Daemon would say he’s great at socializing… on his own terms. And his personality is really only for a select few. Just as plenty find Daemon to be unagreeable in several aspects, he finds most people just aren’t worth his time and attention. Daemon believes people should count themselves lucky to even be in his presence, and he won’t tolerate being underappreciated. Knowing his worth enables him to decide who he inserts himself with, and who he will respect. As well as who he’ll be less than friendly with.

If it weren’t for the moment, Daemon would have probably made a comment about Illiana’s evident exhaustion. She’d be better off if she played the pity card at the camp, because she hardly looked capable of handling herself should anything go south for her tonight. How she’s managed to get by for so long… Daemon didn’t know. But he also knew people who are generally small, nimbler, and avoid crowds tend to fare better. He was no burly man himself, but he was quicker, and more agile than many. Not to mention his endurance is terrifyingly amazing. But for someone lacking in brute strength and sheer force, he makes up for it everywhere else.

"I don't plan on making it a habit.” Daemon raised his brow in opposition of that statement. “You should plan on being open to it. The good die young, so I’ve heard. So steal from time to time, it’ll keep you alive longer.” He smiled, but this one possessed more of an impish glow. If anything, his family was living proof of that saying being true. His dad was the best person out of the entire family, and he went first. Daemon was confident his mother would still be breathing on the Earth well into her 90’s, she’ll probably make it to 110 just because she’s so damn evil. His sister too. And Daemon… well he isn’t exactly a ‘great’ guy. But he could be worse. So his outlook was decent in terms of living, in his opinion.

Shifting most of his weight onto his right leg, Daemon laxly scanned the surroundings of the place they were in. It’s in his nature to be observant, especially in places that were too quiet. Silence has always unnerved Daemon, it’s where he’s most uncomfortable. "Dankeschön.” His gaze was quick to land back onto Illiana, and he returned a half-nod. "I mean it. I know it seems silly to you but it means a lot to me. So thank you." For a few seconds he stared, before finally lowering his gaze briefly to the ground with a sigh. “You’re welcome.” He responded, his head rising again so he could meet her figure once more. It almost sounded painful for him to genuinely say that, but there aren’t many things he’s typically genuine about.

“Are you staying far from where we met?” He asked, raising a brow to accompany his inquisition. The sound of a more distant explosion earned Daemon to shift his attention that way, but the noise of catastrophe was a bit overdue. It sounded far enough for him to conclude that the action would more than likely not be coming his way, but he could never be too sure. Most of the time where the noise starts, it remains in that area. Usually. Regardless, he was on duty until midnight. From 12 in the afternoon to 12 in the morning is the shift he’s taken 6 days a week. Daemon very much always looked forward to his off day, even though he found it difficult to just relax and do nothing.

If it weren’t for his eyes catching his own movement in a barely intact shard of window attached to its battered building, he would have missed it. The rest of the window, just as with most he’s seen, was broken. But there was enough left for him to see most of himself. “You want a look at your reflection for the first time in years?” Daemon asked with a smirk as he glanced at Illiana. The soldier was quick though to turn to the other side of the street as he crossed, glancing both down both sides of the street before he reached his destination. With his hand, he carefully swept away -to the best of his ability- some of the dirt and debris that had been covering the window. It wasn’t the clearest, but it would work. The moonlight at least made it easier to get a decent judgment of a reflection, and satisfied with it, Daemon stepped to the side and faced Illiana.

Whether she wanted to view herself or not was up to her, but he provided a gateway to the opportunity. At least with her hair tied up it didn’t look as bad as when he first saw her. But her hair was probably the least of her problems and concerns. She certainly appeared a bit underfed, but if Illiana had looked as healthy as a soldier, it would have struck him as odd. He didn’t know how she would react to seeing her reflection, but he had already internally vowed to give her the opportunity. So here he was.

The night was rather peaceful, compared to other nights in the city. It could be that they were rather far from where most of the civilians were hiding. Most of them would be tucked away, preparing for the protestors and the forbidden uproar of hell the night would bring.

There were a few civilians like her but not very many. Most of the German citizens joined the war when they started losing their possessions. She had not. She had the opportunity to become a doctor on the German side but she didn't want to support the war. She thought all this fighting was rather ridiculous. Now she sort of regretted it. Within the years, she had started to figure out that war was inevitable.

"You should plan on being open to it. The good die young, so I’ve heard. So steal from time to time, it’ll keep you alive longer.”

Illiana's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at that statement. Was this American soldier really encouraging her to steal? His military friends wouldn't be very happy if they ever found out.She still didn't think she could steal again. Her palms were still sweaty from when she stole the loaf. She definitely wouldn't function well if she was ever questioned though.

She smiled at him saying you're welcome after she thanked him. Daemon might know how to function as a normal human after all. At least he had proper manners and responded appropriately to something for once. He definitely wasn't a bad soul, all someone had to do was push beyond the surface level.

"Are you staying far from where we met?"

She paused, thinking through his question. She still kept her eyes closed, just relaxing against the tree. Although she appeared to not be alert, her ears were still listening for the first sign of danger. She just felt comfortable enough around the soldier to take some strain off her eyes.

"Um I'm not sure. I thi-" She broke up and jumped a little at the sound of an explosion. Her heart fluttered in her chest but when she looked around, she didn't see anything. Muttering a soft German curse, she relaxed back against the tree but kept her eyes open,"I think it's a good few miles from the American camp that burned."

She had never measured the distance. She knew it was a longer walk, even a good 20 minute run. She wasn't sure if she had enough energy for that but the rest of the places around here was unsafe or belonged to somebody that would shoot her if they found her on the property.

"You want a look at your reflection for the first time in years?” The tone of his voice brought her sharp gaze upon him. He sounded excited about something. It took a few moments for his words to register and when they did, he was already racing across the street. Giving a sigh, she peeled herself off the tree and forced herself into a run after him. No way was she going to leave this soldier's side. Not at night in only a slightly familiar area.

"What is it, Daemon?" She panted when she reached him, taking a momen to catch her breath. Her words were heavily accented, mostly laid with exhaustion and slight curiosity. Before she had been trying to mask her heavy German accent around Lola. But with her current exaustion and comfortableness around the soldier, it had been forgotten.

She watched as he wiped away some dirt and debris and that's when she saw it. A window. Why would this soldier be so interested in a window?

She had to think a little bit harder for it to click. Windows shown reflections. He wanted her to see herself. But was she fully prepared to see what the war had done to her physically? Did she really want to see herself?

Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer to him where she could see it. Might as well get it done and over with. She also didn't want to waste time or energy coming over here for nothing. Once she stepped up, she could see something in the mirror.

It was a woman. She had tired brown eyes with dark circles. Pale skin that had a soft pink pigment to it. Lots of freckles-probably due to lots of sun damage. There were also some dark spots on her skin that took her a second to realize it was dirt. Everything was overwhelming, her eyes didn't know what to look at first. Then her gaze found her hair. It was frizzy, full of leaves and dirt. It looked matted and barely had any curl pattern left.

"Ach du Lieberman Gott," She whispered to herself, a hand moving to to her mouth. The phrase translated losely to 'oh my god'. A very fitting reaction to her current state. After a few minutes, she stepped away, running a hand through the end of her ponytail, picking out some of the dirt.

She couldn't believe that was actually her. It was no wonder why all the Americans were staring at her. She looked awful, so unlike her. She wouldn't even of recognized the image was her if Daemon hadn't been standing there.

Daemon could only supply a light shrug to her ever so slightly narrowed eyes. Sometimes what people don't know won't hurt them, and he wasn't preaching theft to the city. Just one person. Who he assumed could be intelligent and cunning enough to get away with just a bit more than bread. It's just the lying she'd have to work on. Daemon has seen many terrible liars, Illiana was among them now. Daemon though, is a wonderful liar. Has been his entire life. It was a quality he wasn't ashamed of -as if he could be ashamed of himself anyway- but he made careful with what he chose to lie about.

At the smile Illiana gave in response to his sincerity, he was half tempted to comment that it's not something she should expect again. Well for one, he doubted after tonight that they'd ever really be in each other's company. At best they'd catch glimpses of each other perhaps, but he wasn't expecting to see much of Illiana after this. Which almost saddened him… he found her insults rather amusing.

"Um I'm not sure. I thi-" Well, Daemon had been listening until the explosion. He noticed her movement out of the corner of his eye, but the fact that he did no more than turn hopefully expressed to her that there wasn't much concern. If he was worried, then she should be as well, because it's not easy to worry Daemon. But for right now, he didn't have much care about the distant disturbance. "I think it's a good few miles from the American camp that burned." Looking back to her, he nodded. Hopefully not a few miles in the direction of the explosion. That would be most unfortunate.

"What is it, Daemon?" Daemon had only glanced at Illiana with a slightly arched brow, but he said nothing before he turned back. One, the heavily layered accent had particularly caught his attention, but so did his name. Was that the first time she had said it? He was pretty sure, but he didn't say anything about it. It was weird for him to think about that he was the one with an accent to her, an American one. Meanwhile, she had the foreign accent to him. Actually, he was the foreigner here. Strange indeed for him to think about. He knew Germany was obviously not his homeland, and yet not until now as he ever thought of himself as foreign. Even though that's exactly what he and his other fellow Americans are.

Watching her rather intently, Daemon observed her step closer to him before she faced the window. For probably the first time, he wasn't gazing at his own reflection, but he moved his eyes to watch her own. Her expression, her stance, he observed it all. "Ach du Lieberman Gott." As her hand raised to her mouth, he inclined his head as he further, but still silently, spectated beside her. He was closer to her than he allowed her to get previously, but only because this distance was on his own terms.

When she stepped away is when Daemon had relented in his intense observation. "At least you're not ugly." He remarked, using his hand to gesture to her… entire self. "Dirty and tattered can be fixed. But ugly? That's for life." That was Daemon's version of a compliment, but he was being sincere. Beneath all of what covered her, and the state she was in, he could at least tell she was a decent looking woman. If he thought her hideous, he would have been harshly blunt about it.

"Detour aside, shall we proceed?" Daemon asked with a faint smile, sweeping his arm out towards the direction they had previously been walking. She looked more exhausted than earlier, so he assumed she would rather get the few miles or so she had to walk out of the way sooner than later. All he had to look forward to until midnight was standing around anyway, until he was back at the same boring spot tomorrow. It's why he had appreciated Illiana though, she had given him something to do… that didn't result in him getting bored enough to find ways to make his day interesting. Usually, boredom leads to trouble in Daemon's world. Mostly because of his mouth, but he's been doing alright for the past few weeks.

There are many, many things apparent in Daemon. Such as his ego, confidence, and the sense of superiority he walked with. And yet, anything even remotely relating to sincere kindness or basic human emotion was a difficult thing to see -or feel- in his presence. Even people he genuinely likes and cares about rarely receive an abundance of warmth, or at least what most people would consider warm behavior. Get to know him, and this will be a perfect summary of all that he is; Daemon is Daemon. It’s both that easy, and that complex to describe him.

"Well you aren't too bad looking yourself.” Now that definitely stroked his ego, which he expressed through the smirk that pulled at his lips. “We both know I’m the best looking guy you’ve ever seen. It’s a fact.” He winked, but most definitely, this would be something his comrades would have to deal with. As if his ego isn’t big enough, surprisingly it could still be boosted. And there were only a very small handful of ways to deflate his pride, but even then, there’s no striking an ego like his down completely. It’s long since festered into the make up of who he is, and without such a quality, he thinks he would be dull. And who wants to be dull? Besides, insecurity isn’t a great feeling either. Of all the things he can be shunned and ridiculed for, Daemon’s always had looks. An undeniable quality. So of course he found pride in his appearance, because he knew no one could tell him otherwise and be right.

It was one thing for Daemon to have abandoned his post to walk Illiana to the American camp and back, but even he wouldn’t push his luck by wandering a few miles away from his station. The reprimand he would receive would just be annoying, besides, it probably wouldn’t look good for him to walk her through places that were more heavily populated by other German civilians. There were practically none residing where he was posted because of the demolished state everything was in, but further into Berlin was where conflict usually arose for all people; civilians, German soldiers, and the Americans. It was much better than the actual front lines of the war, Daemon would admit that. Although now he was really waiting for the call to be sent back to them. It could be any day, it could be tomorrow morning. The only reason he was on these streets was because he and his unit were rotated out for now, just so there was a transition of duty going. No soldiers would be abundantly battle weary and unable to hold their lines if there was some kind of a system of a break after all. And patrolling near American camps was what the military considered an adequate break.

"We should. I still have a long way to go.” Returning a nod, Daemon glanced up to the sky when she did. He would be moonbathing at his post for a little while longer anyway, more than likely just listening to the action further away from him. Was it wrong to desire to be surrounded by chaos? A tinge of envy struck his chest, but how sick must he be to actually want misfortune. No, he thrived in dangerous settings and adrenaline rushing moments. He didn’t know why, but they gave him a sense of thrill that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to live without.

"Ready?" Daemon nodded, and almost reciprocated the smile until his eyes lowered to the hand she had outstretched to him. But to blow off his own intense thought process of trying to grasp what was meant by this seemingly simple action, he played on his more playful nature and took her hand. “You don’t need someone to hold your hand because you’re scared of the dark, do you?” Daemon teased with a raised brow and a smirk. It was more of a childish, and playful motivation to take her hand, but it was yet another thing he found humor in. “If anything, I’m the scariest thing in the dark you need to worry about right now. With me being a plus sized cow with weirdly short arms and all.” He remarked while beginning to step forward.

Daemon could certainly appreciate the things that come easy to him, whether it be women or fortune. Then again, who doesn't like easy? But it’s the things that challenge him that really spark his intrigue. While too many challenges that prove to go nowhere irritate him enough to no longer pursue, a challenge that he believes he can overcome, and one that comes with a reward is something he will relentlessly chase. It made sense to him as to why a lot of females would swoon over him, but it’s the few he finds to hold no apparent interest in him for no good reason that he grows curious of. And in such curiosity, he will work to have someone desire him, only to grow bored and fix his sights elsewhere when he’s achieved his success. It is a bit cruel, but it’s easier for him to keep his walls of mass ego up and shift his attention constantly to avoid actual closeness to others.

"I don't know...some of those drunk German soldiers by my location....they're so sexy..." A look of disbelief crossed Daemon’s face until he shook his head lightly with a chuckle. Yeah, the drunk German soldiers were so sexy. It was a sight that deserved disgusted scoffs at best. At least Daemon doesn’t drink to get drunk, but only to consume enough to force his body to relax versus staying tense. But the German soldiers were truly something else. Maybe a handful of the Americans were no better, but the majority weren’t so reckless and crude in behavior and drinking. Not even Daemon, and he is quite the character.

In truth, he took her hand more to play out a humor he found in the action. And he found his own action amusing as well. It was odd, as he probably can’t recall when he’s held another humans hand other than grabbing one to help pull someone up from the ground. Daemon was not a child that held his parents hands, and he’s never held a woman’s hand out of affection. He’s never really expressed genuine affection before either. Did he even know how? That was a question the soldier would not trifle his thoughts with, not for a long time. But holding Illiana’s hand was odd in its own right. As long as her palm didn’t start obsessively sweating though, he probably wouldn’t make any rude comments or toss her hand away. Probably.

Seeing he got a grin out of her though with his comment pridened him. She didn’t strike him as someone that found much to smile at, or at least in recent times. But it’s Daemon's specialty to get people to crack grins. Despite his annoying, and eye-roll worthy nature, eventually he wears just about everyone down eventually enough for them to smile at something he says. Most of the time what he does say that others find humorous is not intentional, it’s just his filterless mouth doing what it does best; spewing. It’s not like he limits his filterless nature to others though, as even when he’s by himself he finds himself muttering things under his breath.

"Oh I got to keep my short-armed fat cows close to me.” A raised brow of intrigue and a subtle smirk is what Daemon gave as Illiana leaned closer to whisper. "If I don't natural selection is going to get them." Giving a low chuckle, Daemon gave her hand a small squeeze as he replied. “So it’s your presence that protects me from being picked off from mother nature for being the freak I am? If so, you’re almost deserving of my thanks.” Relenting the added grip but still loosely holding her hand, a cocky grin worked its way onto his features. “Almost.” He reiterated, but Daemon was not one to typically use manners such as ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ very often. He found no point in manners and formalities unless he deemed someone greatly worth the effort of using them. Besides, she had just thanked him for the lousy bread he let her keep. Daemon couldn’t lose his savior edge with her, now could he? Of course not. He may or may not possess a small savior complex, but it’s better than a full blown god complex. Which quite frankly if he were to have such a thing, it would make him far more dangerous.

“Out of innocent curiosity, is that bread the only food you have to live off of right now?” If so, that’s sad. Miraculously he omitted the addition of his ruder thought, but it wouldn’t have been meant to be offensive. If that building hadn’t gone up in flames, would Illiana have been bold enough to try and steal more than that? The sounds in the distance grew rowdier, at least to Daemon, so naturally his gaze swept their surroundings before his stance made it clear he desired to push on with the walk. It had only just occurred to him how it would look to any passerby who witnessed the hand holding of an American soldier and this German woman. It would be an absurd sight for sure, and yet the sight would bring attention. And the attention seeking aspect of Daemon always subtly pined for attention; good or bad.

Difficulties in drawing in individuals has never been an issue in Daemon’s life, as he’s always possessed a unique kind of allure to him. Despite his less than desirable personality points, the soldier ropes more people into him then he repels. Of course, he likes to think his triple threat of looks, personality, and brains make him a god-tier individual. So while Daemon has all the talent in the world at attracting, it’s keeping people in his orbit he struggles with. But for good reason. Everyone wants ‘something serious’ in terms of a relationship with him eventually, and where’s the fun in that? It’s far too constricting for him to even think about honing in on one singular person, especially when there’s still so many fish in the sea he’s yet to catch and release.

"It's expensive, I don't get how they could waste away the night like that.” On this subject, Daemon could only answer from his own experiences and reasons on why he drinks. Drinking to just be drunk is rather distasteful to him, so once more, Daemon is just not partial to the German soldiers. “I would consider myself rich if I could waste as much money as they do on Jägermeister.” He only flicked a quick glance in Illiana’s direction at that statement, followed by a brief comment of his own. “I would consider myself stupid if I were to waste just as much money as they do on Jägermeister. That’s just because I have better taste compared to what they’re downing though.” Throwing in a light shrug, that was his way of throwing shade to the popular German drink. Personally, it was cheap and foul to Daemon’s palette, but it’s probably not worth mentioning how much he’s spent on singular bottles of harder liquors and wines for himself.

Daemon didn’t mind pointless conversation, as he considers most conversation abundantly pointless anyway. What’s really pointless is the war, and he was confident it wasn’t just him who held that opinion. Daemon couldn’t help but wonder whether the German soldiers enjoyed the war though. Their behaviors would suggest they’re thriving. Now, Daemon is a creature that thrives in chaos, so perhaps he’s a little hypocritical here. In all honesty, he wouldn’t even be contemplating about the German soldiers and whether or not they enjoy what they do if he were on the front lines right now. Because Daemon would be too busy getting drunk on the thrill of action.

The reciprocation of Illiana squeezing his hand wasn’t something Daemon expected, but he was relatively unbothered by it. Unless she started pulling or yanking his hand around, he could manage. “Aww you're cute when you say your almost thank yous.” Daemon wrinkled his nose at that, sending her a look of disgust. “I am not cute. That in itself is an insult to my entire character.” His expression briefly dissolved into a flicker of a smile to express his playfulness before he turned his eyes ahead of him, but what he said was genuine. Being called things like ‘cute, kind, nice’... those were things he found insulting.

His expression went neutral as Illiana narrowed her eyes and paused, to which Daemon put a cease to his steps as well. It wasn’t his intention to ask a question that was seemingly one she didn’t want to hear, but he was honest about it being an innocent inquiry. There was no ounce of meaning behind the question, other than it popping into his head, and so he asked. It’s probably one of the better questions he could ask, as already he’s had to put a bit of effort to restrain himself from asking questions he knew would be deemed upsetting or unseemly.

“They label me as Heimatlos Räuber which translates to homeless robber. I think you would say a thief perhaps. However, I don't steal. The only thing I have stolen is...well you know." Daemon didn’t take very long to process her whispered words, but he did take a moment before speaking. “What’s stopping you from stealing for yourself? If that’s the label you’re stuck with, I don’t see why you don’t just embrace it. If I were in your shoes, I’d pride myself in becoming the most renown homeless robber on the streets of Berlin.” And that was Daemon’s truth. It would require skill and cunning to be a good thief, and he is certainly guilty of having his hands in the fire when it comes to things like thieving. That was a long time ago, but if he really were in Illiana’s situation, he’d be a proud thief.

"Every ounce of food is given to your troops. People like me...we don't matter. We are just a nuisance and I am positive that the German soldiers would shoot me for sport if our population wasn't dying-if our city wasn't dying. I had the choice of being one of them, you know, but I know I could never prioritize a life over another." Daemon didn’t disagree about the German soldiers shooting their own citizens for sport, but he did raise a brow at her saying she had the choice of being one of them. She didn’t look anything close to being soldier material, but she said she couldn’t prioritize another life over another. And his thoughts circled back to the medical tent, where she basically treated all of her wounds herself. She had the option to be a medic.

“You alone will be the death of you,” he muttered, a mild seriousness setting into his features. “You can’t pick and choose who lives, you don’t steal as much as I’m sure you probably could… I just don’t understand if it’s a set of morals you carry that’s truly stopping you, or if you’re afraid to find out what you’re capable of doing and becoming as a person.” Daemon’s gaze studied her carefully for a second, as if his answer would come to him if he looked hard enough. Daemon knew he could kill without guilt, he knew he could prioritize lives, and he knew some people deserved to die, and others deserved to live. It’s a matter of circumstance that usually dictates whether Daemon will save or snuff a life though.