Mortim

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

While Anora grappled with Darsby's words, and immediately upon her looking away from him, he'd have lowered his arm back to its previous position upon denim-coated knee. He now resumed facing the Earth in its entirety from that ramshackle rooftop, less afraid of its shadows than he was of his own. That personal darkness crawled as a now living prison to insights awaiting rediscovery.

An ancient sensation was brewing within him, something youthful and simplistic. 'Innocence' had been one of the first words to come to mind, but it didn't belong to Anora by its origin, so from where had it come? Something colorful, perhaps even childlike had brewed it's unwholesome brew within him. Though, he somehow thought that he was wrong in aiming to be afraid or disgusted. These conflicts spawned further cascades of troubled self-reflection.

Had Anora looked back into Darsby's eyes before he began responding she'd, for a moment, be tossed back into that drowning current of emotions which consumes the soul on it's most profound levels. Images and sensations poured as plentiful, raging rivers of violent waters over her innermost facet. A parent, lovingly gazing at their child among others before picking them up at daycare, finding themselves suddenly troubled that this infantile human may take after one or more of their parents worse habits. A child staring into a marble, genuinely captivated by its spherical shape and inner-artwork, not letting a single detail escape his sharp young eyes. Someone not above the age of eight, innocent in their desire to leap into the smallest pond reflecting warm rays of morning sunlight before them. An old man troubled to discover he's lived his entire life without being so young as he could have been in spirit all along. A niece sick with the flu, vomiting into a bucket near you whilst you gently rub their shuddering back. Darsby's eyes become a spiritual and near-physical location where all of these things are made simultaneously true yet not at the same time. It's as if the human mind were grappling with some form of communication ardent in it's comparison to typical speech.

In his contemplation, Darsby had noted, but overlooked, the double-wide question presented. Anora is young; her heated heart must be troubled at the moment; despite her earlier words. He could smell it in her sweat, he could hear it in her heartbeat, he could taste it in the breeze surrounding them. She was stressed, and he kicked himself mentally for not noticing all the way up until this moment. 'How tired have I actually gotten..?' He questioned internally.

"I'm..-" He started, his mouth wrestling with itself to not immediately apologize as it had somehow intended to do. He quickly regained composure, though his words were still mildly painted in sprays of apologetic verbality and anxiously hurried speech. "-Well, you'd be-" Darsby paused again, his hands wrapping around the back of his head lacing fingers into wild tufts of hair to wrestle these sentiments from existence with no victory in sight. "-You would occasionally have to undergo a mapping spell that relies on small sums of blood to point us in their direction. Aside from that, I'll take some time to talk to you about that energy you so freely toss about. You're a bit off in how you're using it." It wouldn't, by tone, sound as if the mapping spell was what he felt apologetic or anxious about. Perhaps his outward conflict is outside of Anora herself.

Darsby sighed, without breath or air, into space before him. The engines fueling his lungs lay their calculated uses aside to express a troubled heart. Those hands remained, gently holding an organic head whilst it's inner-workings fold harshly upon one another.

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Half a mile away from Anora and Darsby an old car warped its polished exterior into existence. This teleportation was soundless and unnoticeable, shiny outer surfaces having been delicately hidden beneath a tree.

"Remember, don't set one foot outside this car without 'all three steps'." Hoarse, masculine vocals split the air between two stressed employees.
"I wouldn't dare." Came the overly-accentuated feminine response, sass, and disrespect blatantly clear by all accounts.

The man sighed as he stepped from an ebony vehicle, his body fading from sight under the guise of an invisibility spell. He knew better than to give into that vile woman's banter.

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

I cook, work out quite a bit, spend some time sketching and a good bit of the rest reading. I've been really into the whole self-improvement/taking-responsibility kick so it's been quite an enlightening past couple of weeks.

I can really appreciate that, it does set a lot of things into perspective and control.

Well, the problem is that his normal life differs to an immense degree from what most humans live. I won't spoil anything since you already know very little about him, but, let's say he might in some small way turn out to be quite different than you might expect. The car thing was certainly a good nudge in the right direction.

Also, I just want to say that I do enjoy the realistic image of Anora, you've done an excellent job of writing for her.

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

Yeah, I get some downtime, I suppose I just spend it away from TV these days.

It was really good! It might sound weird but that part where you listed off everything in her backpack was super clarifying for me when it comes to her as an individual lol.
I'm still certainly feeling out Darsby but he's coming together in my mind a bit more every time I post with him. The problem is that he's kind of shock over some things so he's hardly himself at the moment. He'll be gradually coming out of that and act more himself as we progress though. He might need a few things to toss him back into normality.

You don't need to at all, posts like that will happen whenever just conversation is occurring and I suspect we should both get comfortable with it for the future. It was a good post regardless.

They may end up coming into contact with our pair soon! We'll see, it should be interesting. I have no doubts it could make things a bit spicy lol.

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

Darsby offered no reply to Anora's initial verbalities describing how she'd had explaining to do and the importance of honesty in his promised responses. These things mattered little to him, his mind still making unwitnessed attempts to dive back into the variables of mortal life. He'd had more than a few years since the last moment where death was an available circumstance, something most humans feel in at least some slight way every day.

"Well-..." Darsby began, his body reacting before his mind to offer an answer. He'd stopped at that first word for what would likely feel like ages, his figure giving into motionless existence for many measurable moments before continuing.

Cold rooms slurped their jumbled importance into his train of thought. One message received from his close mentor, the fight to gain a task from the hands of other competitors. His desire to run from his home, to run as far as he could readily go. The notion of using an offered duty to utilize his fears and revitalized mourning as vehicles to undertake callings of discovery. Sitting before councils and briefs and further councils inside frigid stone chambers. The truth of him still being emotionally weak despite his hidden strength causes his body to visibly shiver before he begins speaking again to escape the honest valleys his mind may start to wander otherwise.

"..- I elected to undertake an emissary task. My superiors wish to find and communicate with an entity known as Pan, of Olympus, having detected a vestige of his magic as presently active. After scouring this world, I'd discovered an ancient contract this creature made. You are the only living human where that contract can be found, deeply ingrained in your blood. I plan on using you to assist me in finding this contracts creator; it should still be attached to him in some small way. I'd understand if you refuse, though, I didn't travel all this way to hear a 'no' to any of the questions I retain." Darsby spoke in a clear, level tone. He relinquished the simpler side of an explanation to Anora without further hesitation. He didn't pause for breath. He spoke with callous speech and unflinching emotion. His ending statement sounded no different than anything else he's ever said thus far. This man is used to dealing in blatant facts and not much else.

After perhaps two or three seconds of pause, Darsby relinquishes a sigh and reaches to scratch the back of his neck. This action would look to be sudden despite its slowness due to his recent states of motionlessness.

"Y-you're necessary. I'll need to show you the ropes.. b-but you could act as more than a compass if you sso desired." An odd thing happened to Darsby's voice. Something of emotion had infected it whilst it appealed to Anora in suddenly sheepish undertones. He slurred his words in the jumble of ill-portrayed sensations which came across as a likely insensitive ordeal. His hand grasped the back of his head purely in an attempt to hide his eyes for a few brief seconds. Perhaps he didn't wish for his soul to be peered into as typically seems to occur when locking eyes.

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Cold air licked the edges of our dapper gentlemen's cigarette. His dry lips touched the filter of another cancer stick made heavy by the worries of a stressed employee. He took in several long drags before pulling the rod away between thin, leathery fingers.

"No, John. I already spoke to Hernandez, and he told me to call you....-" The man wrestled verbally with yet another superior on the phone. Paperwork and hoops are typical obstacles to jump through with any government agency. "- No, you won't be a scapegoat for anything.... Yes, I'll be the active hand with three steps of permission. She won't be making any brash actions.... No, I haven't heard anything from them, this all seems to be some free-hand stuff..... I know it's gotta be an off-worlder, my gut says the same thing... But-... No, I did-... Ok, ok I get it. Thanks, John. I'll call you back after contact." One pale, work-hardened thumb taps an android phone screen to end it's present phone call. With a sigh of relief, the man drinks in another musty grey cloud.

"Finally! Let's go!" Thick, curling lips toss speech as slabs of granite against their nearby peer. The one to whom these feminine lips belonged had spent more than two-long hours awaiting her partner to obtain necessary permissions over the case of a potential off-worlder in their local vicinity being accompanied by a female, native magic-user.

*Thunk!* The glove box in the old car they both presently resided inside of jostled loudly, our huntress opened it feverishly to find a freshly transported case file within. Bare bones paperwork and a few blank lines requiring signatures cold found between manilla walls. Our gentlemen went to work quietly labeling its contents, patiently ignoring his partner.

"Are we lea-!?" The woman is cut short by a sharp, pointing gesture made on the tip of a smoldering cigarette towards her.
"I'm in charge, active hand permissions here. Only after three steps can you intervene, or else. You know the deal." He spoke by patient, unwavering callousness. She sits back, holding the ferocity of one-hundred lions in aggressive heat at bay lest her partner be rent into literal pieces.
"...Fine." She'd finally say, looking forward through a polished windshield. She would give him time to address their present circumstance. If anything, she respected him as capable among humans upon witnessing him in combat for many moons straight. At least they had the case. She'd fought hard for this one, something about that second smell was familiar... A familiarity she somehow detested on a deep level.

Our gentlemen gently tapped the steering with his wrist after several minutes of filling in the dotted line. Their 1969 mustang transport roared magically to life, beginning to drive itself hands-free towards the new location impatiently given just before all permissions to continue were given — some farmhouse owned by a local family. There was an internal debate soon to be resolved as to whether or not they'd take the faster route there. It was looking as if impatience would get the better of them, a simple teleportation incantation being its result.

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

Darsby, now unclouded by deadly fatigue, gives new life to emotions he earlier expressed via physicality and tone. His previous habits of tiredness and exasperation appear to be rooted at least partially aside from his bodily state. He had the air of an intellectual on the verge of discovering some foreboding, all-encompassing truth. To speak and interact with this being was to talk with someone who lacked humor due to his mind being somewhere far removed from present circumstance.

"You're unlike most humans. I'd suspect you to be in relative distress after dealing with today's happenings. It's strange you find it good." Her sarcasm had flown in the exact opposite direction of Darsby whilst he shrugged apathetically, caring not for whatever undertones Anora may be trying to establish. The remainder of her words passed over him as fluid across a stone, doing little to move or mold him in their short-lived disparity.

Darsby gazed into the afternoon sky through jaded slits of radiant pinkish dye. Bags the size of suitcases could have hooked into the underside of either eye and they'd be wholly at home. His back hunched forward so both arms could rest atop denim-coated kneecaps. Gentle wafts of air play cheerfully with his hair in contradiction to an overly saturated figure of grim sanctity. You'd suspect him to be the detective of an H.P. Lovecraft story, facing his final demise with solemn repose.

Once Anora finished speaking and pointing, Darsby would turn his head toward her. His eyes again bled emotion and spirit in profound yet somehow subtle ways as they did before he collapsed by the road two hours earlier. A mother having a regrettable, but, necessary conversation with her dearly loved child. Someone driving by the body of an animal laying dead on the side of the road, feeling regret over its untimely demise. All of this shifting suddenly towards the feeling of watching a grown cat shelter it's infant from the rain in a dark corner of urban jungles. Steep roads where a parent drives safely to avoid swerving out of control with their family asleep in the car on a long journey home. These would all wrap themselves into one dense emotional amalgam that slips as wind through the heart. However brief it was, it still got the entirety of its point across in some cold, distant manner.

"Our deal stands. You deserve two answers still. Ask away whenever you want." He'd state simply, his expression unchanged as those words end his glancing in her direction. Darsby now stares back out into the endless horizon before him, something alien yet human collide together in the visual of him sitting there. He is motionless, more so than most any person could truthfully accomplish. He is also full of some longing natural to most any deep-thinking individual, that face searching the earth galloping before it as if some faintly world-revealing poetry were being actively written beneath it. His concern and hostility are far from Anora if they even debatably live at all inside that callously softened aesthetic. His revolver looks more as a piece to some nonchalant artistic statement than it does anything to be used for violence.

In truth, darsby danced mentally between old memories and the task at hand. He'd need to carefully sort his immediate goals before taking any action involving Anora. He'd also need to crawl from whatever dark place he'd been falling into over the course of this past month as a human. Being away from his home and duties had done much more than expected to sabotage the outlook he'd usually hold in all matters at hand.

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

Darsby had retreated into his bodily shell as unwitnessed energy. His powers sought refuge to amass another bought of feigned weakness. Being stuck at a level only just above that of humanities best physical specimens is likened to being deeply poisoned into a near-comatose state for him. Spending moon after moon in this vehicle had taxed Darsby into treating his body and mind as if they had both been depleted, his tendency towards dramatics only working to further these unhealthy habits. Recent events had dealt at least some form of a successful blow into changing him back into his usual self. He'd been through much before transcending to his current status; he'd do well to remember said days.

"They've really done a number on you... Or, perhaps, you did a number on yourself?" A gentle voice radiates throughout Darsby's submerged consciousness. Strands of magic connect him to a distant space where his familiar dwells, busy at work.
"Have I always been so difficult?" Bubbles float from Darsby's ethereal lips in this space of tangible thought, each one slowly disintegrating, allowing words to echo into the open void.
"Certainly. I often find myself looking after you." Our earlier voice responded in kind; it's soft syllables brush gently against Darsby's mind.
"...Will you be checking on me here as well?" He says after a long silence.
"Yes, in two days. I'll bring snacks, your favorite." The voice states in motherly tones. Darsby sighs at such a kind offer, seeing it as perhaps a pinch overbearing. Then, with the accuracy of an atomic clock, the time limit to Darsby's rest is reached.

Silently, our troubled traveler opens his luminous eyes. His mortal shell takes several seconds to account for all of its separate parts as dust is witnessed to dance gently in the waning sun of a dying day just above his revitalized features. He takes a few moments just to lay there, returning his mind to places it's long left in the archaic sands of time — days of walking beneath purple sky's, hours of drills and meals with long perished companions. His present body may not require food or air, even so, these thoughts brought a faint grin and distant hunger to his typically soured psyche.

Darsby eventually sits up over the edge of his mattress in one smooth motion, lithe legs spilling over lumpy bedding. He examines his surroundings with what most humans would perceive as extremely heightened perception. He can hear it, the sound of wood and wind a floor above and beneath him. He can smell them, the grass and trees surrounding Grandpa Jacks Estate. Even without eyes, the world would be full of plain detail for a fair amount of surrounding meters. Long years spent honing abilities to perceive greater constructs than Earth have paid their dues in some small way here.

Darsby blinks at the nearby outfit put together by Anora two minutes into re-aligning himself. This country's plethora of simple raiments have always been uncomfortable. Too many separate articles to arrive at one outfit, it all seemed unnecessary in the grand scheme of things. Regardless, he knows it may be needed to appear somewhat normal looking when peering into his plans for the immediate future. Also, he realizes he should be kicking himself to accept the hospitality of the simple people populating this world. Once getting dressed he places his revolver into the left side jean pocket, its leather-bound handle protruding enough to be observed.

Further minutes passed. Darsby eventually found his way on to the roof. He'd had trouble understanding the window presented to him; he couldn't accurately read the alien language on some small piece of paper that was left for him. After several grunts and a nearly shattered glass pane, he'd found himself on the roof whilst whispering apologies to Anora's relatives. His pronounced posture carries him in long steps towards the chimney Anora is propped against. He'd look vastly different than he had at the hospital.

His shoulders are squared, his balance is steady, his hips facing directly towards whatever it is he finds himself focusing on. Darsby could be more easily related to a marine in dress uniform than the shambling figure that had been nearly dismembered by a passing car earlier today. His skin may still be of a porcelain tone, yet something about it appeared more vibrant and full of entirely necessary moisture. The only thing immediately off about him would be his shirt; it is much too large for him. Baggy jeans and worn boots can near-always attribute to someone's upstanding, working character. Regrettably, a shirt of this size typically can't. What stands before Anora now looks like a middle-schooler wearing his large fathers flannel, entirely intent on remaining proud of himself despite its untucked edges reaching very close to the knees.

Darsby didn't appear to understand how he presently looked, resigning himself to gingerly approach the chimney Anora was inhabiting. Something of mild, childish anxiety had overcome those exasperated features and broad chest. He moved in a near stumbling motion to rest against the bricks himself, as if feeling he may not have permission to do this. Darsby was tired, as always, yet this exhaustion was evidently of an emotional sort. His body had renewed itself; somehow, his mind had barely followed.

"Are you... Okay?" Darsby didn't look to understand how to ask this question entirely, yet, he did, nonetheless. His words weren't full of the warmth most people expect from their fellow man, though, it may be surprising he decided to show any concern in the first place.

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(Pursuer update in next post, had a huge migraine.)

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

I totally understand, that's been the story of my life these past couple of weeks. I haven't had a chance to watch more than 20-40 minutes of TV in what feels like ages.

I absolutely loved your post!! You always include details I feel like I personally would have missed entirely. I mean I know that just happens with different perspectives and writing styles, but it still is rather enchanting lol. I also feel like I know Anora quite a bit better at this point after reading all of that, which is certainly useful when inventing plot points ;3

Yeah it's been a good feeling.
You totally guessed it! I mean that character does stick out more for the time being, but I just feel so much better about them after the swap.

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

Yes I love the show! I haven't been very into it in recent years but I did at one point recently binge some of the current seasons.

I'm totally excited for the post! I cant say I'll return in equal length but I am curious as to how she'll be reacting to Darsby going comatose lol.

Yeah I'm happy to use them to represent the primary magic control organisation affiliated with the United States. I wrote a short story about them years ago so when I found them lingering at the back of my mind I was more than overjoyed to throw them in. I gender-switched one of them here and I feel it was definitely a good decision. Feel free to guess which one lol.
I enjoy writing for them at the moment.

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

Aww, thanks!

I know, I love that quote. It always feels fun for the mouth lol.

The changes were awesome, I've been working towards a healthier lifestyle and it's been miraculous.

You can totally do a time-skip, no worries. I don't plan on anything happening in between here and there so no worries at all. I'll let you know if things are going to heat up, otherwise, feel free to take liberties wherever. I've definitely put Darsby in Anora's care. He's rather defenseless at the moment.

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

Anora's figure looked as a specter of interlaced color. As a dense cloud of mist may shift its location, so did she shift her own. Blacks collided against soft shades of peach, flowing brown rivulets cascade from the bulbous oval likely to be her head. His exterior may look ragged, more than several steps into some nondescript illness; still, it maintained blatant signs of composure. His back was rigid and straight regardless as to frequent retching. His chest was flexed above gently interlaced legs. His form was of someone still in relative control of their primary faculties. His body operated on a profound depth of muscle memory. His mind began losing any grip it may have once had. The only two signs of his actual state were those drained eyes. To be a gateway of the soul is an understatement by our current circumstance.

Those pink spheres of ocular engagement were far from present, one having been nearly closed whilst the other twitched and pulsed in weak rhythm — their faint and unique coloration shown with alien luminance in a world of once average human perception. Anora may not have looked into Darsby's eyes, having focused on his revolver for entirely sensible reasons, yet, should she have chanced upon them for even a moment something rather strange would have happened. In their weakness, an ethereal call emanates. Something beyond words wishing to be in the company of another tugs gently at any who stare. This isn't a universal longing for emotional saturation as humans often seek without realizing. This is something far colder like a book read from the lips of a mathematician.

Howls and strong gusts of wind, gunfire and rattling walls, screams and cold hands. All of these slip as a single breath into Anora should she have met Darsby's eyes. An artist who feels another should look upon their depressing work. A mason gazing upon finished brickwork he may never be close to again. An unappreciated moment of cleaning up after another. These feelings are only the beginning of an expression going far deeper into the heart than any author could describe through just words. It seeks to strike for a brief moment at Anora's psyche. Then, all at once, these things are over. Like air forced from the body they leave with Darsby's shifting gaze, it's twitching figure staring into some presently unknown abyss.

His mind was being pulled into some other place as this woman he'd come here with moved to and fro in attempting to assist him. His naked backside loosened, it's many indentations of firm muscle giving way to smooth hills oiled over by the deep valleys which tug at them in the form of jagged, shadowy rivers. Pits of memory he'd wished firmly to avoid in his typical strengths washed as capricious waves over him. One moment he's crawling down a dark passage, flickering lights shaking against explosive-born tremors. Another moment he's pressed against a wall, smarting over a sharp pain in his leg and a lack of combative resources. And finally, he's sitting next to someone rather familiar, their gentle voice slipping as soulful hymns into his hungering ears.

*Hupf!* Darsby takes a sharp breath in, his lips resisting the sudden show of force with one faint flopping sound of protest. His eyes split open as if similarly gasping for air. Darsby's free hand reaches with a faintly practiced motion for Anora's collar. Should she dodge, which certainly wouldn't be too difficult, he'd still likely get at some other random area farther down her shirt as he isn't the slowest man. He'd use her shirt as leverage to lurch upwards, bringing his face uncomfortably close to hers. Everything about this effort likely won't seem even remotely hostile, if perhaps, mildly aggressive. If anything, he'd appear desperate and pressed for time.

"Earth girl..-" Darsby would sputter from between dry lips, his breath smelling surprisingly of freshly cut grass instead of bile. ".-I-.. I need two hours to recover, give me two quiet hours and you may ask two questions which I'll answer by complete honesty. Please, get us out of here, something in the wind wants our heads." He wouldn't have stopped himself from speaking if she had pushed him off of her, though, the urgency in his eyes and face may have disarmed her. Rarely do modernized people experience genuine life and death scenario's, the exceptional results these events breed in an expression would riddle his own. Darsby would then sputter with several hard-fought breaths, his body going limp shortly after.

Darsby's body would become cold, unresponsive, and lacking in the natural movement of breathing. By all accounts, he would appear dead. He'd be chilled, without a pulse, and entirely limp in the grass beneath him. He's not the heaviest of individuals, weighing in presently at a surprisingly low amount of one hundred pounds despite his height and physique. Perhaps his organic composition has something to do with this? Either way, Anora has been left with a dead body and a request to safeguard it for two hours. Luckily, no one was on this typically deserted road to witness what has just happened. Despite all these things, his hand remains dead-locked around the hilt of the revolver, some superhuman strength keeping that durable skin firm against its surface. Anora would have to use a crowbar and a large metal hammer even to begin to pry it from him. If she'd inspect it, she'd find the chamber emptied of usable rounds.

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*Bang-Bang! Thwop!....Bang!... Thwop!Thwop!* Inside the hospital, a man in a dapper suit was at work disposing of whatever horrid beasts had remained after Darsby and Anora's escape. He utilized himself and his tools with deadly efficiency. He would strike them down, then use small canisters of stored incantations to transport said abominations to a research/disposal facility. Everything would be resolved by the time the police arrived. He'd even magically transport the artificially shot and murdered corpses of an active shooter and police officer for whatever loose ends may follow. This was rehearsed, practiced as drills run again and again in countless simulated environments by the agents of whatever force this man belonged to. He'd cast one final spell once having finished his 'clean-up', a faint radiance which invades the minds of its recipients and alters their memory's to match whatever your typical police officer may expect to hear or find.

His partner had also assumed her duty as the tracker of their team. She had an unnaturally striking physique, massive fissures of shadow the likes of which you could lose your house key's in acting as the lines between each respective muscle adorning her thick skeletal structure. Crooked, thick horns propelled themselves valiantly from her forehead, clumpy tufts of red hair falling between them. Violent features set out to slam themselves into each other over what may have once been a beautiful face had it not been crowded continuously by fierce anger and hard-fought pleasure.

She'd stalked by swift steps across the entirety of whatever carnage presented itself. With many provocative scents caking her flared nostrils she finally came upon the prize, the shattered window with which our protagonistic pair had made their escape. It wasn't the window itself which shown as a reward, but a sharp piece of glass that jutted mischievously into open air along its side. This shard had upon it a faint red stain, the stain of a girl who'd misjudged a jump in the panic of following her partner's unexplained demands.

This hunter of unparalleled skill pulled the shard from its frame with a practiced motion, teasing it's dripping edge with her quivering tongue. Her shoulders swelled and shifted just below a grimacing face most would pay hard cash to avoid witnessing shortly after tasting the irony supplement now coating her alien taste buds. "Found you..." She'd hiss playfully to herself.

Sirens had now swelled into a chorus around her, yet, all law enforcement which arrived appeared to slip by without paying her any thought. Whatever she may say, shout, or do, would go completely unnoticed by them. The same would go for her partner as he stepped into the open air next to her, magic meant to distract others from their presence operating with potent effect. In two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, they'd cleared the scene and established methods to track whoever had last been here; an unsatisfactory time by most standards given to them over recent months.

"Found 'em?" The man would sigh, withdrawing a cigarette and rusted lighter from his suit jacket.
"The girl I expect to find doesn't trouble me deeply; her blood is uncultured... It's the other smell that gets to me, her companion. I can hardly discern species, let alone if he's stronger than myself or perhaps even weaker than the girl." Her lips quivered in rage at this statement, the vile syllables by which she spat each separate word growing ever more rotten than the last. Her failings are markedly rare, primarily when she's remotely invested in a matter.
"Let's get back to the car. I'll request governance over this case." He turns towards the parking lot holding their ride after relinquishing a wisp of smoke from his lips. He is apathetic to nearly everything he'd just experienced, all aside from the sentences he'd just heard his partner speak. She may never in the past have failed to distinguish her prey simply by one smell, this standalone failure marking nothing significant to him. What would become significant is her rebellious rage over possibly not being allowed to track and manage this present pair. He'd have to call in a few favors.