[center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/497601769497690113/517016708859297793/Emil-Buckner.jpg[/img][/center] A demonic symbol as a way of symbolizing new beginnings? That was certainly an odd way to think of things, but Emil wasn't one to judge others on preferences, merely actions. He was in no way a church goer, couldn't ever wake up on time to make it, not to mention they'd thrown him out on more then one occasion when he'd stood up to protest that there were reasons the police had been formed in the first place and that people shouldn't always be off praying to "God" or whatever they believed in. After being thrown out, he'd remember he'd been relieved of his duties as an officer of the law and kick himself for forgetting. Old habit's die hard. The large sum of money had certainly shone a new light on the lady Hobbs. She either was incredibly generous without meaning to be, or she was a bit absent-minded in her excitement to get her new industry started, either was fine with him for now, he needed the money, maybe he could finally buy himself a mattress. As tempted as his law abiding and good nature was to inform the pretty woman of her mistake on the sum she was offering up, he kept his trap shut and merely kept his eyes on his contract, though he couldn't help but allow his old investigator instincts to kick in for a moment, and his mouth began working for him. [color=8882be]"Before we leave, is there anything else we should be aware of? I dunno why, but something about all of this seems fishy, not just the case, but you and your hirin's. Most employers I know wouldn't be able to stand the sight of half the people in this room and tell em to ankle their way out, yet here you are allowing us all in without hardly a second thought. What's your angle? I'm not tryin to be rude, but it's my-WAS, my job to be a skeptic."[/color] Emil took another glance at those who littered the room with him, noting every single individual and what he'd need to remember about each one in case he needed to match a name to a face at some point. Absently, his other hand fumbled into his coat pocket, trying to locate his own pen he kept with him, briefly revealing the interior of his trench coat to the world. It was covered in lazily stitched patch work, nearly falling apart, and it became clear he'd been referring to more then just the others when he'd asked his question, he himself was also one of those who'd probably be turned away. With the exception of basic labor, but that hardly paid anyways.