"Really?" She asked, tilting her head at him as she advanced. She pushed him into a corner and yanked a golden colored blade out of her pocket. She held it lightly to his throat, just barely touching him. She narrowed her eyes back at him and leaned closer, standing up taller so they were eye to eye as he crouched, almost nose to nose. "Thats the thing with all you angels. You don't care what that person did, or why that person deserves to be condemned or saved. You just do. And this one? He wasn't a good person. But no one ever tells you that. And you're willing to die for him?" She shook her head lightly. "No, that's a waste. I don't like being wasteful. So you can lay yourself atop his comatose body if you like, but I'm not going to kill you. You don't deserve that. He does." She ended, slipping back. She took a few easy strides to the man's bedside and brought her knife down on his throat, swiftly. The monitor flatlined a few moments after. She looked back at the angel, sighing as she tucked her knife back into her pocket. "Such a shame." She said quietly, folding her wings tightly and dissapearing.

TA-DA))

He stepped back into a corner as she rushed him, spotting the knife. His eyes were on the knife up until it touched his throat, it burned slightly. He slid down on the wall a little, his chin tipped up. He couldn't bring himself to say anything as she spoke at him, ranting about how angels were such rule followers. He frowned at her and looked at her with slight shock as she stepped back, sliding down onto the floor while he watched her walk off to do her job, still out of breath. Then she disappeared. He laid his head back, onto the wall, wincing. Who was that.

Trix had her hair down, and her wings were not visible. She was sitting quietly at her own table in a small coffee shop, drinking hot chocolate out of a coffee cup. She had her knees curled to her chest, sitting at a small booth table and relishing the warmth it brought her in silence. She looked out the window at the bustling street outside, her mind elsewhere. She had on light blue ripped jeans and black boots, with a maroon shirt on and a black leather jacket over it. She sighed quietly, watching the passers by with interest.

Sal walked into the cafe esque shop in silence, a flat expression on his face as he glanced around. His wings were hidden, tucked away in the recesses of his mind for now. He noticed a girl, a very familiar one. He looked her up and down, noticing the long reddish hair that draped over the demon's shoulders. He walked over quietly and sat across from her at the square booth table, tilting his head at her attire. He was wearing dark jeans and a plain dark teal button down with the sleeves rolled up. It was unbuttoned and had a gray t-shirt under it. And boots, dark brown work boot looking boots. He stared for a moment. "What are you doing in a cafe?" His hair slid over slightly as his head tilted.

"What, is it sinful for me to get a drink?" She asked sarcastically, looking at him over her cup and raising her eyebrows. She had caught a little bit of... well, hell, from her superiors over letting him go, but they got over it eventually, especially when she snapped back. "Because if it is, sue me." She joked, resting her coffee in her lap. "So, what brings Sir Holier-Than-Thou to my humble little booth in a corner of New York City? Have you been following me? Because really, you could've just asked to get a coffee with me instead of stalking me here. I would've said yes." She teased lightly, observing him playfully, her golden eyes making her look slightly intimidating, almost like a predator.

He looked her face over, then away at the rest of the cozy shop. It had soft light brown wood floors and warm green walls, it was neatly organized. He looked back at her as she joked. "No, I was just curious why a cafe, and why you stayed inside." He gave her a, purely, confused expression. "No I was not stalking you. I come here when I'm in the area. And apparently you come here too." He leaned back onto the brown pleather seat, his hands in his lap. He was much less on edge this time, though he frequently glanced around the cafe. He completely blew off whatever tease she said, sometimes he forgot how to joke. Well- mostly. He made direct eye contact. "Who are you?" He said quietly, finally being overwhelmed by curiosity.

Trix tilted her head in puzzlement. "Why is it so surprising? I was human once, not long ago. I do tend to enjoy human things." She shrugged. She smiled slightly at his stiffness. She laughed as he asked her who she was. "Ah, so you've been thinking of me. Well, depends on why you want to know. I can be your wildest dream or your worst nightmare, to vaguely quote Mrs. Swift. Honestly? I can't tell you who I am, I don't even know that. But if you're looking for a name, you can call me Trix, or Trixie. What's your name then, Angel?" She asked lightly, looking quite entertained at his curiousity.

He pursed his lips slightly. She sure smiled a lot, but he wasn't sure if it was because she was happy or she just found everything funny. "I was human too, just, before starbucks." He said quietly. Putting more attention to her. He wondered why she talked so much, and what Taylor Swift had to do with asking who a demon was. He narrowed his eyes, that name sounded vaguely familiar. He tilted his head down, making him look angrier but really he was deciding if he wanted to tell her his whole name or just a nickname. He looked back up. "Versailles." This entire time he'd put up his American voice front, til he said his name. "Or just Verse or Sal." He added after a moment, adding to the French accent he'd slipped into.

She raised her eyebrows at him, uncurling her legs. "Ah; Like the palace. Well, Sal, I will say- you're the first Versailles I've ever met. And probably the first person with a true French accent. Or maybe the first French person? Either way, you are a whole lot of firsts." She said inquisitively, laying her cup on the table and looking at him keenly. "Anyway, human before Starbucks? That must make you... really fucking old. When did you die?" She asked, not looking the least bit concerned that he might be hundreds of years older than her.

He narrowed his eyes, sounded like she didn't get out of the country much if he was the first person she'd met who was French. He sat up more and crossed his arms as she tried to deduce how old he was. A slight smile crossed his face. "Your first guess was correct, I was born when the palace was built and died 25 years later." He tipped his head slightly to the side. "And if you can't do that math I was born in 1631 and died in 1656." He said plainly. "I'm 389 years old to be exact." Making a face, it added up to a lot now that he thought of it.