[center][h3][color=00a651][u]Mitra[/u][/color][/h3][/center]

Mitra bowed and waved Paimon and his band of performers off. Once the portal was closed, though, he let out a deep sigh. Paimon could be a lot at times to serve, though this had felt like one of his more restrained visits. So many things to look out for that posed a danger to him and his family - gosh, he just wanted to crawl into bed and fall asleep. But Paimon had given him a mission. Rest and worry would have to wait. 

He got up and went back to the kitchen to search the junk drawer - the drawer where things like pens that had made their way to the counter, old super glue tubes, rubber bands that had held tupperware shut but since fulfilled their purpose, all sorts of things that would be dealt with 'later' (and of course, 'later' never happened). Ther, among the mess, was a notepad. He yanked off a sheet, grabbed one of the pens, and hunched over the counter to write.

[color=00a651][i]Ravi,

Sorry I missed you - His Majesty wants me to deliver a message. No idea how long it'll take, so please have dinner without me. I'm headed over to the old dance studio. The one we used to pass on the way to school, remember? I'll be careful, but if I haven't checked in by 11, I'll understand if you call someone. I'll let you know more once I check in.

Also, King Paimon says hello.

♥ Mitra[/i][/color]

He placed the note on the table. He didn't like the idea of Paimon saying hello to Ravindra, that's how this whole mess got started, but they'd both be at him if he didn't pass the simple message along.He gave the table one last look-over to ensure he hadn't left any trace of that small package's arrival. The only evidence of its existence was the prey totem in his pocket; he slipped his hand into his pocket to make sure it hadn't fallen out. Ravi didn't need to know, not yet. He checked his other pocket for his phone - decent charge, it was fine - before leaving the apartment, locking up behind him.

His car was no junker, but it also managed to clash with his general style, which was to say, it had none. He'd bought it some years ago despite its canary yellow paint job and swore he was going to get it redone to something metallic or at least neutral. So far, that hadn't happened. It was bulky too, a compromise made at the time for his mother-in-law who worried about insurance rates and safety and sports cars. It hadn't bothered him until after his deal with Paimon, but he had yet to tell anyone he was giving serious thought to trading it in for something flashier and probably less safe.

Mitra got into the car, turned it on, and changed the radio to the local rock n' roll station. Loud music blared from his speakers as he pulled out of his spot and began the trip to the Shakes dance studio.