Evren furrowed his brow, looking up at Aava from the bottom of the ravine with a defeated expression. [color=cc3300]“(We’re all monsters.)”[/color] he offered weakly, climbing back up the ridge. He leaned forward with his palms on the guardrail, facing Aava who was still on the other side. [color=cc3300]“(You don’t have to forgive him. I just want you to come with me.)”[/color]
He extended his hand, offering to help Aava over the rail.[hr]A few murky swirls of blood flew down the drain, leaving nothing behind but a ferric odor. Lucifer was back in his apartment, dabbing a powder blue towel to his cheek and looking in the mirror. The cut was nearly gone. He growled and retrieved a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from his cabinet. As if it was a practiced art, he stretched the towel over the counter and soaked the bloody stains in the bubbling solution, repeating until the cloth was saturated so he could rinse it in the sink. Detergent would take care of the rest; he balled it up and set it in the laundry bin.
Aava… there was a problem. A problem Lucifer didn’t foresee. Evren was a lovely piece of his life, one he didn’t know he could share or even change, especially not with a vengeful water-beast. He pulled his shirt over his head and let it join the dirtied towel, along with his pants; they were soiled in the fight by that foetid water. Perhaps he should have done something about the boutique, and what was within it. The guilty thought hung on him for only the briefest moment as he donned a comfortable robe. He made the choice to leave it for the sake of many, and if that meant the loss of some unknown nymphs, so be it. 
He picked his phone from the counter and retreated to his living room, flopping down onto the couch and checking his messages. Evren had a right to be angry, he supposed, but not at him. What did he do? He never trapped the creature or knew she meant anything to anyone, much less to his muse. Had he known about her, he would have let her go for Evren…
Lucifer locked his phone, letting it rest on his chest. Was that true? He wasn’t certain. That was bad. His phone buzzed with a new voicemail; he didn’t remember it ringing, but he listened to the message. It was a contact, looking to arrange a meeting to get information. Vaguely annoyed, he called the number back.
[color=990033]“Tell your associate to meet me at my bar, unarmed. I’ll be waiting in the back room.”[/color]