~Daemon Ulrich~

“Where’s your sympathy for the devil?”

Full Name:

Daemon Avel Ulrich

{Daemon–Spirit Guide}

{Avel–A Breath}

{Ulrich–Fortune and Power}

Nickname(s):

Dae

Cali (Military comrades)

Age:

24

Gender:

Male

Sexuality:

Heterosexual

Place of Birth:

Santa Cruz, California

Rank:

Army Specialist

Desired Rank:

Marine Gunnery Sergeant

“Of course your opinion matters, just not to me.”

Appearance:

Predatory in stature yet undoubtedly pretty is Daemon. Fronting with a face in the shape of a diamond, his cheekbones still reign higher in a more defined fashion, while his jawline is just short of severe. Running further down, Daemon’s chin narrows softly into a fine but not rigidly sharp point. It’s a face that is completely clean shaven, and he keeps it this way at all times. Daemon’s eyes fall into the realm of eerily enchanting with the startling icy blue hue that make up the primary coloration. A multitude of various darker aquas and sea blue fleck around his irises as well. Framed by a thinner but dark and curled set of lashes, his eye type is best described as hooded. Daemon’s icy orbs aren’t always expressive in emotion unless he wants them to be, but when he consciously channels emotion through them, it makes his intentions fairly easy to read. Above are his eyebrows that are thinner yet possess a defined ending arch. Unlike his eyes, his brows tend to be fairly expressive whether he likes it that way or not. Daemon’s nose is best described as aquiline -average-; having that of a straight slope and base. In addition, the lips that form his multitude of smiles, smirks, and grimaces are that of a soft shade of nude -with a faint blush pink undertone.

Daemon’s hair certainly has more of a rugged, untamed beauty to it. With his shade of lockes primarily being that of a darker chocolate, it also possesses a few warmer honey brunette highlights. Shorter is his hair, but tapering down to the nape of his neck and both behind and barely over his ears these hairs handsomely thin, though that untamed suave is still vastly evident. A few wispier strands may curtain the sides of his forehead, though none are typically responsible for impairing his vision. While it’s lacking in frizz, as well as any semblance of “poof”, evidently his hair holds much natural volume to it. Not to mention shine, so his naturally wild style is still something that has an elegant appearance.

When it comes to build, Daemon’s is that of a more proportional rectangular type figure. His shoulders are certainly not the broadest, but they square near evenly with his hips that are straighter versus narrowing at all. At a height of a shorter 5”11, the more athletic and nimbly built figure he holds is easy to see. Toning is something that lines most of his body including his upper arms, core, and even thighs. The parts of his body that do without a complimentary show of light muscle are thinner, but not frail in appearance. Overall his skin tone can be regarded as fairing on the better side of ivory, though he does possess a touch of subtly warmer olive undertones. As for marks littering his body, the young man has a few that are a bit noticeable. A bullet wound scar in his upper left shoulder is the most prominent, but he has several faded scars littering his body in various places. Better than scars, Daemon has quite a few complimentary tattoos. On the back of his neck is a crown with raven wings attached, a left arm sleeve tattoo consisting of a dragon and a human skull, and two unfortunate -yet mildly humorous- drunkenly received tattoos with one on his lower back, and the other on his right calf.

Daemon’s voice is on the slightly deeper end of the vocal spectrum, but it’s not actually that heavy. Perhaps a little huskier at times, especially when he’s in an authoritarian setting, but otherwise it’s rather light and always easy on the ears. It does have a softer side to it, but overall his voice conveys a subtle discontent with a dominant tone of pride and a hint of constant sarcasm as well as mockery.

“I may be a bad influence, but damn if I’m not fun.”

Personality:

When it comes to Daemon, there are quite a few qualities one may envision. The most prominent aspect of his personality being his pride and mild, but not abundantly foolish, arrogance. At all times, he is the most awesome person in any room. Always. The young man also enjoys sizing other people up -all people-, and looking at them as if they’re worth no more than an ant. Though, compared to this narcissist, everyone else might as well be an ant compared to his thunderstorm of a personality. Easily he is one of the biggest narcissists one will ever meet. Sure he has a basic regard for other lives, but he certainly values his own the most. It leads him to struggle as a genuine team player though, seems as how he likes to imagine he’s in constant competition with those around him. And while he does not do particularly well when he’s under authority or treated as an equal among his peers, Daemon juggles roles in leadership abundantly well. Anything that places him in charge is where he excels the most, as does tasks that are more independently based.

Charismatic also aligns well with describing Daemon. While his charm isn’t on an overwhelming frequency, it has just enough pizzazz to woo who he needs to, and win over most people he desires to. Flashing smiles and using pretty words works well in his favor too. And a more reserved quality is Daemon’s more highly intellectual side, and he definitely knows how to use his mind as a pistol when needed. It’s almost scary how all of these combine to fuel his heightened ego, though he considers himself quite the triple threat. Attractive, intelligent, and skillfully combative. A far more positive and necessary trait for survival belonging to Daemon is being skillfully adaptive. Taking in information around him in a quick manner and responding just as quickly is how he prefers to react in most scenarios, but in some cases he’s well aware impulsivity might serve him best. This makes Daemon well rounded and calculated at best, although it’s the quality of him doing things the way that generates his desired outcome that can make him a bit more difficult to work with.

Being manipulative is a very deeply embedded flaw etched into Daemon’s making. While not to the point he uses it strictly for malice, more often than not he does use it for selfish gain. Playing people is too easy, and Daemon honestly sees no issue in using his puppeteering skills to his advantage. While his ego can be a part of his otherwise charm, it also tends to be one of his greater flaws. It’s so massive that he hardly has much empathy, sympathy, or otherwise care for those around him… but he expects others to shower him with praise and positive attention. Deceitfulness and a habit of lying tend to accompany Daemon’s personality points as well. Despite his knack for lying, he’s actually rather blunt when he wants to be. Otherwise, in terms of flaw, he can just be an absolute ass. That’s the absolute best way to describe him sometimes.

On a better note, Daemon has quite the sense of humor. It can be light and witty, or it can be dark and offensive. Regardless, he can fire off humor for just about any kind of situation. With that being said, Daemon is very snarky. Usually not blatantly to superiors, but everything about his tone usually possesses some shred of subtle amusement. It doesn’t help that he has a judging yet mocking kind of gleam to his eyes almost all of the time either. In addition, Daemon is fully capable of spitting leveling insults at anyone bold enough to try serving him first. Easily he makes being rude an art, and he is the master of that craft. Daemon is also a man that has little problem with prying when it comes to learning about others, however he doesn’t appreciate when people do the same thing back to him. Perhaps he is a bit of a hypocrite in more ways than one, but he hardly acknowledges that fact. He doesn’t exactly acknowledge when he’s being insensitive, rude, blunt, or many other annoying qualities either, mostly because he doesn’t care if it bothers others.

Daemon for the most part is a highly diligent and dutiful soldier, but he can struggle with authority and individuals that just don't align with his views. If he can’t respect who he’s dealing with, or working for, he is not above double crossing. Maybe it’s not a very handsome quality, but he’s only human. An egotistical selfish human, but a human nonetheless. It’s foolish to wrong Daemon, as he is an entity that both embraces and channels a cruel vindictive nature. When he is wronged, Daemon will not relent in seeking vengeance. ‘An eye for an eye’ is a term he keeps close, and he will return any malicious favors in equivalence, or when he’s truly enraged, he’ll serve someone ten fold. And when his desire for vengeance is sparked, so is Daemon’s uglier rage. Usually only when his flaming fury has been ignited is he crueler, sadistic, and terrifyingly harsh. Usually. In his world of a generally numb gray though, most of his more terrible acts he can find sickened justification for. No matter how dark, or how cold-blooded his actions may be. And worse than the acts he commits, sometimes he enjoys being the deliverer of misery and harm. It’s not a quality he can help, but it is something he’s mindful of, and in so he is careful not to let that side of him be seen by others.

While he can come across as purposely apathetic, Daemon doesn’t always actually mean to, or even realize that whatever situation he’s in requires emotional availability. Daemon doesn’t actually have a large amount of that to offer. It could very well be because he himself is guarded and wouldn’t be caught dead talking girlishly about “feelings”, let alone acknowledging them. Actually, that’s exactly the reason. He will insult, make snotty remarks, and charm day in and day out. But feelings? Pfft, who needs those? Certainly not Daemon. Although, there are very rare breeds of people who manage to capture his heavily emaciated emotional side, and those are people that he becomes loyal to the death for. They may not always be treated like they mean everything to him, but anyone who really knows Daemon knows reciprocating good will and affection has been a lifelong struggle.

“Are they still ‘bad habits’ if I like them?”

Likes:

Himself; duh

Being in positions of authority

Frequenting bars/drinking; though not obsessively

Weapons training

Insects, arachnids, and reptiles; they’re cold-blooded, just like him

Dislikes:

Unagreeable authority

Overly emotional people; he’s just not sure how to react ‘appropriately’ around these kinds of people

Children; they’re disgusting

Invasions of his personal space

Hotter climates

Strengths:

Combat; hand-to-hand, artillery, and knives

Charismatic

Quick reflexes

Agile

Intelligent

Weaknesses:

Prideful

Apathetic

Brute force

Liar

Generally remorseless

“Bare with me please, I can only fuck things up so fast.”

Kin:

Hailee Ulrich (Mother):

Alive; Daemon has never had a positive relationship with his mother, especially as he’s gotten older. They have their issues, especially pertaining to the blame he places on her for his father’s death.

Keith Ulrich (Father):

Deceased; Keith was killed by law enforcement in a domestic situation between him, Hailee, and Daemon. Long story short, Hailee shouldn’t have thrown hands at Daemon’s father, but ultimately it was Keith who drew the short end of the stick that night to protect his son. As Daemon had always been close with his father, Keith's death when Daemon was seventeen really rocked his world in the worst way.

Natalie Ulrich (Younger Sister):

Alive; She’s a mommy’s girl, so naturally Daemon hates her. No, he loathes her. There are plenty of foul things he has to say about her, and above all, he wishes her nothing but a life filled with misery, tragedy, and pain.

“If you could read my mind, I’d bet everything I have that you’d be traumatized for life.”

The acts of war that had transpired just a few years ago has led to the current standing in battle stricken Germany that Daemon now finds himself in. The scene of war has been one that Daemon has acquainted himself with quite well by now, and perhaps he was a little too comfortable with the horrors war entails. A siege of death, abundant suffering, and unimaginable loss has been unleashed around him at nearly every turn in this place since he’s arrived. One may think the young man has merely been desensitized, or perhaps even gone numb to the sights that plague every entity in Germany. But in truth, Daemon was neither desensitized or numb. Simply, he was unbothered. Death is not a thing he fears, nor does it resonate ripples of chilling disturbance down his spine. Suffering he understood, and suffering he found a sickened beauty in. And loss? Daemon was quite familiar with the feeling. Did this allow the young Specialist to extend feats of great empathy to the denizens of Germany? No, not in the slightest.

Plumes of smoke heavily settled over many parts of the country to Daemon’s knowledge, as well as the space he currently occupied on a corner street. As his ice-colored orbs moved to the sky, he noted how the smoke effectively prevented the midday rays of the sun from beating down. Beyond the thick grey haze that blanketed most of the atmosphere currently was still a boldly blue sky reigning above. Daemon couldn’t help but mourn the pleasure of basking in his beloved California sun, and if only for a moment he could pretend his feet were currently planted in the shifting beach sands, perhaps then he’d find a state of peace of mind. A series of sorrowful screams ripped through the street next, earning Daemon’s eyes to snap down to the sight of people weeping and semi-distantly gathering outside of the burning building adjacent to his post.

It was not his duty to intervene with the fire rescue operations in German buildings, so the young man simply observed the smaller business structure being slowly released from the grasp of wrathful, red-orange flames that have been burning for the better half of an hour now. They violently licked at every part of the structure, working steadfastly to render the building to ash, but Daemon silently praised those battling the mighty blaze as their diligence to extinguish the fire hastened. If he was overhearing the shouts in German tongue correctly, then for certain they predicted at the very least one casualty. If such a claim be true, then it may be the first victim amid this war in weeks that Daemon will be seeing that is not laying in a puddle of crimson film. Front line skirmishes were where he was primarily stationed, and yet outside skirmishing had gone eerily silent within the past few days, which earned a shift in Daemon’s positioning. U.S. personnel, and a few sparser joined allied forces, have been directed to mostly discourage unruly behavior and fighting that does manage to break out within the borders of Germany, as well as await for when they were called upon to engage in warfare outside of the country once more.

Each soldier was always readily dressed and prepared for battle at a moment's notice, Daemon was no exception. Admittedly his upper body was garbed in lighter attire; an unseen black T-shirt, fitted over with a military grade interceptor vest in the scheme of faded greyscale camo, and matching color-schemed tactical cargo pants. Crossing over his chest were his dual gear straps, each sheathing a small blade, while the left strap holstered a small handgun. His cargo pants sheathed dual knives as well, but more so just because Daemon preferred to carry and wield blades at his leisure. And resting within his own hands was his standard issued M4 Carbine, with there being nothing special about the artillery gun most of his fellow Americans were equipped with.

The pairing of his attire, weaponry, and hardened stares surely made for Daemon to hold a coldly intimidating and unreadable stance. It was a default expression for the soldier, especially when he’s fully aware of there being a distance between himself and fellow posted soldiers. It’s not as if Daemon believed he constantly needed a body to watch his back, as he watched his own rather well, but he wasn’t stupid. Amid war, is one ever truly safe at all times? Truth be told though Daemon wasn’t concerned with dying, a greater part of him believed that it wasn’t possible for him to meet his demise for quite a long time. Injuries were more among his list of concerns, because what good is a soldier if they’re too maimed and physically broken to do as they’ve been trained? But not a single part of Daemon believed he would meet his end in this war. Unlike the individual being carried out under a sheet from the building, who no doubt looked like the epitome of a barbecued human being beneath that thin white veil over them. Daemon was grateful he wasn’t close enough to smell the charred flesh, although he’d like to think his senses were fairly used to the overall stench death carried with it. His eyes moved from the now dull scene, as there was little action to transfix on, and instead cast his eyes down the street to watch as other various armed soldiers and civilians walked this part of town. Standing and waiting is rather boring, and if Daemon weren’t so devoted to duty, he’d have half a mind to wander from his post for simple entertainment. But alas, he was so abundantly dutiful, and the sharp release of an irritated sigh escaped him as he further got comfortable with his currently boring reality. And yes, Daemon would prefer action and battle then quiet and boring any day.

Daemon was a man who hardly over contemplated such things as ‘morality’. For certain his own sense had a vast array, and while he understood the grasp on things such as obvious rights and wrongs, he personally operated with a grey sense of morals. The world isn’t a strictly black and white place after all, it’s murky. War proves that much. And while Daemon may not labor thought about his own -or others- moralities, he did often think over the crippling idiocy of most human beings. Moronic children in seats of power throw tantrums, and pick fights they can’t win. If it were up to Daemon, he would have left Germany to fend for itself for their chancellor starting such a ridiculous battle. So was it morality that led America and other allied nations to defend and protect one of their other fellow allies? Was it morality that spurred the use of funding, resources, and soldiers to aid this nation? If so, morality can politely fuck off.

Just when the young man had shifted his stance to hold himself straighter in posture, his eyes couldn’t help but travel to the movement near the building in his peripheral vision. Just as his gaze had locked onto what caught his attention, a subtle subconscious raise of his brow graced his otherwise neutral face. Outrunning fire… such poor survival instincts. Even from where Daemon could see the blonde haired woman in less than pristine condition running, he couldn’t help but mentally critique her response to the situation. Of course he would have done something differently, and because this woman didn’t react to the stimulus in the way he would have, naturally he painted her as ignorant compared to him. It wasn’t until the woman began running closer in Daemon’s direction that he tensed, unwelcoming of the impending closeness. Call his next action a cruel gesture, or bestow upon him the benefit of the doubt and call it a defense mechanism, but he did not hesitate in sticking his foot out to prevent the woman nearing to close to his personal space. The soldier had already concretely planted his other foot to the ground, so upon the woman’s collision with his stuck out boot, he drew it back in closer to himself as his icy eyes fell to the ground with her.

When I desired entertainment, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind. Beggars can’t be choosers though, now can they? “Do they not teach fire safety responses in Germany?” Came the snarkingly mocking tone of Daemon, his voice implying the smirk that was not visible on his face. “In America we have this nice little system of ‘stop, drop, and roll’. At least you have the ‘drop’ portion down, miss.” How unfortunate for someone who more than likely should be receiving empathetic attention, perhaps even mild aid, landed in front of Daemon. She did look like she could use a hand up, and yet the soldier felt no such inclination to be the one to extend his hand. As his gaze briefly moved upwards to his surroundings, he had to think about whether his default act of ‘not caring’ would be something his sergeant would shun him for. And in fact it was. Still, Daemon would have acted no differently if his superiors were standing next to him. He’s taken verbal reprimands plenty of times, and while he is a protestant individual, he is still not a soldier that blatantly tosses aside the duties he’s sworn himself to fulfill.

With an irritated huff, Daemon slung his rifle strap over his shoulder before he crouched beside the woman. “I’m obligated to ask whether you may be in need of medical assistance, to which if you do, I’d be happy to escort you to the closest -and safest- aid tent.” Daemon expressed a forced warmth in his voice, but he continued. “Unless you’d prefer to walk it off. Or lay on the ground a little longer. The ball is in your court, miss.” Daemon finished. Sitting back on his heels, he did look down the left street where he knew rounding a distant corner would be a designated ‘safe medical space’. Of course military personnel are always given priority to the tents, until they manage to get to a sanctuary at a specific base or camp location to be better tended to. However, lately Daemon has bore witness to a multitude of German civilians needing at least more medical assistance. Resources in general were limited for them, of course, as once more priority was shifted to the souls fighting their war. Albeit Daemon would admit it looked like the civilians could use a little more in terms of food and safe water currently. As well as better access to showers, because some civilians definitely needed that more than others.

She just needed a few minutes to catch her breath and think this through. It did seem like their was some superior being in the Sky mocking her decision to steal. It seemed like the fire was a threatening and taunting her, like a parent would a child that misbehaved. It seemed like each time she tried to do something to survive, something else came hurling her direction.

At the current moment she thought she was safe, that was until she heard a snarky voice mocking her. She jumped a little and sat up. She did try to jump to her feet but instead, she failed to completely the action and fell right on her ass. Right in front of the snarky soldier too. Just her luck.

"Do they not teach fire safety rules in Germany?"

She didn't answer, just stared hostily at him. How dare he mock her? Maybe he didn't assume she understood or spoke English fluently so he thought it was okay to say things like that. Of course it wasn't and it pissed her off.

"In America, we have this nice little thing called stop, drop, and roll."

He continued to mock her and her glare got more hostile.American soldiers were the worst to ever exist. They're so fat and lazy and all they do is take valuable German food. He was on her land, her town and thought he had the audacity to speak to her like that. Stereotypical American.

"I know what to do just fine, you fat cow," She spat at him, tearing a part of her shirt off to use as a cloth to dab the rest of the flames away. She didn't have much of a shirt left but she also didn't have it in her to steal one either. The shirt she had on barely covered what it needed to. It had holes thoughout it, exposing her black sports bra in some places. It was also torn just underneath the bra band, clearly the other half of the shirt had been used as cloths at some point. She smacked the rest of the flames from her clothes, mostly her pants. Her pants were in better condition than her shirt but not by much. Where the fire burned the pant legs just blended in with the other rips and tears. She did the same to her hair, making sure the fire was completely out.

She was extremely uncomfortable being in the presence of an American soldier and worse, getting caught being foolish. His way of speaking also angered her. It was rude and arrogant. Like all Americans.

She tensed up as his face got closer to hers. She scooted back a little, eyes widening as she was given no choice but to stare into his icy blue gaze. His gaze was almost as cold as his attitude toward her.

Huh, his next words surprised her. She expected to be made fun of more but instead, he asked her if she needed help. Probably part of his job, he didn't look like the type to care if she had been burned alive or not. She still didn't like how close he was to her, even if he was offering her help.

She also didn't like the idea of going around more American soldiers. This one was bad enough. Not to mention, if she did accept his help and they did some digging in her jacket, they would for sure find the bread. It didn't take someone with a high IQ to figure out what she had been doing in that building.

"Verdammt," She cursed under her breath, thinking about her choices. She cursed in German to not be considered being rude toward the offer for help. The curse word only meant dammit and it was one of the easiest ones to figure out. She just hoped the American soldier wasn't bright enough to know German curse words. She took a deep breath and pulled herself up to feet. She wasn't sure if she would be able to afford saying no to the offer for medical help but then she also wasn't sure if she could afford losing the loaf of bread. The loaf could keep her from starving for four months. It was just as valuable as her health.

On top of the bread being valuable, there was also the chance of her getting caught for stealing it. It might not be preassumed by the Americans that she was a Heimatlos räuber but it would be obvious to any German soldiers.

"An all-American tent?" She questioned.

She needed the bread but also couldn't be caught stealing it. Perhaps if it was an all-American tent, they would be less likely to guess that she had stolen it or even notice it. As long as there was no German soldiers around, she could get away with her food and medical treatment.

Looking at the bleeding and oozing burn marks across her midriff and wrists, she needed it. Her jacket, shirt, and pants had only saved her skin in certain areas. They only covered so much.

Watching the young woman attempt, and utterly fail, at springing to her feet had only beckoned an amused snort to sound from Daemon. Of course he could have inserted a perfect comment to further add to this woman’s strife, but miraculously the young man relented with a soft bite of his tongue. It was funny, however. Perhaps his lips didn’t upturn into a smile that reflected the humor he found in her failure, but the gleam in his eyes said enough. Daemon really only used his eyes to speak for him in moments his mouth may get him into more trouble than anticipated. And he certainly knew a thing or two about the troubles a sharp tongue brings.

Being stared at in a hostile manner didn’t bother Daemon, not in the slightest. Some German residents were at least neutrally friendly, and others… not so much. Why Americans were a focus of ill gazes and curses was something the soldier didn’t quite grasp. It’s not the Americans that offended two nations and drove their country into its current ruined state. No, it’s the Americans that spare their own resources and soldiers' lives at the expense of a nation that doesn’t appreciate everything they’re doing. Daemon didn’t volunteer to be stationed in Germany, he didn’t volunteer to help dig the graves to bury his fellow soldiers in, and he certainly didn’t volunteer to be underappreciated. He was ordered to be here, and here he would stay until he was given the order of release to ship back home.

"I know what to do just fine, you fat cow.” Now that Daemon actually chuckled at. “Fat cow,” he repeated with a faint smile, as if he found the insult complimenting. “I do hope you didn't strain your vocabulary to churn out that insult.” He added, keeping himself from snickering. I would have appreciated a more creative insult. It was actually pretty hilarious to Daemon that of all things, he was called a ‘fat cow’. Even if he were packing a few too many pounds, Daemon thinks too highly of himself to let something like that bother him. If anything, he was bordering on being scrawny and lanky compared to some of the other soldiers that were packing heavy muscle on all parts of their body. Daemon is an agile, nimbly built entity, but he certainly does not look like the kind of guy who achieves his goals through sheer force. He was also a little surprised she spoke English back to him, but at least now he had the luxury of knowing she understood what he was saying. And while his German was very limited, he knew enough to get by in the country to perform his duties.

Daemon had briefly averted his eyes from the female as she further extinguished herself, as if she were a sight to be embarrassed by. In some sense she was, but she was also the most entertaining thing he’s encountered so far this week. Which says a lot about how many exciting things he’s gotten to experience for quite some time. While he noted her tensing when he had crouched, he didn't care to back away. He prefers to not have his own space invaded, but Daemon determined the short distance between them right now was tolerable. The young man’s lock on her eyes didn’t waver either as her own brown eyes widened.

Arching his brow at her curse, this time amusement briefly fell from his eyes. A rule of thumb for Daemon has been to at least learn the most offensive words and phrases in multiple languages, and while what this woman uttered wasn’t offensive, he still understood. There’s nothing more sharp than getting berated by curses in French though, now those words sting. As she rose to her feet, Daemon stood to his own full height as well, his hand loosely resting at the gun that hung from his shoulder strap. His forefinger did tap the strap rather impatiently though, but it's not as if he had anything better to do at the moment than to deal with this woman.

"An all-American tent?" Daemon gave a nod, as if the answer should be greatly obvious. “It’ll more than likely be all-American until I bring you there.” He quipped with suppressed sass. Daemon really didn’t care if she was hesitant of Americans, or if she even refused the offer of help. He just needed to know what his next line of duty would entail; escorting a civilian, or further standing at his post. He also hardly cared why she had been in the burning building, it wasn’t his job to spew questions. So perhaps Daemon picks and chooses when he does the bare minimum of his occupations expectations. Maybe he should ask questions, but in a childish state of mind, it seemed like so much work for something he could have cared less about. If he asks questions, then he's expected to actually, attentively listen to answers. More than likely she'd have something boring to answer his questions with, so he'd rather not ask to begin with.

His eyes did trail down to her obvious wounds that would need attending to, and while Daemon had his own basic self-care knowledge in terms of medical, it wouldn’t do either of them good right here. And between her and her clothes, Daemon couldn’t tell which was in rougher shape. “So? Would you like me to escort you there or not?” He inquired with a slight tilt of his head as his gaze relocked onto her eyes. It was on her if she refused, and Daemon was only offering once. All he needed was a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.

It’s not as if this woman and her evident suffering were being specifically targeted by the ‘Daemon being an ass’ special. The young man graces all human beings with this nature. Well, unless he’s being suavely charming to obtain a goal. However, as with most individuals, behavior such as this was not what he was born with. Experience tends to drive certain personality points. So what would Daemon’s show of lack of empathy, enjoyment of witnessing misery, and general lack of care suggest he’s experienced that’s shaped who he is? Or rather, endured. And in fact, he's endured all of those things first hand for the better half of his life. Where a boy should have had a nurturing being of affection and guidance from a mother, instead he drew the card of a much crueler woman to raise him, who then spawned an even more monstrous daughter after Daemon. If not for Daemon struggling so hard to model after the man his father was, he’d be much more of a villainous character.

"Oh yeah, laugh it all up, Kotzbrocken.” A flicker of a smirk crossed his features after receiving that lovely insult. “Mm, much better.” He complimented with a wink. Although, he did believe this woman could surely benefit from a class on how to better formulate verbal venom. Or maybe he just found her insults so amusing he was immune to the offense meant. Usually by now Daemon would have released a leveling bout of bladed words, and yet, this woman just did not offend him enough to irritate him to that point. It could very well be the wall of ego he’s erected that prevents most things from genuinely bothering him as well. But everyone has their defense mechanisms. His are just far more peculiar than most.

If it were Daemon’s intention to actually harm this woman, he wouldn’t make such an intention obvious. And if he did make it obvious, all he would have flashed was a smile of warning. But it’s the imprint of his hand resting close to his gun on the human psyche that would leave most be wary of him, as if he would aim and fire at a second's notice. Which of course he would and very well could of need be, but his hand near his gun was more so a show to drive off unwarranted confrontation.

While Daemon truly was not as educated as he’d like to be on German statuses, and other German principles, so far he’s gotten along well enough to perform his duty. There was no other visual he had of Germany or Berlin before the war, other than pictures. And now that he was within the country in the flesh, he did wonder from time to time how the country would be operating right now if not for the war. People would be in better spirits, houses and buildings would be intact, and he wouldn’t be here.

Daemon was much into staring at the woman, but he at least got the hint that she didn’t want to be carefully assessed as she further wrapped her jacket around herself. He may be a pompous prick, but he’s not without some shred of basic decency. It wasn’t his intent to make her uncomfortable, it's merely his job to be semi-observant. Her state of malnourishment was evident, at least to him, who’s seen several of various other German bodies similarly starved. As cruelly careless as Daemon can be, he truly didn’t see how it wasn’t possible to import more basic necessities for the people stuck in Germany, or at least here in Berlin. The capital -compared to other German towns and provinces- was by far in the best state. If one can imagine that. Or at least in Daemon’s opinion it was by far the best looking place, as he’s seen the outskirts, places residing in the countryside, and smaller demolished towns.

When her simple sighed answer of acceptance came around, a thin smile flashed on Daemon’s face. “Lovely.” He commented, which resonated with a sarcastic ring as his feet shifted towards the left -the direction of the street they’d be walking. "Which way?" Daemon gestured with a singular nod of his head down the street. As if his feet didn’t give it away enough, the nod reaffirmed his body cue. "Let's just get this done and over with before nightfall." Stepping forward at a pace he assumed was slow enough for the tattered woman to keep up with, Daemon responded. “Why the rush? Got somewhere better to be?” It was a cynical question, as he assumed this woman truly had no concrete -or at least safe- place to reside. From what he’s seen most residents' homes have been completely destroyed. It wouldn’t surprise him if her own home was lost to the war.

“You’re more likely to squeeze out some food, water, and at least a decent bed for the night if you get the medic to pity you. Which shouldn’t be too hard for you, blondie.” If Daemon were the kind of person to pity people, this woman would have been one of the many he would. Was it kind he was offering such simple advice? God, he hoped it wasn’t taken as such. It wasn’t so much as kind, more so Daemon was telling her what it looked like she could get in terms of benefit. There’s no shame in reaping benefits for oneself where they can find them, he believed that much. The medical tents were some of the safest places as well. Unless of course there was an air raid, one of those had devastated a medical tent two weeks ago a few miles from here. It was devastating. Few survivors, ransacked supplies, and not to mention resources even for soldiers are getting thinner. Imports are slowing, and even what does manage to come in isn’t as much as it had been even six months ago. Every soul unfortunate enough to be in Germany right now was feeling the weight of the war, Daemon just chose to take the humorous angle to his situation.