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[ARYN ALBATROSS]

small delicate hands flicked across a large piece of parchment, the motions very timed and exact. but in truth, the hands were being flicked sporadically and without true intent. the female they belonged to was a girl who looked to be young--at most eighteen. she had a petite body, only standing at five foot three. but it was difficult to tell--she was laying on the grass, her elbows propping her up as her left hand flicked across the parchment, the black ink from her brush cultivating beautifully orchestrated lines. she had long salmon-coloured hair--which she much adored. she always kept it flowing to her side and relished it so. she also cherished her crystal blue eyes, which remained iridescent despite lighting circumstances. all in all, she found herself to be a very attractive lady.

she was lying on the grass. the green velvety carpet nature provided. she had always been a girl who found herself attracted to all things natural. which was why she had created her own ink and parchment to paint upon. it was a very nice day--not as hot as most. a light wind blew through, ruffling her skirt. she sat up, crossing her legs and stared at her painting with criticism brimming her eyes. she had always been her own biggest critic. too confined, too generic... she thought, taking the brush and flicking black ink on it a couple more time.

the picture she painted wasn't something that most people would have striven to be able to paint. it wasn't monet or dali style. nothing contemporary about it. in fact it was very classic. it had the look of an old japanese or chinese painting--the very traditional ones that only skilled calligraphic studs would know how to execute so flawlessly. but she had never received any lessons. she had taught herself, and she found she had rather exceeded in that regard. if one hadn't noticed upon looking at her, by speaking to her you could quickly surmise she was an incredibly facetious, sadistic, and proud. without noticing, she clumsily knocked over her ink pot, jet black handmade ink spilling onto the green ocean of nature's blades. she cursed herself and began to clean it up, getting black ink all over herself in the process.

[mao]

Summer was at its peak, apparently. The hot, glaring sun seemed to burn the whole island up, and while Mao did enjoy warmth, the uncomfortable and sticky feeling it gave off started to annoy him. At times like this, he felt nothing more of having a nice, long nap under the cool shadows of the trees. And the only place he could think of that would have any of those nearby would be the park. While it had some bad rumors, he knew he could easily escape if anything proved to be dangerous.

As the red-haired man strode down the sidewalk, he slipped his hand in his pocket to feel the soft bamboo of his old pipe. He seemed to have a bit of paranoia about losing it, as he always would check every once and a while if it was still where he left it. After all, it was the source of his own being. Without it, he was nothing but a stray cat with a smart head. He didn't think he would like that at all. Or would he? A life on the streets might be nice too, he supposed.

A strong scent of ink hit his nose as he got near the thick trees, causing him to slow his steps as he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He never liked strong tastes or smells at all, and to have it in the place he was planning on napping the day away at was just no good. His cherry brown eyes flickered across the area, searching for the source of the foul odor, only to have them land on what seemed to be a young girl. Black smudges and spots seemed to cover her clothes and skin as she hurriedly tried to clean it up. Mao stared at her for a moment, wondering if he should just leave, before remembering how far away his house was. A feeling of laziness overcame him, as it usually did, when he thought of the long walk of boredom it would be. With a sigh, the man scratched his head and grabbed the thin handkerchief from his back pocket.

"Excuse me..." He called out, not even hiding the bored tone of his voice. "Would you like to use this?"

[hayatoyamashita]

"Shit, Where is he?"
After spending thirteen minutes chasing a demon, it managed to flee from Hayato's grasp. The hunter then realized he was in the middle of the park, in broad daylight. His hatred of being seen by people was disturbing him, but he decided to stay, scanning for a kill. Exterminating demons has become quite a hobby for the masked hunter, he never enjoyed seeing the blood flow out of his prey, but now it's become so common, Hayato was used to it. All the demons were basically the same, and died the same way as well.

He was standing on top of one of the many altitudinous trees, observing to find any demon activity. From the ground, he could hear many of the daily park strollers ridicule him, like "What the hell is he doing up there", or "is he some kind of insane freak."
Another reason, Hayato disliked hunting at daylight.

Under his tree, he noticed two people, a red haired man helping a girl who just spilled some ink. His mask started pointing at their direction, his mind focused on them now.
Are they humans or are they demons?
Inside his mask, Hayato smirked. He haven't kill a demon in two weeks or so, nor anything amusing. Humans or not, he wanted to free his mouth, which was imprisoned behind the mask. For a hunter who rarely talks, it would feel refreshing for his mouth to stretch a bit.
He quickly jumped out of the tree, stepping and crushing the females ink pot. He then stayed silent for a minute, examining the shock on their faces. With a dark, yet kind voice....
Have any of you seen demons?

[izo brown]

why was it that he had decided to arise so early in the morning? well, in actuality, it was probably high noon by now - but still far too close to daybreak for this young man's liking. for izo, there was rarely a reason to get up before evening fell. his sleep pattern was quite comparable to that of a cranky preteen or an old fat cat. he would never get up earlier than he had to. and when the time came that he had to, he'd be sure to piss and moan about it for at least a solid hour. unfortunately for he and all of those who surrounded him, he was about half way through that hour. izo let out deep sighs at an alarming rate. he wanted to go home. there were annoying, buzzing bugs and the sun was beating down so harshly that he feared that it would burn the whole island to a crisp. he'd had enough of the great outdoors after living completely immersed in it for god knows how many years. why anyone would want to spend their free time in a place like a park was beyond him.

in all honesty, the shaggy-haired boy was a bit shocked at the amount of people just hanging around the park. why, oh why? who could ever enjoy a place that was filled with grubby-handed children and their high maintenance barbie doll mothers? and that confounded wind! its incessant blowing ruffled his hair and effortlessly tossed his hood down from the top of his head. izo bitterly frowned as the sun's rays mercilessly blinded him. never again, he thought, squinting. he'd stick to his normal nocturnal schedule for sure.

he stopped for a moment and glanced around him. he was contemplating which way to take back to his abode when he saw that there was quite a bit of commotion going on to his right. a lovely lady covered with what he thought was ink. a red-headed man with apathetic eyes offering a handkerchief. he craned his neck for a better look, but was taken aback when another man jumped from a treetop and seemed to confront the other two. he turned away and let out a chuckle, wondering if the masked man was some kind of loony. he approached, rather awkwardly, out of curiosity. "ah, i'm sorry, but i couldn't help overhearing.." the brown-haired boy said, stifling a giggle. "but did you just say demons?" amusement could easily be heard in his tone. izo fancied himself quite an astute actor.

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[ARYN ALBATROSS]

the petite girl was very pleased by the tall man's offer of a hankerchief--and she was about to graciously accept it with a polite thank you(which she wouldn't have done if he hadn't been so physically endearing. not to say she was shallow, but she did respect those who were blessed such as she was) until she realized there was another man coming her way. he strode with such undignified confidence that she crinkled her nose as though she smelt something foul. she ignored him as he strode over and instead took the kind man's handkerchief and began to wipe her hands with it, smiling at him and saying with a very sweet and gentle voice, "thank you, sir, for this. i'll be sure to wash it before i return it--" her speech faltered when the crunching of ceramic pottery resounded in her ear.

one of her favourite pots, destroyed, just like that. she had crafted it herself--made by hand! she had painted sweet little canaries on it, and whenever she exhibited her pottery she made sure that was the first anyone saw. hours of work, crushed as though it was nothing. and the fool, instead of apologizing for destroying a perfectly good piece of art, had the nerve to inquire about demons? she was about to stand and yell at the ignorant slouch until yet another man inserted himself into the picture. his inquiry made aryn flinch. must the topic of demons be brought up right there? aryn was very good at hiding it, but she wasn't much for lying. another thing she hated was people who went upon false knowledge. there was no doubt that the man who crushed her ink pot was a hunter. and if she wanted to get out of this easily, she would have to feed that man false knowledge.

she sighed to herself. she just wanted to paint in peace. she put the gentleman's handkerchief in her bag, aiming to wash it later(she wasn't sure if the ink would come out, but she'd try). she turned to the ignorant hunter and glared, saying unattentively, "demons are all around us. there's a good chance any of the people in this town are demons, therefore we are all seeing them now, are we not?" she then glanced at the devious-looking fellow who looked sly and suspicious and decided to pay him no mind. it was obvious that she wouldn't be able to paint anymore, so she put away her paintbrush and began to pick up her broken ink pot pieces, sighing with great melancholy etched into her face as she gathered them. the only thing she was really thinking of was when she'd get a chance to fashion one just as artistic and fetching.

[mao]

Things had gotten crowded a little too quickly for Mao. After he had ever so graciously offered the napkin to the girl, the people seemed to multiply in a heartbeat. First, a strange man in a mask hopped from a tree like some sort of wild squirrel, and asked them about demons. While Mao stared blankly at him like he was some sort of psychotic freak, another male life form seemed to spawn. This time, it was more of a.. gentleman, or he would like to say. He looked normal enough, that was for sure, but his stride seemed a bit too prideful for his own good.

A light hiss escaped from his lips as he realized how uncomfortable things had gotten. Demons this, demons that. Why was that suddenly the topic of the conversation? Even the usual calm Mao felt a little stressed. The strange man seemed to be a hunter, or at the least a crazy elderly man with a lot of free time. Things could easily turn into a dangerous situation if he was good at his job. Not only that, but the newest arrival seemed almost amused by the conversation choice.

"Um... what's this about demons?" He quickly decided that the best way to play through this was the simplest one; act like you had no idea what they were talking about. Mao lifted his pipe from his pocket, fixing it in between his lips as he settled the smoking powder and lit it. This was mostly for show, to cast a careless look about him. When threatened, he always felt like it was the best idea to keep yourself from being suspicious. And while having cherry red hair and eyes may already raise it, he was sure that there were teenagers these days who did much worse. All he could do was play it cool and find his escape route.

His eyes flickered for a moment back to the girl, hearing her mention returning the handkerchief. In all honesty, he didn't want it back. Not with the chance of it even maintaining the disgusting scent of the ink. His nose had always been sensitive to strong smells, which was why he disliked many of the places he went to. Even if it was a sweet scent, it would grow sickening after a while to him. He narrowed his pupils for a moment at the girl, before slowly shaking his head. "No, it's fine. You can keep it." Or throw it away. That would work even better, Mao thought.

[hayatoyamashita]

Hayatoya kept his position, but the stepping on the ink pot wasn't the brightest idea. The shards pierced through, and the ink ruined his perfectly good boot. He was aiming for the ink pot for a dramatic entrance, but he realized it was a puerile and unintelligent idea. No matter, he noticed the introduction had an effect. The young girl seemed maddened, but the red haired man didn't seem amused at all, actually uninterested. Hayatoya glanced at the spiritless redhead for a minute, even the feeble response turned the masked hunter off. His focus then went to the young female.

She seemed provoked after he crushed the ink pot--and from the word Demon. Then, the words returned back, had a spiteful tone. hmmm. Her reaction. She might be a demon. He was about to reply back, until another gentlemen appeared, interested--from the word, demon. The hunter was amused, his little entrance might have brought him some prey. He turned around, giving up all the attention he had for the painting female.
The black haired character, who was also rather attractive, seemed confident-- and fascinated from the event. Then with a soothing tone...

"Ahhh yes, demons, I've heard of more hunters have been appearing, so we have to be careful."

He smiled back, but then realized the man isn't able to see his smile, so it vanished from his face quickly. He approached closer to the target, hoping to find a sign to prove he was a demon. Hayato, glanced from the side of his eye, and noticed the other female packing up. Turning around, he examined the beautiful painting. Hayatoya never witnessed a painting as divine. He still holded some interest from the previous man, but the hunter decided to provoke the female even more. He raised his foot high in the air, and stomped on the art.

"What a terrible painting!"

[izo brown]

this guy, scoffed izo's brain crossly. he was making it quite obvious that he was a hunter. somehow, this irritated the brown-haired boy to the point that he was tempted to reveal himself and tear off a limb or two, like ripping meat off of a thanksgiving turkey. if he was someone who was cunning enough to chase after devious monsters, then how was he stupid enough to blatantly divulge his own position? it was as if he wasn't even trying. the young, dark-eyed man kept his poker face while the others gave answers of their own. he gave a glance at the salmon-haired girl, who seemed to give the most cryptic answer possible. she looked to be angered by the masked fool, as well. however, izo saw the redhead as being unaffected and increasingly lackadaisical. he gave a complacent grin in their direction and tried to seem friendly.

izo turned to the masked man, furrowed his brow and tipped his head. "are you mental?" he asked, in all seriousness. normally, people didn't dress cloaks and masks and whatnot. well, as far as he knew. he didn't know or care much about the humans' idea of regular, as he definitely didn't fit into that category, himself. human, he thought. he bit the inside of his cheek, now wondering whether those other two were just that. they seemed like they could be. but maybe they weren't. the girl seemed to have a slight reaction to the topic of demons. really, though, she could simply be uncomfortable. in jukyo, that topic was a bit taboo for discernible reasons.

the boy's mouth fell open in bemused shock when the hunter stomped on the lady's painting. terrible? he had thought it was quite good, actually. the work of a talented artist. "nevermind, i 'spose that answers my question," izo said, lips curling unintentionally into a smirk. he stared at the girl to await her reaction, which he wagered would be explosive.

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[ARYN ALBATROSS]

aryn had finally cooled her head from her initial anger, contently humming a tune. the kind gentleman's reply was slightly offputting. she decided she'd no longer consider him the kind gentleman, but instead the careless nobody. she shrugged it away, as she did with most things. she was normally a very calm and collected girl, keeping to herself and letting instances of strife roll over her shoulders. the only thing she could not overlook was when anyone--no matter who--destroyed an artwork of her's. she didn't mind when people said they didn't like it--everyone was entitled to their own opinion. but when someone is blatant enough in their utter disregard for other people's things to destroy something they had put so much time and effort into was beyond her. to aryn, it was incredibly unforgivable. she supposed she could forgive the ink pot, she did have more at home. she could also create more. she could think of several faults in it, anyway.

she was about to roll up her painting and finish it for a later date for it was quite apparent the rose-haired girl wouldn't be able to complete anything with all these lousy boys stinking up the place. she was, that is, until a loud stomping caused her to jump. she stared at the ignorant hunter's foot, which had crashed down on her painting. she wagered that she had spent at least eight hours in total on it thus far, and seeing it crush before her made her heart twinge. she wasn't sure how to react about it. she looked up incredulously at the ignorant hunter, squinting her eyes due to the sunlight that was threatening to blind her. the sun stung her eyes, and she shut them, noticing that it wasn't the sun that was stinging them, but tears. cruel people were like that, she figured.

she stood and hung her head, not sure why she did so--it was obvious tears were in her eyes. she growled and shoved the ignorant hunter to the side, moving his foot from her painting. she picked it up hastily and held it as one would hold a dead pet, and she glared and whipped back around to the ignorant hunter, her eyes aflame with anger. "i didn't ask for your opinion! hunter or not, who gives you the right to destroy other people's things?!" she found tears were streaming down her face and she wiped them away angrily, an angered roar resounding from her frustration. she began to pick up her stuff, taking care to pick up all the broken pieces of the pot to make sure no one would step on it with bare feet and hurt themselves. she glanced at the careless nobody and looked away quickly, bright eyes flickering to the devious fellow. he seemed to at least have some class. she wished to be out of there as soon as she could, but all the fragments of the ink pot were so minuscule it was difficult to tell where they all were in the grass.

[mao]

He took a deep breathe of the pipe's smoke, watching on as the events flashed by. The masked man didn't seem too polite, stepping and crushing the poor girl's things at every chance he could get. Then again, the girl was sort of an easy target. She didn't seem to have much defense against these sort of things, simply allowing them to happen right in front of her. All she could do was yell back with weak what seemed to be human weakness. However... the way the conversation was going was starting to convince Mao that there was more to the girl than met the eye. Knowing what hunters were and did wasn't exactly common knowledge. Maybe she was a hunter, too? Fat chance. Perhaps she was just a small plant spirit of some sorts. She didn't seem too tall or threatening to be anything more than that.

And what of the other boy? Mao's red eyes moved towards the black haired stranger with curiosity. He hadn't added much to the conversation yet, just meaningless comments, so he was probably just a passerby who heard something interesting. That smile of his is starting to piss me off. He grimaced, turning away to see the turn out of the fight between the psychotic man and strange girl. Perhaps he should help her...? He was in a sort of amicable mood today, even offering that napkin to a stranger! Plus, he was positive it would make things more interesting. As it seemed now, the danger level was low, so there was no need to be as careful.

With a drawn out sigh, Mao tapped the masked man's shoulder lightly. "Excuse me, but would you please leave? You're obviously disturbing this woman." He carried the same careless and lazy cat tone in his voice, but underneath it he allowed the more demonic malice to unveil itself. It wasn't more than mere threatening, as he usually used it to make unwanted guests leave his workplace or scare off annoying teenagers around his quiet home. It was weak, and barely detectable on most parts, but it worked quite well against humans who weren't used to demon tricks.

[hayatoyamashita]

Hayatoya examined the young females reaction, hoping for an angry outrage, or possible even an awakening of a demon. But instead, tears trickled out of her eyes. Hayatoya had a remorseful feeling for the girl, he decided that was enough play. He knew emotions can get in the way, and he despised it.

"Emotions can get one killed"

He whispered in a sedate tone, making sure he could only hear. He started examining the female again. Hayatoya was sure she was a demon, from all the attitude and actions she displayed. or maybe it was just because Hayato destroyed her ink pot and painting. I'll target her another time. The masked demon quickly checked his pocket, and managed to pick out two 100-dollar-bills. He then tossed the bills in front of her. Instead of speaking with that cruel tone from before, he spoke pensive manner.

"Go buy yourself something nice, kid..."

With that, he rotated back towards the two bystanders, pretending to forget the females existence. His original interest was the black haired observer, but he heard the spiritless redhead trying to protect the female painter. Hayatoya had no concern for him. To the hunter, the redhead was useless in the whole event, until now. What if he's a demon? Hayato could hear the fighting timbre from his torpid voice. The hunter decided it was time to temper the man, bringing out the hostility out of his lazy voice . Out of a flash, he dashes towards the lazy bystander, grabs his neck, and pulls out his knife. The cold steel just tickling his neck.
"Why don't you chase me, kid?"
Quickly, he lets go of his neck, and exposes his feline motions to the small crowd, by running to the top of the tree in seconds.

[izo brown]

izo didn't like the way events were unfolding. he thought that he could probably turn around now and take his leave without a hitch. he didn't like to be around hunters. they all seemed so confident and haughty. that is, until they actually met with their enemy. this demon had met with a hunter only twice before and they hadn't amounted to any sort of threat. they stared at him with dauntless eyes in his human form. perhaps they even looked down upon him, as they thought he was just another inconsequential citizen who'd probably end up as some monster's next meal. the dark-eyed man felt his grin growing wider and wider as he remembered their shock when the tables turned and the hunters became the hunted. he certainly hadn't been planning to kill them, but he could only stand the boorish comments they made about his kind for so long. he gave a black look in the hunter's direction - partly because he made the girl opposite of him cry and partly because of scorn he already had instilled deep within his psyche.

the man frowned and gazed at the pink-haired girl softheartedly. after having her art simply ruined like that, he'd imagine that she'd be supremely upset. he sighed. it didn't feel right to not do anything while she picked up her broken ink pot and the red-haired guy tried to get that freak to leave. "would you like some help?" he said, glowering. it really didn't click with his usual behavior, but he bent down and picked up a shard or two of her broken pottery. izo hoped that he wasn't going to do something to offend her, but what could offend her more than that hunter's actions?

the shaggy-haired boy stood up when the oh-so-lordly hunter put a knife to the redhead's neck. "ay! who the hell do you think you are!?" izo clamored. it was true that he didn't know the redhead at all. however, he considered him an acquaintance, since they were both witnessing this masked curiosity make a fool of himself. the yet-to-be-discovered monster found that the masked hunter was especially proficient in this area as he ran up a tree with the quickness of a young squirrel.

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[ARYN ALBATROSS]

the way the ignorant hunter looked at her made her clench her teeth together with frustration. the way he threw money at her as though it would make everything okay. she looked at it with disgust. he looked at her as though she had some huge secret--as though she were a monster. indeed, she was, but she found herself acting much too human for her taste. crying? what a human, inconsequential emotion. it meant nothing. she stared at the two hundred dollar bills he had tossed at her nonchalantly, angrily picking them up and throwing them back at the man with much vigor in her swing. "i'm not a kid. i have a name. i don't want your money. ...you walk around here like you own the place, claiming to hunt monsters, when to me it looks like you are the one who is a monster!" her words were slicing, sharp as a broken fragment of diamond. she whipped around coldly, her posture returning to her and began to pick up the small fragments of ceramic.

it was then that she noticed the devious fellow who hadn't been saying much or contributing particularly to the whole ordeal was helping her pick up fragments. the kindest man she had yet seen. she had begun to fear that every man she would come across would be as strange and aloof as they had all first appeared to her. but who was she to accuse those of concealing identities? that would make her a hypocrite, for her masquerade was always following her. she nodded to the boy, who seemed like a very sweet fellow, with a polite yet slightly dismissing, "thank you, sir, that's very kind."

then a racket made her turn. will it never end? all i wanted was some peace and quiet... she had gotten up most of the fragment and took the pieces from the devious fellow's hands and placed them in her bag, deciding she'd dispose of it later. when she turned, suddenly, there was a knife pressed against the careless nobody's neck. she wore a confused expression, surmising that the intimidation she had felt when he had spoken to the ignorant hunter must have been some form of demonic enchantment--or at least, the ignorant hunter could have found it so--and he attacked. and like that, the ignorant hunter was perched in a tree like a cowardly cat, afraid to prance down from his high horse. a gentle breeze passed through, causing the bell around aryn's neck to jingle slightly.

[mao]

A low growl erupted from his throat, a silent rage boiling up inside him. How dare that human touch him! What impudence! Back in his youth, even while feared, demons were respected for their strength and powers. No human alive would have dared to go against one with such a weak object such as a knife. While it was true that the hunter didn't know if he was one of the monsters or not, he was sure that he at least suspected one of them wasn't quite a normal person, else he wouldn't even be here.

"Hah! Demons this, demons that. What would you even do if one of us were one of your 'monsters'?" His eyes glimmered gold as he said this, not able to keep the fury completely under check. "What do you even have to fight? That flimsy dagger? Not even scriptures? What a weak exorcist!" Mao, for a change, was now blurting out insults and chatty words. The usual quiet and calm form he kept up seemed to dissipate as he grinned broadly up to the tree where the hunter stood. "I bet you haven't even slayed one demon besides little tree sprites. Or have you even failed to do that?" His tone was full of mockery as he brushed his bamboo pipe lightly before taking another breath of the smoke.

He remembered the first time he was hunted down by an exorcist. It was near when he had just awakened as a youkai, after living as a normal house cat for most of his life, and was full of pride and a brave spirit. He hardly took any threat towards anyone, so when the bald headed monk had approached his den, he regarded him with contempt. That had been a huge mistake. After only a few chants from the priest, Mao had to make a run for it. He just barely escaped from him, and had learned since that you exorcists were something not to be messed with if they were at a certain level. But this man, this human, was something that Mao felt like could be easily trampled on without getting a scratch on him. Besides, even if it turned out he wasn't as weak as he looked, the red head was positive that he could make a quick escape.

[hayatoyamashita]

High up at on the tree, the breeze felt refreshing and flocculent. He pointed his head to the sky, gazing at the clouds. His love for heights, his desire to go higher increased, yet many of the trees were the same height. Without looking down... I've started quite an uproar. He started recall his fiance, her death was years ago, yet the death scene was still clear in Hayatoya's head. Destroying a young girls painting, pointing my knife at a stranger, what would she think of me? He decided this was the last time he would go hunting at daytime. The masked hunter was nocturnal, preferring to stalk and kill his prey at night, never to be social.

He started paying attention to the crowd, seeing the spiritless redheads anger. Hearing the harsh words from his mouth made Hayatoya smile. Finally, that dull shithead is doing something. The "what if we're monsters" made Hayatoya even more mirthful. Though, if he did attack the man, and redhead was actually a human, the masked demon would have to go to court. He decided not to take any chances of assaulting. The hunter pointed his head skywards, took a deep breath and jumped from the great height.

Hayato landed only a few inches apart from the redhead. The hunter stepped back, until he could view the three. He quickly went jumped on the floor, and bowed down. I am sorry for my actions, I hope you accept my apology. He sat back up, crossed his legs and looked at the redhead. With a friendly voice, he spoke...
"Go ahead and punch, kick, hit me as much as you like. I won't attack back."
He then followed it by a wisper...
....unless you turn into a demon.