A man sat alone at a diner, sipping a black coffee and looking out the window. He was very unassuming: plain, not particularly handsome. He appeared to be in his early forties and of possible South American decent. His tan skin and short raven black curls gave away a possible foreign heritage. He sat alone for a while before another man came and plopped himself down across from him.

"Isaac," The new man nodded a simple greeting, just like an old friend. This new man was younger. He couldn't have been a day over thirty. But yet...he looked worn. The subtle hints of a hard life plagued him: tired eyes, rough hands, a couple gray hairs peaking out in his otherwise dark, well groomed head. This man was of some sort of European decent; one could tell by the accent. But the accent itself was impossible to place. He had a dark olive skin tone and deep, brown eyes. He was dressed very modestly: A black sweater and gray dress pants. The removable white collars tucked into the neck of his sweater suggested his occupation: A Catholic priest. A waitress came by and set a hot coffee down in front of him as well, and when the younger man reached for it, a noticeable scar marred his right hand and arm. It spiraled up towards his elbow. A peculiar mark for a young priest. What could he have been getting up to in his spare time?

Isaac, as the other man named him, nodded back silently and brought the hot mug to his lips once more. He spoke as he set it down. "We always meet like this, don't we?" He gave a half-smile. The other man chuckled. 

"Next time I'll take you to the movies, then." There was a shared chortle, and then silence again.

"I have a bit of business for you," The younger man spoke softly, setting a small, white envelope in front of Isaac. "They've been getting more numerous by the week."

Isaac reached down and picked the envelope up, tucking it into his front shirt pocket before glancing back out the window. "He's been doing all he can; at this rate, he'll kill himself with exhaustion." 

The other man went silent for a moment. Then, "Word is that the press is catching on. Any day now, they'll be hounding a story."

"Is that so?" Isaac turned back to him, eyebrow raised. 

"This could be useful. If the word gets out, we can drag this thing into the light. Secrecy breeds their strength, I've been telling you that for years."

"Puh," Isaac snorted. "No one will believe it anyway."

"They will if they can see what your friend can do."

"Yeah, because I'm sure he'll be all for having media flocking the house. He's [i]great[/i] with people." The sarcasm dripped from his words. 

The younger man shrugged and stood. "You do what you want, Partway." He picked up his mug and drank down the rest of his drink. "Thanks for the coffee." With that, he turned and left, leaving the other man gazing silently out the window.