The early morning sun had begun to streak ribbons of light across the damp streets of Kreah, reflecting off of the small puddles of water to create soft glittering flashes. Few lined the streets, a couple staggering back home after a night out in the gambling halls, a child scampering back into the shadows after he had lifted a pocket watch from a man's pocket. A typical start to a typical day on the offshore city.

It was no different for Sorren as he padded down the cobbled stones that ran alongside the central canal, his feet creating small splashes in the pockets of water dotted across the ground. Behind him, his tail coiled and flicked abruptly, constantly in motion. A betrayal of his irritation.

He had received a notification from the Thespen household to appear before them the previous night, he knew what that meant. They were going to dish out some awful task for him to complete and in return they wouldn't kill him. How considerate.

A feather light sound to his left made Sorren crane his head over in that direction, peering down the narrow path that snaked between two towering housing blocks was still blotted out by shadows. His eyes were heavy lidded and dismissive as Sorren focused on the darkness, one benefit to his cursed body was the gift of night vision, however it only seemed to be used for nefarious acts nowadays.

A cloaked man was plastering something up onto the walls in the alley, smacking adhesive over it aggressively before stomping a few meters away and repeating the action.

Sorren rerouted his walk and stepped into the shadows, peering towards the nearest paper, eyebrows squashed down as he read the words. In bold, thick lettering 'WANTED DEAD or ALIVE'. Beneath it was a shimmering image, magical in nature and used to capture a creature's likeness for identification purposes. It wasn't surprising to see his own face staring back at him, a smug lift to his lip despite the cruel description of his character below.

Another one. This one was from the Cazador family, not surprising. Every so often Cazador would take down the old posters in favour for newer, more harshly worded calls for Sorren's head to be struck from his neck. Each time, the reward amount was inflated. This is what made Sorren's eyes widen and a nervous shock to run down his spine and cause a sharp snap of his tail towards the ground.

It was absurdly high, he had never seen a value like this be listed for a bounty. It was extortionate.

JB had the delight of spending a good portion of the night before wrestling a fussy child into bed. After what felt like no sleep at all, he now had to deal with the hellish task of waking up to get ready for work and somehow not wake her as well.

The first early morning rays shone through the smallest slit in the heavy curtains of his windows, causing the demon to groan and run a hand through his messy hair. He was so, so tempted to sleep for five more minutes, but five minutes would become ten, then thirty, and then probably the better part of the day, and he'd already thinned out most of the savings from his last job. Alright, up and at 'em.

He slipped off the nest of a bed, grimacing slightly as his hooves hit the floor. Damnit. He froze, waiting with bated breath to see if that had been enough to wake up his daughter. No? No. Oh, thank goodness. He quickly, and as quietly as humanly possible- demonly possible? JB possible- got himself ready for the day. Glamour, work boots and gloves, weapon, and a small bit of money. Should be all he needed.

There was a soft shuffle from the other room. He hesitated before peeking his head into the actual bedroom, a little pile of blankets softly snoring with a heart-tipped tail peeking out. Still fast asleep. Good. She'd be fine, he'd have someone check on her.

He left the small house, making his way towards what were usually the busier city streets. His nose crinkled up at the gloomy atmosphere, which was normal for Kreah. Just... annoying. At least it was quiet. Not many people are out at this ungodly time of day. There were only a few stragglers, most likely still out and about from the night before, and the unfortunate souls who did have to get up early for work. Like him. Yay. Might as well get on with it.

JB made his way over to the walls lined with posters, some faded and peeling, some fresh, and some plastered on just about every place possible. Those were usually the good ones. Hell, if you had the kind of money to waste plastering a poster on just about every other building, you could afford a damn good bounty pay out.

He let out a low whistle as he saw a new poster, eyes widening.

"I'll be damned,"

That was quite the hefty sum. He quickly pulled the bounty off the wall, taking a closer look before pocketing it for himself. He was certain he'd seen this one before, and by another family last time. Seems nobody had caught the bastard yet. At least it meant he knew who his next mark was going to be.

JB continued down the street, trying to avoid stepping in puddles as he walked by. He scanned over the other posters and the people walking by as he did so. It could never hurt to keep your eyes on other opportunities. And with an ambitious reward like that? There would be plenty of competition.

There was a small scuffle to his right that drew Sorren’s gaze aware from the mirrored image on the poster. The cloaked man had dropped something and was moving to pick it up from the grimy stones, but he gave a glance towards the towering figure at the end of the alley way and froze. Hand outstretched, fingers prepared to clasp the small flask he had dropped from his pocket.

For a brief moment, the pair looked at each other in silence, halted in time. Sorren knew what he looked like to these people, eyes that reflected the dimmest of light during the darkest hours, spined spin, clawed hands tipped with the sharpest points, all of that standing so far above them. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

He knew of other creatures like him, cursed with their heritage and forced to battle out a living any way they could. Sorren seemed to have gotten the shortest end of the stick in all regards when it came to his genetics. There was barely a piece of him that didn’t look demonic in nature, to most, he appeared to be a cocky demon stalking the streets without even attempting to blend in. It earned him many an insult and threat whilst simply trying to walk home.

The silence was broken when the man leaned up, leaving the silver flask at his feet, abandoned. A mumble of breath before he twisted on the spot and began his hasty walk away from Sorren, deeper into the darkness of the alley. Finally, the tip of his cloak tail vanished around a bend and Sorren was left beside his poster alone.

The sounds of the streets were growing gradually behind him, more footsteps and jostling of workers as they hurried to prepare for their opening times, mothers scolding unruly children on their way to the run-down school house. The city was in constant movement, there was always someone awake and someone galavanting around at all hours. Day and night you could hear the hearty laughter of drunkards as they sang their merry lilts of song, arm in arm as they sauntered down the roads.

He needed to get back home, which wasn’t appealing at all. The Late Moon was not a particularly luxurious establishment, Sorren detested the thick layer of sticky gunk that coated the wooden floors, the way that there were always cobwebs no matter how often the owner cleaned. It was a place for the less fortunate to gather, but that never meant that it was safe from prying eyes. If someone wanted information, these inns were usually the place to find them. Many Marked haunted the smallest taverns in hopes of drinking their contract away, to dream in their drunken stupor that they never made the deal and lived free lives.

Yet, Sorren walked up to that bolted door and pushed it open, having to fold himself in half to make it through the door comfortably. It was as though the night had never ended, crowds of people gathered around small tables as cards were dealt out, mugs of ale were in an endless stream of being poured and handed out.

The soft glow of candles illuminated the interior, cast long shadows across the peeling wallpaper. It caught on the golden metal that adorned most of Sorren's appendages, cast a warm hue over the silken clothing that hung from his frame and made his black hair almost seem brunette when it caught the light just right.

No one turned to look at him as he pushed his way through the bar, heading for the slender staircase in the back corner. Despite the finery that draped every inch of Sorren’s body, despite the perfume around his collarbones cutting through the mildew scent of the building, no one turned to look at him.

Sorren’s tail curled around his calf in an attempt to avoid it being trampled as he closed in on the bar. A hand dipped deftly into his pocket and produced a handful of coins which he deposited on the island beneath the racks of wine. It didn’t take long for the woman behind the bar to scoop them up and call out to him, but her eyes never left the men and women she was serving.

“You didn’t come home last night, you’re not bringin’ any trouble back ‘ere are ya?” Sophie was the bar owner, a bawdy woman with a loud, joyous laugh that commanded the room. Tight blond curls were always snatched back into a bun at the back of her head, an apron strapped to her waist.

Sorren didn’t mind her, she was polite enough and didn’t ask too many questions.

“Of course not, ma’am.” But this morning, he was not in the mood to tease and taunt his usual comments back to Sophie. He had to prepare for tonight. Thespen never did give him ample time to prepare for these missions, another little way he played with his Marked.