to Fei, than a slender figure emerges from behind him; she tiptoes lightly across the grass, pulling the soft laces of her light blue dress up around herself before kneeling down beside the piece of luggage.  She offers the young wizard an impish grin – plump little lips parting to reveal a sharklike smile, pointed rows of razor sharp teeth lining her jaw.  

“Now, now... what have we -here-!”  She presses an ear against the fabric.  Arches her eyebrows ever so slightly; covers her mouth with a slender hand and gives a juvenille giggle as she gazes up at the wizard, sharp blue eyes glinting with a mischievous light.  “I wonder what might happen if we...”  and with inhuman speed both hands flash to the clasps, face now morphing into a hopeful little stare: “Oooh, can I?  May I!?”  And it might be difficult to tell whether the Demoness has any intention of listening, or then again if perhaps she has no intention of opening the suitcase and were merely prodding for a reaction.

The moment passes.  Both latches snap open with a click – the suitcase, already bulging under the pressure from within – springs apart as a shower of shredded fabric introduces the handful of occupants  within.  Unintelligible curses follow as the creatures come tumbling out one overtop the other.  And at the end, a very clearly empty bottle clatters to the rocks.  The Demoness gives a delighted squeal.  Turns toward the Wizard as she reaches toward the nearest: “Oh, Darling – wherever did you come across -these-?  They're positively a-dooor-able” And she over enunciates every syllable of the word; the creature she reaches for, meantime, doesn't seem too intent on making friends.  He stabs at her hand with a makeshift spear, to little effect.  

(I felt my attention waver.  Blinked twice and glanced toward the chaos around the luggage case.  She was getting out of hand already.  I refocus – close my eyes a moment and take a breath.  Feel the Demoness vanish away with the soft whisper of a winter chill.  I give the Wizard a bit of an apologetic shrug.  I couldn't exactly say I shared her taste in traveling companions, but who was I to be judgmental? All business now.  I supposed it was time to get down to work... I empty the contents of my bag, survey the neatly packaged bundles before squatting down and beginning that ritual I had partaken in so many times before.  Preparedness, I always told myself, was key – and as much as I might like to tout my uses as an investigator... I also knew my strengths tended to err more strongly toward the side of violence.  I flex fingers over the hilt of my sword.  It had been quite some time.)

Demoness taken care of, and greetings dispensed with, Nestor occupies himself with the task of strapping into his gear; a bit of a process, though if his practiced motions are any indication, it's something he's done countless times in the past.  Finished, he tugs at the straps on his vest, gives a testing pull at the small crossbow strapped to his hip, then nods and follows Atticus as the latter makes his way to the building.

Drawing a breath after listening to the Incubus speak, Nestor wrinkles his nose and remarks: “I'd bet I'm not the only one smelling -that-”; he glances briefly toward the now open doorway before adding “something powerful made it through, I'd say.  Maybe more?”  (But then another scent catches my attention – one present.  Corporeal.  Burnt flesh and cindered bone.) 

“I'm going to have a look around the back side.  Don't burn the place down now, eh?”  And Nestor trots off around the western side of the house, scent leading him toward the charred basin of a wretched burn pit.  Grass and thorny weeds pockmark the ground all about its grey perimeter – a dull mist seems to linger in the air, distant haze hovering just about the grass.  The Demonspawn crouches down – runs a hand through the ether and watches as the mist swirls and eddies between his fingers.  Withdrawing a glass vial, he manages to scoop up a little of the stuff; screws the lid tight and tucks it away again.

(Now that was odd.  Something the investigators wouldn't have seen from that side of the picture.  I glance toward the pit – contents burnt and ground to dust, either that or they'd already carted away any recognizable bones.  But I didn't need a lab to identify the scent of roasted human.  Clearly something else had been burned here – something unnatural – as the fog seemed to emanate from within the pit itself.  It had a scent I couldn't place. I shrug and straighten back up, mentally cataloging the scene as I eye the dreary eves of the dark New England forest sprawling across the cottage's back yard.  Turn and make my way toward the back door.  Wonder what the others have roused up inside?)