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<div style="text-align:center; font-family:garamond; font-style:italic; text-shadow:1px 1px 1px #646362; color:003377; font-size:45; line-height:80%;">waiting for the call</div>

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The streets were as quiet as death. Elisaveta's shoes tread softly on the asphalt of one of the town's very few paved roads (in her opinion), but there was still a tell-tale sound that came from each careful step that irritated her. She liked her prey to know that she was coming, but when they already knew that and now simply hid from the sound of her, the little game grew boring very, very quickly. It was either very late at night or very early in the morning and she was tired, but she refused to head back to the motel before she killed the sorry abomination that crossed her path.

<p>The hunter stalked the empty streets of Redgrove, pausing every few steps, muscles taut and lips curled back in a snarl, as if she had heard something. But it always turned out that she had not, and it seemed like the undead had simply slipped away into the darkness. She had a backpack on, tightly secured to her, and in one hand she held a sheathed katana. Elisaveta always was intrigued by other styles of fighting, and she had a flare for the dramatics. And there was nothing more satisfying, in her opinion, than cutting the head off something. She would have to burn the dismembered corpse of the undead later, but it beat lugging around a flamethrower and risking blowing herself up, if her target happened to be so clever as to try and sabotage her weaponry.

<p>The woman was pausing again, in the center of the street, so she would not be near any alleys or hidden places where she could be taken by surprise. She glanced around cautiously as she slipped the katana and its sheath through a belt loop, hands still securely wrapped around its hilt. Where had the undead gone? Perhaps if she could not track it down, she would lure it to her. Elisaveta visibly relaxed and started to walk again at a more leisurely pace, letting go of the sword at her waist. A moment later and she heard footsteps begin to echo her own, but at a slightly different pace. The undead was closer than she had expected. She whipped around, fingers curling around the hilt of her weapon before she froze, noticing that her new company was not the undead she had been tracking. Her jaw clenched.

<p>"What are you doing?" she snapped irritably, eyes narrowing at the newcomer. A civilian was a liability and although she hardly cared for innocent creatures or whatever harm they were put in, she knew that they were also a distraction to her, which left her at risk as well. "Why are you out this late at night? It isn't safe."

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NOTES, TAGS, WHATEVER YOU WANT

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If there was anything he was good at, it was being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Somehow a simple relaxing late night stroll had turned into John being faced with a very pissed off looking lady. As if out of habit, he raised his hands, taking a step back. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a minute there," For an angel who could more than easily kill this woman, John acted like a puppy that had done something wrong. Maybe if he looked innocent and harmless enough, the mean lady would leave him alone. He wasn't afraid and he most certainly wasn't harmless, but John always preferred the softer image. No one likes being scary... except maybe this woman.<br><br>

"What are you doing out this late if it's so dangerous?" John quickly continued, since that sounded a little accusatory. "Is something going on? Are you a police officer? Because if you are, I swear I only look like that guy. I talked to the other guy and they know it's not me so don't, um..." John frowned a moment, taking a better look at the stranger. "You're are not a cop." He said slowly, letting his hands fall back to this sides. "What are you doing?"<br><br>

Being away from Heaven and his Father had left John's senses dulled, but he knew that this woman was obviously human. However, it was becoming very apparent to him that they were not alone.

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<div style="text-align:center; font-family:garamond; font-style:italic; text-shadow:1px 1px 1px #646362; color:003377; font-size:45; line-height:80%;">waiting for the call</div>

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Elisaveta's eyes narrowed; this man was soft and weak-looking and she did not care if he died, but she would have to dispose of the body and that large a fire would draw notice. Go away, she wished, eyes still darting obsessively from alley to alley, teeth grinding slightly. Go home and be drunk. Get out of my face. But he did not only not leave, he got defensive and accusatory. Elisaveta's anger flared and she took a step forward, only pausing because she thought she heard something. Once her suspicions were proven wrong, she rounded back on the squishy, unarmed man before her, making her snarl as quiet as possible.

<p>"No, I am not a cop, please go away." This mild annoyance was becoming more and more burdensome with each passing moment, and the stranger also realized that they were not alone, judging by the slight shift in his stature. Good. Perhaps he was a fast runner. "I am doing my job, thank you. You--" She pointed a long finger at him with a vicious jab forward, though he was feet away. "You are interrupting." Her breath caught and she knew at once that they were not alone. A shadow moved from behind the fleshy man and she strode forward, unsheathing the katana with an unsettling ease as she shoved him out of the way with a grunt of annoyance. Elisaveta met the undead in utter silence, though a feral smile like an animal about to attack graced her lips as the shadow leapt. Her arm had not moved fast enough and the hunter was forced to the ground by the weight and momentum of the undead, feeling its rotting breath on her throat. The sword clattered from her hand and her wrists were seized with surprising strength.

<p>"Run!" she called to the man, not hearing the panicked footsteps she had expected. She did not feel panic, however. The undead was smart enough to use his weight against her, laying on her and looking down with a voracious grin. He would tear her throat out, he was about to do it. She refused to feel panic even as it made her limbs feel like lead, only decided to use her last thought to blame that fucking imbecile for distracting her. If he hadn't been blocking her view, she might have seen it. If he hadn't had to be shoved out of the way, she might have swung sooner and caught it in the throat. Why isn't he running? And the hot breath was bearing down upon her, and Elisaveta grinned for what might be her last time.

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Once the sword came out, John knew that he shouldn't be here. The angel had remained not involved in such affairs for a long time and he didn't want to break that pattern, but it seemed as if he had no choice. Just as he was about to talk back to her, it all happened to fast. People say situations like these move in slow motion. They lie. <br><br>

Within seconds the woman he happened upon was at death's door, an undead human ready to devour her. John was not used to such practical warfare. Heavenly war was so different in structure than any kind of humanly combat, but the feelings were the same, the feelings of urgency and distress. It took him a moment to come back from surprise, but then his nature kicked in. Angels were built to be soldiers, to follow command. If anyone else had told him to run, he would have, but there was an even stronger heavenly objective: protect God's children. <br><br>

In a single motion, his hand was on the back of the undead's reared head, fingers intertwined with blood soaked hair. There was no visible damage down to the undead, just a quivering death rattle as the angel tore what was left of his soul from the corpse body. The empty body went limp and collapsed on top of the woman in a very undramatic end. John removed his hand gently, peeling his vessel's hand away from the blood-matted hairs. He looked at the woman for a moment then as respectively as one could shove someone, pushed the truly dead corpse off of her. "I've always been kind of a slow runner anyway."

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<div style="text-align:center; font-family:garamond; font-style:italic; text-shadow:1px 1px 1px #646362; color:003377; font-size:45; line-height:80%;">waiting for the call</div>

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There was not an overwhelming sense of peace that swelled in her chest at the prospect of death and accepting it. Instead, she found herself impossibly more furious. I will never get to kill him. Life didn't flash before her eyes, not in a tranquil, slow-motion state of mind. Only memories of him, the vampire that had molded her, crafted her, betrayed her. She mustn't die yet, not like this. He would have to kill her if she could not kill him--but she would, she would destroy even his ashes. The growl that was lodged in her throat stopped once the threat had been eliminated by the presumable civilian, eliminated by mere touch. Angel. What a hassle.

<p>"I suppose I am to thank you now," she said without much gratitude as he shoved the body off of her. Instead, Elisaveta clambered back to her feet, sheathing her sword and examining the body. "I do not make a habit of slaying angels, but you are pesky creatures nonetheless. That body does not belong to you, and I do not like thieves very much." The hunter turned on her heel, facing the kindly-looking angel and only managing a scowl. Had he not interfered in the first place, she would not have needed his assistance in killing the undead. Instead, he had let her make a fool out of herself and helped her only when she was about to die meaninglessly. What an asshole. "Angel blades are also very difficult to acquire, which makes it troublesome should some of you happen to start smiting mortals for no particular reason. If you want to smite me, you'll be in need of a new vessel. I have no qualms about removing your head." It was a nasty habit, Elisaveta wishing to make known how uninhibited she was about killing someone she was having a mere conversation with. But that way, there was less likely to be some sort of miscommunication.

<p>"I still want to know why you're out here," she huffed, glancing up and down the street for more inevitable threats lurking in the shadows. "Being some holy being does not give you a free pass to just walk around these streets without explanation. What's wrong with you? Why are you up so late? Why couldn't you have stayed in your home? I could have handled that without your assistance, you know. It was your fault in the first place, wandering around like a lost child. So, go on. Tell me. What are you doing out here? And also, I expect that you will not tell anyone what just happened tonight. Ever." After running out of commands and insults, the woman paused, finally letting the angel get a word in edgewise. Her brows raised, arms folding across her chest, looking already unimpressed with the explanation he was about to give.

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