A chuckle from Illiana was not what Daemon had expected, but he took it in stride with his evident pride unwavering. It’s usually never his intent to quite get people to either laugh or scowl at his comments, or theatrical antics. He does it for himself, because that’s just who he is. Lacking most of a filter led to plenty of unintended offenses to spew from his mouth, but it also made for humorous lines to be spoken from time to time as well.

Relationships and Daemon have never quite mixed. There’s not been a single steady relationship he’s had, as the few he’d dabbled in turned dangerously toxic before a break up. Of course he’s had flings a plenty, but being strapped down with someone just didn’t sound appealing. It didn’t help Daemon’s never been considered ‘emotionally available’, which apparently most people found to be a necessity in a more personally intimate relationship. The expectations and silent standards in relationships are the primary reason Daemon prefers meaningless intimacies for a night before the exchange is over for good. Marriage was garbage to Daemon as well; a piece of paper binding two people for life? Sounds terrible. And children… Daemon does not have the patience for them. He hates kids with a passion. They’re gross, whiny, and require too much attention. So not once has he ever even considered settling down one day and going the family route, because that level of domestication just didn’t really fit who he was as a person.

While Daemon didn’t understand the pretense of a thorough examination for someone who wouldn’t even be here long, he knew enough to know it wouldn’t do Illiana much good anyway in the long run. Perspective wise, there was no point in trying to tend to the things that couldn’t be aided in the present in a timely manner. Obviously Illiana didn’t have many means -or funds- to continuously and properly tend to her every ailment. It’s the state Illiana was in physically to him that led him to make the judgment call that she wasn’t a threat. So a pat down or thorough questioning just didn’t seem necessary. She seemed adamant about wanting to get in and out of the medical tent anyway. Now if she had begun to ask multiple questions and inquired a lot about the all-American place… then he would have grown skeptical about her intentions. But Illiana didn’t seem to like Americans in the way that she just wanted to leave as soon as possible, so therefore, she didn’t seem to be of much concern.

Daemon wasn’t necessarily sure why he tends to tap in sequence, whether it be his fingers, his gun strap, tables, cups. If he’s in thought over something, or making a decision, he taps whatever he can. The soldier wouldn’t consider himself OCD, although he expresses a few of those tendencies associated with it. It’s never quite been brought to his conscious attention, it’s just been a subconscious display he’s made since his youth.

Daemon’s eyes stayed trained to his task at hand, which was wrapping Illiana’s wrist. That meant he wasn’t too focused on her body language or facial cues at the moment, but he said what he felt he needed to when it came to tending to her. The soldier was focused, his face reflected that, but he did briefly glance up to her as she began to speak. "I've been injured quite a bit. This time...is one of the milder times. You have nothing to fear.” A faint grin of what could be perceived as sarcastic gratitude was what he gave in response, before down casting his gaze back to her wrist. Was it worth asking how extreme of injuries she’s endured? Amid this war, he’d bet she’s experienced quite a few. "I always end up at the wrong place at the wrong time." Daemon gave a snort, but because he understood that statement. “You’re not alone there.” He muttered under his breath. Daemon knew very well that his luck exceeded many people’s, but that did not make him exempt from shitty moments.

Daemon was mindful of her reactions during his wrapping, but he didn’t relent in his task until he was finished. Silently he spectated her routine with her other wrist, his gaze only briefly moving to Lola; who no longer seemed to care about either of them for the meantime. And the other guy, who was quiet and busy enough in the back for Daemon to have momentarily forgotten his existence. When his blue eyes moved back to Illiana, it was to take the wrap and wait for her to extend her wrist. At least she wasn’t whining, Daemon has seen too many females whine and cry obsessively over lesser wounds than Illiana’s. So that made her easier to work with overall. As much as he had been enjoying pushing Illiana’s buttons -which he wasn’t above continuing- she was at least tolerable to the egoist.

"How long have you been in the field?" Daemon paused in his wrapping to glance up at her, seeing her expression though, he assumed this was a way for her to channel her focus onto something other than the pain she was experiencing. He doubted she genuinely cared, which he didn’t mind, but he’d play along. "I apologize if that's something you can't share with me. You look about my age, that's all." Continuing with her wrist, Daemon had a subtle smile. “I can’t get into dirty details, but I can say this is my sixth year of service. I started with the Marines, had two deployments that lasted for a little while, and now I’m on loan to the Army due to the war. My temp transfer expires in a few months, but we’ll see if I manage to get back to the states or not when it does.” Daemon said in a lower tone, explaining as much as he was allowed to, especially with other ears in the vicinity.

“I’m 24, by the way. You look about 22, 23 maybe. 26 at the absolute most.” Daemon commented before his eyes moved back down to the wrist he had just finished wrapping. The soldier withdrew his hands and placed them on his knees, observing her face for a moment to see if his comment had been well based. But beneath the obvious weariness, and pain she was currently experiencing, he could see she was around his own age. He’s always been a good estimator, but lately he’s seen many German individuals that look much older than they probably are. Stress will do that to a person, Daemon assumed. As would the many other things people are experiencing in the war.

If Lola hadn’t been at the very least sure of Daemon's ability to properly wrap a part of an appendage, then she would have intervened. Burned wrists were probably one of the most mild of wounds he’s worked with, and even though it wasn’t a high pressure scenario, he treated it with the same fast but efficient diligence instilled into him. It wasn’t just the basic medical that had been so fiercely placed into him, but the overall drive of a soldier since a very young age has been there. Daemon’s always known what he wanted to be since he was 5 years old. Running around in camo clothes, clunky boots, and water guns as he ‘defended’ his home from atrocious -but invisible, make believe- enemies. He was never the kid afraid of the dark, or scared about a monster under his bed. Daemon was the kid that would charge head first down creepy, dark basement stairs to retrieve whatever his father tasked him to fetch.

Daemon was born with a lionheart, and he’s always been sure about what he wants out of life. And what he wants, he takes. He’s bold; does exactly what people say he can’t -or shouldn’t. Perhaps he’s a bit more reckless with his life because of his ego, but it’s gotten him this far. It’s these stronger willed personality points that also enable Daemon to walk around as if he were 6”5. It certainly doesn’t always make him an easy individual to be around all of the time, because his stubborn ass refuses to acknowledge when he’s wrong, and insists on doing things his own way. Then again, his decisions and actions are usually calculated enough to be successful. Regardless of how dangerous, seemingly stupid, and utterly reckless they can be.

Injuries were like talking about music to Daemon; it was a lax topic. He may not have the largest of marks littering his body, but he’s experienced many injuries over the entire course of his life. Most minor, a handful faring over mild, and probably only two that could be considered ‘severe’. Well, those two worse moments in terms of injury definitely sucked at the time, but now it’s something Daemon can laugh at. Maybe even brag about, because one in particular hailed him a hero to his squad. And that had definitely boosted the Specialists ego.

Whether his terminology made sense, or whether she completely understood what he meant was something Daemon didn’t ponder. He still would have answered the same. The soldier does enjoy talking about himself after all, there are just some things that are frowned upon to discuss with any kind of civilian. Let alone a foreign one. But he was certainly not short of being proud of himself in general, his accomplishments, and where he stands in life right now. The kid from Cali definitely had a rockier, coveted personal life to start off with. But he substituted misfortunes by seeking fortune with what he had, and sometimes in places he shouldn’t have. But Daemon had only one regret in life, but it was one that was out of his control.

Taking her nod as a sign he nailed her age, Daemon smiled to himself as she verbally confirmed. "23, I think. It's hard to keep track." She thinks? Daemon’s brows furrowed in the slightest, but he didn’t see how someone wouldn’t labor over wanting to keep track of a day that celebrates them. As a narcissist though, his birthday is his favorite holiday. Which happened to be New Year’s Day, so celebrating his special day was something Daemon always had fun with. He supposed the days might just blur together for someone like Illiana right now though. "I've always wanted to go to the United States.” It didn’t go unnoticed that she spoke in a quieter, softer tone. Which held his attention. “After and during school, I spent time learning and speaking English fluently. I had everything ready to go when the country closed it's borders and travels down. I wanted to study medicine.” It made sense why she spoke English so well now to him.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way. I doubt you’ll be getting much of what you want anytime soon, but if you want something bad enough, then you’ll find a way to get it. I know from experience.” Daemon winked with a confident smile, but he full-heartedly believed that. Being relentlessly ambitious though meant he’s never settled for less than what he wants, so therefore he’s always found a way to get exactly what he desires. And more. If Daemon had to break that down into a science, he’d say it would depend on perspective as well. Daemon believed he deserved what he wanted just the same, and belief is a powerful thing when it’s channeled into the right thing.

“But you know, I'm not sure if that me and this me are the same person." The seriousness he felt in the moment, just from judging from Illiana’s energy and her way of expressing herself had made Daemon internally uneasy. He’s never exactly been good at handling sensitive or even semi-serious or hearty conversation. So naturally, he responded the best way he knew how; through humor. “Well obviously you now and you then aren’t the same person. Unless you made it a habit before the war to still run around in frumpy clothes, and unwashed, tangled hair.” The more teasing smirk on his face at least expressed that he didn’t mean for that comment to be offensive.

Rising to his feet and backing away just before Illiana got to her feet, he rocked up on his heels to stretch his legs from holding his previous crouching position. While he lowered, his gaze caught the fear that flashed in Illiana’s eyes. For a brief second he wasn’t sure what could have rattled her, but he deduced it was the impending setting of the sun. What occurs at night doesn’t bother Daemon personally too much, but even a moron could take a guess at why it would be nerve wracking for a civilian. While she sprayed the rest of her burns, Daemon allowed his gaze to travel the space of the tent in wait.

"Did I get every one?" Fixing his sights back on Illiana, Daemon instinctively already began to move his gaze over her, despite her evident awkwardness with her arms crossing over her chest. Signaling with his finger for her to spin so he could see more than just the front, he tipped his head faintly to the side to gauge any other visible burns. “It looks like your clothes took most of the heat -pun intended.” He smirked, releasing his close observance of her. “From what I can see, you’re good.” He added with a light shrug, but he wasn’t going to encroach on her space to ‘thoroughly examine’, that would be uncomfortable for the both of them.

“If you think you’re done here, I’ll walk you out.” Daemon said, switching his gaze from Illiana to Lola, with the medic only looking in their direction for a moment, and ultimately moving her eyes back to the computer in front of her. With no opposition from the medic, Daemon looked back to Illiana. He assumed she wanted out sooner rather than later, but he took his time reaching for his gun again and slinging the strap back over his shoulder. He had every intention to at least walk her back to where he had found her at his post, since he was still technically on duty for a little while longer.

Daemon would probably -hopefully- never have to experience seeing his own home state, and nation, trifled and ruined by a war on its soil. The occasional unruly protests were one thing, but consistent war where he lives would piss him off. Protecting and serving is exactly what he would still do though, regardless of where he is. American assets and ultimately his homeland is what he defends. The U.S. Embassy in Berlin was the first thing the American soldiers took precedence over when arriving in Germany, now it's fairly abandoned. It did bother Daemon that something that belonged to his own nation was left to be defiled, plenty of individuals have scribbled their slanders and protests about Americans -and just the war in general- in Germany, but there was nothing valuable left to defend.

Outside of what Daemon does now, he couldn’t say he had a concrete life outside of the military. He definitely has the funds to at least start a comfortable life wherever he wishes, but what would he do if he were to start living domestically? Climbing ranks and being in action was where he found a lot of thrill in life. Doing mundane things like working the 9 to 5, it just didn’t sit well with Daemon. He valued his life the way it was now, and the course it was taking. And his love for what he does would never waver.

It would sound awful to the normal ear, but Daemon could only hope something absolutely terrible and tragic happened to his mother. Just so she can call him, and he can laugh at her. He couldn’t wait to show up to her funeral one day, spit on her grave, and go back to work. He felt the exact same way for his little sister. Conniving bitches is what they are, only out to reap off of the misfortune and misery of everyone else. Perhaps it's where Daemon first learned to enjoy inflicting hurt onto others, but only because he had been used to receiving it. His father was similar to Daemon; enjoyed being on active duty elsewhere, so he wasn’t always present. Daemon never resented his father from the extended times away though, and Daemon never did complain or whine about the less than nurturing treatment he had been dealt from his mother. But it just wasn’t a soldier's place to bitch about misfortunes, Daemon had learned that at a young age.

He is not exactly a motivational speaker, nor someone whose advice should always be followed. He shared what he believes works best for him, but fails to acknowledge that his way may not always work for others. Sometimes it was a bit surprising though; the various types of wisdom he spews from a lifetime of accumulating different experiences. And other times, he definitely gets the ‘are you insane?!’ look. It’s really fifty-fifty when it comes to what he may say.

Daemon took Illiana’s chuckle and slight shake of the head as the sign that she did in fact not parade around like a dirty homeless woman before the war. He certainly prided himself on cleanliness and hygiene, but why wouldn’t he dedicate special time to upkeep himself? Daemon was pretty enough to deserve often upkeep. The only thing that ever fought him was his hair, but it didn’t need much work to maintain its own stylish, untamed pizzazz. Slicking it back only works for so many hours before it becomes disobedient, but he likes the challenge his hair presents him.

"Is it really that bad? I haven't seen my reflection in years.” Daemon didn’t mean to blink in a way that said ‘you seriously want my honesty?’, but that’s definitely how his expression came across. “One; yeah, it’s in pretty gnarly condition. Your hair is the epitome of every hairdresser's worst nightmare, and I’m saying that in the nicest way possible.” Daemon iterated, because he certainly could have been less delicate. “Two; that is the saddest thing I’ve heard in a while. Everyone deserves to see their reflection, horrid or not, but everyone should be acquainted with their reflection.” Coming from someone who likes to check themselves out on a daily though, she just spoke sin to him. His eyes even briefly traveled around the tent to find a visible mirror, but to his dismay there wasn’t one. So now he had a new mission; before dumping Illiana, this woman was going to be seeing her damn reflection in whatever he could find before getting back to his post.

The various marks on Illiana that his eyes had loosely traveled over was something he didn’t allow his gaze to linger on, nor would he inquire about them all. It was difficult on the streets, even he knew that as a spectator. Besides, he never did know which scars carried memories some people would rather forget. So while he could talk all day about his own, Daemon was respectful enough to not push for others to do the same… it was one of the few things Daemon wouldn’t push an individual to share.

"Dankeschön.” The medic looked up from her computer upon hearing that, her eyes training on Illiana before she gave a thin smile. “Thank you.” Lola added a nod of her head, before lowering her gaze down once more. Unsurprisingly, Daemon gave a dramatic scoff as he stepped out to lead the way. “All she did was sit still and look pretty, which for the record, I could do a better job of any day.” He affirmed quite seriously, but it’s probably the fact that he was so serious about being better at sitting still and looking pretty that probably made it more humorous than he intended. Would he debate the subject though? Absolutely. Flicking his gaze to the other American soldiers that began glancing in their direction, Daemon would offer a subtle nod when necessary. Mostly to communicate that who he had in his company wasn’t a troublesome individual. But still, now he was sure he might get pressed later as to why he of all people chose to deliver some German girl to the medic tent. But the answer was simple; Daemon wanted a reason to stretch his legs beyond his corner post. And Daemon using other people as a means to benefit him was… well, it was a very Daemon thing to do.

Keeping his voice purposely low for his next vocalization, he spoke so only she could hear him. “What exactly were you doing in that building earlier?” He asked, not in a demanding tone, but of genuine curiosity. Daemon hasn’t let it go since she mentioned it earlier in the tent, and he bit his tongue long enough. They may still be around other Americans for the better half a few minutes during the walk, but he could only hold back so many thoughts and questions before he can’t really hold them back anymore.

Arched eyebrows from Illiana aside, Daemon stood by what he said. While he does fare into being more deceptive and lying when it comes with specific benefits, he was fairly blunt more often than not. When it comes to reflections though, Daemon found a source and semi-sense of identity resided within them. Sometimes it’s worth looking yourself in the eyes, and seeing if there’s a person you’re worth being proud of reflecting back at you. Or at least it was that way for Daemon. No one had been more of a friend to Daemon than his own reflection. He was his own hype man, he was proud of everything he was, and he was proud of who he saw looking back at him. Not just in terms of looks -but boy does he fancy himself- but for who he’s become as a man, too.

It made no sense to Daemon why people wouldn’t take advantage of certain things. He despised pity just as much as most people, but if it benefited himself in a certain way, he had no shame in playing whatever card he had to. Generally, the most he can do is tone down his snarky nature and turn up his ability to charm. Whether it be charming individuals by being the exact kind of person they wanted to see out of him, or if he played the role of a flirt to get what he wanted from a female. There was no remorse he had in manipulating or using people as tools, and nobody usually came away angry. Because a good manipulator is one that gets in and out before anyone even notices they’ve been played. And by the time they do notice? Daemon’s long gone. So he’s careful with who he uses, but it is a ritualistic habit.

"She's probably still offended that I didn't allow her to evade my privacy and you sort of did her job for her too." Daemon tsked his tongue in response. “I didn’t do her job. Remember? I'm not qualified. I simply performed basic assistance to an individual that did not consent to being handled by the on staff medical technician.” He countered, which was a prettier way of saying he totally pissed Lola off by stepping in. But if he had to spin that to his superiors? It was legitimate enough for him to just barely skirt out of discipline. "You shouldn't speak to people like that. Around here, it can get you in major trouble." Daemon did send a raised brow and a faint smirk Illiana’s way, but only because he knew very well what she said wouldn’t affect his behavior.

“I’ve been around here long enough to know what kind of trouble I can keep up with, and I’m doing just fine so far. And if my mouth does land me in a tight spot, it’ll be far more enthralling than standing and staring on a street corner anyway.” Daemon rebutted, but he was fairly good at weaseling his way out of serious trouble in all aspects of his life. It’s not like he really spoke to many Germans either, soldiers or non, he simply let them be. And they did the same with him. For now, anyway. But Daemon could never promise that a comment wouldn’t slip out in the direction of any German soldier or citizen that really irked him. But he’d cross that bridge when he gets there.

As she jogged up closer, his eyes only briefly judged the distance she chose to keep beside him, but that proved to him she was being consciously mindful of his space. He definitely barked when she invaded it once, but at least the message was received. And in turn, it allowed him to be far less hostile than he could have been. And he supposed his fellow soldiers would know if he was specifically irritated with someone as well, because it would show through his demeanor and overall behavior. So the nods were a silent affirmation that he, in fact, had everything handled.

As soon as Illiana came to an abrupt halt, Daemon did as well as he half-turned to face her while furrowing his brows. Her reaction to the question was one that, to anyone, did not seem good. It concerned him more than he’d admit, but only because if she committed a serious offense and he overlooked that, well he’ll get more than a slap on the wrist for sure. She couldn’t have set the fire… maybe… but did she have something to do with it? She lowered her head as if she had done something truly terrible, so what? Murder? If it was self defense, Daemon could understand and look the other way at. But what did she get herself into?

"I-I-I-” By the time she finished stuttering, Daemon gestured with his head forward to signal for her to keep moving before this drew the attention of other soldiers. “I think we should keep moving, now.” He said in the same lowered tone, but this one carried authority to it. Even if she had tried to lie, Daemon’s intense icy stares when he locks eyes with people tends to pull the truth out regardless. Or at least he’s able to know when he’s being lied to. “Just answer me yes or no on this; were you responsible for the fire, or for any lives being lost?” Daemon asked, because the answer to that question would determine how he chose to act. Serious offenses were the only thing Daemon was concerned about, but he was also more… open minded than most people.

Such as, he definitely believed some people deserved to die, or be killed. Especially some of the gang members and soldiers he’s heard stories about… taking advantage of women in the worst way. If Daemon were to ever witness such a vile act himself, hell yeah he’d step in and kill anyone he had to. Regardless of the price he would be paying. Daemon wasn’t exactly someone who stuck firmly “to the book” either, but only because the world does not play by the book. Rules can be bent, morals flex, and some crimes should be committed. As long as Daemon can find a pretense of justice behind crueler acts, then he can condone it.

Daemon honestly expected a simple answer to follow his simple inquiry. And now, he himself was questioning his actions that led to here. Props to Illiana though, because it takes a hell of a lot for Daemon to question himself. Which consequently, irritated him though. However, he did not let that show, not where he knew his fellow soldiers would be able to decipher that. Usually his judgment calls are always so spot on, but how far off was his judgment of Illiana? Daemon wasn’t sure he wanted to know. At best he felt wronged, but only to deflect from the fact that he was very much the fuck up in this situation.

While he didn’t know what she did, he knew the way she had acted in the middle of the camp was enough for her to raise some eyebrows. She just looked guilty, and guilt was a weakness. That’s the difference between citizens and soldiers; they acted like prey, he was a trained predator. Soldiers were trained to look for weakness, for faults, and Illiana had just displayed such blatant, weaker behavior. He knew he was to be considered a shark among minnows, but a minnow that acts like a minnow is one that doesn’t last long. At least when he turned to start walking again, she was following. And as tempting as it was to snap at her to pick up the pace, that would have roused even more eyes to turn their way.

Keeping his eyes glued to the sights in front of him, Daemon waited for her response to his question. "Do you honestly think I'm capable of such evil?" If he hadn’t already been straining his hearing to hear any kind of comment, he knew very well he would have missed that. Honestly, no, Daemon did not think Illiana was capable of that kind of evil. But he did believe in people committing what they believed to be necessary evils. He was also sure at one time in history that there were soldiers who didn’t expect the children they were accepting with open arms to be strapped down with bombs… so look where assumption got them. A very brief flash of anger danced through his eyes, but at least he was facing forward, as it was only meant to express how upset he was with himself. ‘Protocol is there for a reason’, but he was cocky. It’s never been a problem until now, but was that luck, or good judgment calls that have gotten him through?

"No. But they'll say I did-the German soldiers. As soon as you tell them I was in there, they'll punish me without a question." That he didn’t doubt, no offense to the Germans, but most of their soldiers were bigger pricks than he was. “I don’t report to German soldiers.” Daemon replied coolly. But he really didn’t. That's what his superiors were for. If there was an issue involving German citizens that would require the German military, he was ordered to report through a chain of command. He reports to his Sergeant, and the Sergeant reports to the Colonel, and they handle conversational affairs with the German militants. It was most likely set up that way to avoid tiffs between American and German foot soldiers, but Daemon was not expected to communicate with any German soldier directly. They weren’t his superiors, and he didn’t treat them as such. Simply, Daemon avoided and ignored them when possible.

Flicking his gaze between faces until they exited the camp, Daemon stopped to face Illiana, watching as she leaned against the tree. His finger had been furiously tapping his strap for some time now, but he was very much in thought as his gaze bore onto the German woman now. "I, um, well, you see…” Daemon’s gaze moved down to where she had reached into her coat, and naturally he tensed and took on a defensive position. Never has he been met with anything good when a civilian reaches into their pockets since he’s gotten to Germany, and a show of mistrust crossed his face as his hand gripped his gun, but he did not point it at her. Once his eyes adjusted to what she actually pulled out though… defense and mistrust shifted to confusion, his hands leaving the gun and its strap as he caught the bread. "Here." It was… bread. Bread?

From the slightly burned plastic, to the flags, it was then he was able to understand. She stole bread. Bread. Daemon started to laugh, quietly, but he couldn’t help it. Giving a faint shake of his head, he held the bread out as his eyes met Illiana’s figure. “Are you fucking kidding me? A loaf of god damn bread?” Daemon tossed it back, his hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I literally felt my blood pressure rising back there, and all for what? Fucking bread.” It was just as irritating as it was humorous to Daemon. Bread! He was half certain she had actually done something worth getting shunned for, by him anyway. Lowering his hand from his face, he relented a small sigh. “Personally, I don’t give two shits about the bread. Hide it, obviously. But seriously? Next time borrow something worth being really afraid over. Like alcohol, or expensive jewelry.”

Daemon lowered his gaze and muttered, “bread”, whilst shaking his head once more. He was almost disappointed, mostly because that was all she had apparently taken. It was bread, to live off of. That’s why he didn’t slander the action as ‘stealing’. In this scenario, it was long term ‘borrowing’ to Daemon. Now if she had been after alcohol, he would have been pissed. It’s the one substance almost every American soldier looked forward to indulging in on their down time -including him-, and that is not something to mess with. But bread? God, nobody would even notice it was missing. A few heavier set guys might have noticed a decline in something like Doritos or Twinkies, but there were no obsessive bread lovers. It was great for sandwiches, and to eat on the fly, but no one would notice a loaf missing. Especially with the building being burned down now. Did she really think he would have cared? Had he behaved like a guy that would have thrown a fit over bread? As long as she was smart enough to not get caught by her own people, then why the hell would he care?