His searches had not been without their setbacks.

It seemed as though he had run into opposition at his every turn. The information he had been commissioned to find had not come without additional price, one he would be sure to charge for. In the end, the scroll had been tucked away within an inner pocket of his jacket, concealed from prying eyes. He had taken refuge within the abandoned house, one that luckily housed some bit of mending supplies. He needed very little in way of suturing himself, rather simply something to carry him over until he could make his way back into the church.

It wasn't until he heard the beginnings of the disturbance outside that he would shudder the lid upon the lantern. The roll of cloth slipping from his fingers and back onto the side table he'd found it on. Was the place not abandoned? He assumed by the pile of prints at the door, let alone the abundance of the cold air that the owner of the domicile had been shipped off to this war camp people spoke of.

He became one with the shadows as the door opened, the only evidence of another's presence left in only the trail of blood in the wake of his visit. One she didn't seem to notice the moment she walked in. It didn't take long for him to make his move either once she closed the door. He would meld back into being behind her, flicking the lock upon the portal as he listened to the carriage pull away. Despite if she noticed him then or not, he would seek to close the distance between them, to silence her with his palm as his chilling gaze watched her from beyond the veil of the fox's mask. "Not a word." His vocals were low, soft as he eyed her. "Are you the mender here?" Should he have found success silencing her with his hand, he would add. "Yes or no with your head."

The sudden movements must have been enough to reopen the gash along his side, for already the cool sluice of blood dripped down the breadth of his hip, pooling within the cloth that cloaked him. The dog's teeth had been sharp, but his claws quicker than his bite. In the end, regardless of his speed and ferocity, he had met his end. He had died without knowing the face behind the smiling fox, like so many others before him. The wounds he left behind would heal. The first time his lips touched the afflicted ichor of another the weeping lacerations would seal and fade to naught but another scar. If they even left one.

For a brief moment, his stare would affix to the point of her jugular. One where he could briefly see the flicker of her pulse as she glanced up to him. His gaze narrowed beneath the cover of his mask, even more so as she managed to wrench herself free from his prison. “I am, this is my clinic.” It must have been the blood loss, pulling more of his energy and vitality than he had assumed it to. “And to whom am I speaking to?” At that, he would smile, a feature well hidden behind the already grinning mask of the fox. Briefly, he would lick his lips. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Though the quip was playful, there was a serious thread within the intonation. He did not step back, remaining close to the woman who claimed ownership of where he stood. She must have been gone quite some time, as there was no afflicting anguish that came from being within the space, no otherworldly force trying to force him out. Perhaps it was because this was a clinic and not a wholly personal space. Whichever the case, he did not have any intention of giving her the benefit of space in which to create trouble for himself. “Are you wounded?”

A low, thoughtful hum bled from his lips, head tilting lightly upon its axis. "Do soldiers come here often?" he inquired instead, caring not that she could very easily put the facts together that he wished to avoid being under their detection. After all, no matter that she seemed outwardly to have no qualms with his presence, he knew that beneath the surface she must know. Know that this brittle understanding and peace between the two of them was as delicate as spider's silk, able to snap at a moment's discretion.

He could hear it, that slight acceleration of her pulse. It gave rise to new temptations, those he was both a slave to and yet in some moments he could resist better than any other. Though Haru was not present right now. For this reason, he didn't need to hide the monster he had become. This was also a stranger, one he had never crossed paths with, and likely never would again. “You could, but that would be easy. Wouldn’t it?” He would tilt his head, a slight trickle of laughter echoing from beyond the cover of the mask. The smiling demon. The smiling fox. One in the same. Amused. Treacherous. "You say easy like it's a deterrent. Like it's a bad thing." If she did not shy away, he would take another step closer to her, the rattle of the chain enunciating the motion. "Easy can be fun too, don't you agree? Only boring people make things dull." He didn't miss the way her eyes trailed over him, fixing to the savage tear through the side of his kataginu haori. Playfully, he would gesture upwards with a duality of his fingers. "My eyes are up here. Unless.... you want to fix me."

“Sometimes.” She answered in regards to his other inquiry of the soldiers. “Once I reopen, perhaps, can't say until it happens.” The last was followed by a dismissive shrug, yet she didn't immediately call for any aid, either. Perhaps she simply hadn't gathered the time and space to do so yet, or she was better at listening than others. He wasn't sure of her reasonings, and he couldn't be bothered to fathom her next course of action in premeditation. In truth, he was growing weary. He had already taken past his intended timeline to retrieve what he had sought, but he had been unwilling to halt his search or return empty handed. After all, one blunder was all it would take to ruin his reputation here and sully his ability to gather work as fluently as he had in recent days. His services were at an all time high, as was the amount of coin he could charge for each transaction. All that was needed now was for him to get the precious intel to the church and make contact with his employers once more to retrieve it. “How long have you been in hiding here?” "Only since dawn. Figured the owner must have been swept off to the military. A bad habit of leaving your mail uncollected?"

The more he thought about it, the more enticing the opportunity was becoming. Morality was nothing to consider, to question for him. Only the mask and the darkness knew the atrocities he had committed for less and for more. If he made the decision to remove the cover of the mask, or if she did considering her glances toward it, his hand would certainly be forced. He couldn't have a witness. Not one that knew his face. The implications of his own trouble did not cross the path of his musings, only those details involving his sister came to light. If they knew, then they may interrogate her - perhaps none too civilly either. Regardless, injured or not, he would not be quite so sloppy. “Short-term challenges often provide long-term gains.” His shoulders rolled in a light shrug. "And some just take luck where they find it."

At least she was somewhat pleasant company. While this was an uncommon situation he found himself in to begin with, there was a part of him entertained by her. If she was among those flighty beings who panicked immediately, his blade would have already been unsheathed. “Are you not so capable of fixing yourself?” He would snort slightly, the jackal's switchblade grin still ever haunting the curve of his lips. “Or do you simply revel in your injuries?” "I very much could. I would revel much more in fixing it than not." The comment was a lazy drawl as he sought to remind her of what he was certain she had very well pieced together by now. "Much more effectively than just wrapping it, since you're here." His stare followed her sharply as she had moved away from him. Instead, it was his turn to lean against her desk.

“Guilty.” He would incline his head in obvious agreement. “But I have been away for some time. I’ve only just returned today.” He would find half a distraction to his growing appetite by glissading his fingertips over the top newspaper discarded onto her desk. How much longer could he wait? While he was capable of withstanding the sun's rays for a time, it was still well before the winter skies devoured the flaming chariot that dwindled overhead. He was not quite willing to chance his odds. More times than not, he was the unlucky soul he mentioned moments ago: one that took luck where he found it. "What caught your eye to head to Dunmeath tomorrow?" The inquiry was innocent enough as he noted the print she had been looking at when she'd made the comment previously.

He watched her shrug, the raise of her brows, though she said nothing in direct opposition to his statement. Perhaps she could no longer argue such a sentiment, though its meaning and the danger behind it seemed to evade her. Maybe it didn't, either, maybe she assumed that by ignoring the nature of the creature she entertained, it would in turn soften and morph to civility.

But a tiger still had claws.

He wasn't exactly discreet as he watched her busying herself with gathering her supplies. All the while, his hand lifted, fingers drifting over the concealing threads at the bottom half of the mask. They came away in silence, the carmine rope first, followed by the soft click of the hinges unsettling. Despite what the initial display would have one believe, the piece was actually two, a specially made ornament for just such a time as this. Hunger gnawed at him, only hastening, growing in fervent need for each precious drop spilled. “Well, you wrapped it rather poorly.” He couldn't help the soft roll of dark laughter that bloomed from his lungs, louder without the cover of the smiling fox. It still concealed the upper and most recognizable portion of his features, but left the viper's grin clear to sight. His footfalls had been light, a habit rather than true intent as he had once again closed a large portion of the distance between them while she had busied herself. "Because I didn't." He purred, and even from under the cover of his face guard, it was quite easy to tell his attention swept her. "Because you're here now." The words would drop in volume with intention, and despite the relaxed posture he held, each and every bit of sinew reverberated with the intent to strike. A cobra with its hood concealed. For there was no more warning within him.

She gave him a smile, gesturing to the torn fabric of his shirt, a command leaving her. “I need a better look and to clean it, so strip.” He would shake his head in denial, instead if she did not retreat or otherwise move, his index would curl under her chin, a glimpse of cold sapphires given from the otherwise dark of the mask. A faint pulse of magic given in an attempt to snare her will. While he didn't want to bring her fatal harm, and how he loathed to make a mess of things, this would perhaps be the most kindness he was willing to offer. "I won't kill you." A promise, one sincere, though followed by, "So long as you don't make a scene." The remnants of her preparations lay ignored, as his mind focused keenly on one thing and one thing only.