Sea-green eyes blinked as their owner peered at his surroundings. The calmness of the Messenger's little haven, it had been a good change. Dylan already found himself wishing to go back, and he'd only just moved there. Strange, how such a little thing could be missed so quickly.

As they pulled to a stop, the young man leaned an arm against the door and peered outside. He didn't want to think about what was to come, and yet he had to. "I can't promise, but I'll do my best." Dylan rolled his hsoulders, and pushed the door open quickly. Again he leaned against the black car, his back turned to the Messenger almost resolutely.

Eddie went around the car and pocketed the keys, stepping up onto the curb with black case in hand. It clinked lightly, as though containing glass items. Nodding to Dylan, Eddie stepped up to the door and into the small alcove that housed an arched door of white-painted wood. He was about to knock, and spied a doorbell. He pressed that instead, and a low bell sounded throughout the inside in a faint melodyless drone. “Sounds... interesting.” Eddie muttered darkly. The people around here tended to be easily frightened, and during a banishment, they could strengthen the poltergeist with their negative energy.

The door opened, at last, and a relatively young man and woman stood in the entryway. He was tall, though not quite as tall as Eddie, and the woman was extremely short. It didn’t seem to match, but the man, who had called himself Andrew Rolanda, had his arm around the small brown-haired woman protectively. “Edward Browe?” He asked softly. When Eddie nodded once, he and the woman stepped aside. “Please, both of you, come in.”

With a sigh, he moved to follow Eddie. Glancing at the owners of the house, the young man couldn't help but wonder what kind of thing lay in wait. A dark thing, half unseen lurked in there, just waiting for the people who owned the home to walk inside. They were it's prey. No! He had to stop thinking like that!

The pair led them inside. In certain spots, like in the living room, they seemed more nervous then in others. Dylan's eyes glanced over everything nervously. Where was it? Where was the dark creature that lurked in the shadows? His hands, hidden by his jeans, clenched and unclenched at the thought of what twas in the house. Unconsciously, the journalist stayed as close to Edward as he could.

Eddie followed Andrew and his wife, introduced as Caty, through the first floor of the house. In the living room they tensed as though something was about to hit them, and through the hallway to the bathroom they would keep their hands out to their sides as though balancing on a highwire. Eddie had seen this before, with especially powerful creatures. As they came to a stop at the stairs, Andrew looked at Dylan as though he’d been placed in the wrong area.

“Who’s this?” He asked, as though just realizing he’d been following as close to Eddie as he could.

“This is Dylan. He’s just joined me in my job so I’ve been bringing him along to gather information.” Eddie’s words were solid and serious, and shut Andrew up at once. He looked down as he climbed the stairs, asking Caty to stay downstairs while they went through the upstairs.

Dylan had tensed when Andrew mentioned him. Nervously, he lifted a hand to ruffle his hair as they continued along the way. There were so many doors, all closed, lining the hall. Well that was an eageration, there weren't that many, but it seemed like it to the frightened young man. If he'd had the gal, he might just have reached out to hold tight to Edward's arm. Instead, he made sure to keep his hands firmly in his pockets.

"This is the last room," said Andrew as he opened the door at the end of the hall. Everyone stepped inside, and unlike with all the others ... The door slammed shut, and the cleark click of something being locked rang through the air. There was a sense of finality to the sound. Dread began to fill Dylan's heart, a feeling not helped by the glimpse fa dark shadow hovering in wait in the corner of the room.

Eddie gasped when the door slammed, and Andrew went to the door to twist the handle, trying to unlock it. The lock, however, wouldn’t move, and Eddie skirted the edge of the room. “Get over there.” He said, pulling the two along. His gaze was hooked on the creature in the corner. It was dark, gray-skinned, with sunken eyes and a malnourished body that put his own to shame. Dropping the black case on the ground, he unhooked it and pulled a small bottle of white crystals. Salt, which Eddie used to block misbehaving spirits. He dumped some out into his hand and tossed it at the fidgeting creature, and when the salt crystals bounced on the hardwood floor, it muttered and went back, hissing. Eddie shook some of the salt out onto the floor at the closed door and scuttled across the room to the two windows, following suit.

The door shuddered on its hinges suddenly, a female voice calling and turning the knob. “Stay out!” Eddie yelled. “Caty, stay out there! It’s in here, I’m getting rid of it now!” Corking the bottle again, Eddie went back to the case as the poltergeist stepped forward, screaming at the burning sensation that no doubt spread through its bare feet as it hit the salt. He pulled a small silver cross and wound its chain around his hand. “Back!” He lunged at the corrupted spirit, the holiness of the blessed silver casting a painful glare onto its body. It hit the wall, making it shudder and send two framed photographs crashing to the floor. One hand dove in for a plastic bottle, which contained holy water he was always able to get from the church near the Messenger community.

It went forward, opening its mouth to reveal rotted, sharp teeth, and knocked Eddie’s hands down, sending the bottle skittering across the floor. He spun over, crawling toward it, but was bored into the hard floor when the poltergeist bared down on him

Dylan clamped his lips shut, biting down hard on the screams he wanted so badly to let fly. Instead, he did his best to guide Andrew away from the battle he could see taking place from the corner of his eye. Taking a deep breath, the frightened journalist placed himself in front of the older man, and let his eyes float across the room as if he couldn't see that the poltergeist was right there, trying to get past the salt Eddie had thrown to the floor.

But he couldn't help but yell when he saw it jump on Edward, pinning him to the ground with it's powerful claws. Without thinking, Dylan ran to the bottle the Messenger had been trying to reach, and kicked it towards the other man. He hoped the poltergeist would think nothing of it, and hoped that Edward would be alright. If that bottle slipped past Edward, spinning out of control ... Dylan forced himself to back away, pushing Andrew back against the wall over the man's protests.

Eddie gasped when Dylan went forward, but couldn’t get a moment to speak. His eyes watched the bottle fly the other direction, but within his reach, and he snatched it up. Flicking open the top, he brought back his arm and splattered the poltergeist with the water. It howled, falling back and letting Eddie spin around onto his back. When he got onto one knee, however, it lunged forward and swiped a claw at him, sending his head instinctively back but exposing his throat. A claw caught him, cutting deep and sending him back into the bed behind him.

One hand clamped to his neck, closing off the shallow wound. Messengers could bleed, though the blood that coursed through their veins had a slightly thicker consistency, and as Eddie stood on shaking legs, he kept one bloody hand against his throat and held the water in the other. “Begone, demon! Flee this torment!” He splashed the creature again, a notable hiss meeting his ears. A scent of sulfur came to him, one of the only scents he could actually detect anymore. It was working. The combination of water and holy words had started to weaken the demon’s corruption. Eddie swallowed hard, fighting back the desire to scream at the pain radiating from his neck, and raised his other hand again.

The water was used up. Without looking, Eddie dove back for another bottle, salt tinged with blue. It had the same effect, but was more painful for the trapped spirit. Unfortunately, the spirit was long gone. He uncorked the bottle and sent the salt flying, gritting his teeth against the screeches and bracing himself when it came at him, weakly bumping into him. Eddie had taken care of its power. Setting the salt down, he unpocketed a knife and withdrew its blade, sending it whizzing through the air. The harsh cries were cut short, and the demon dispersed. The knife was left sticking from the wall behind it, covered in a black substance.

Horrified eyes watched as the battle unfolded. For a brief moment, Dylan thought that things were going well, that no undue harm would come to anyone ... And that was when it lunged at Edward, swipping a deadly claw at the Messenger's exposed throat. Dylan didn't scream, his throat was far too clogged with fear for that. Edward couldn't die, not him! The thought kept running through his mind as he tried to force some kind of sound from his lips.

He couldn't imagine not being able to send snarky comments Edward's way, or not hearing about the other man's past. Spending time with the Messenger had turned his world upside down in so many ways, and now one part of the puzzle seemed to click into place with a resounding kind of finality.

The moment Dylan's green eyes could see the creature no more, he moved forward to stand close by Edward's side. "Y-you'll be fine, right? You aren't going to ..." He glanced back at Andrew, who seemed to be rather shocked by all the events. He hadn't seen the creature, but surely he'd seen the damage it had left in it's wake.

Eddie nodded slowly, but cut the movement off with an obvious grimace. "I'm..." He coughed, bringing his free hand up to wipe away a bit of blood that found its way up. He didn't want to move his hand, but could almost feel it healing. In minutes it would be closed entirely. "I'm f-fine. Have ha-had worse..." He brought his hand away at last, sending a slight flood of thick blood down to stain his shirt collar. "I'll be okay." He said definitely, though ragged as his throat repaired itself. He coughed again, grimacing at the knife-like stabbing pain as he went to retrieve the knife in the wall. The tar-like substance had begun to dry into a sticky glove around the blade and handle.

Andrew was moving very slowly, staggering his way along the side of the room and to the door. It unlocked and opened smoothly, and Caty burst in, falling into Andrew's arms as he muttered about a vile smell and fight that covered the floor in blood. Eddie shook his head at the sight, and slowly brought his bloody hand to run his fingers over the knitting skin. "I'll be fine, Dylan, I promise. Trust me, I've had a lot worse. Messengers have to be resilient, you know. Otherwise a lot more would die every day." He smiled faintly, but hoped it was reassuring.

A wave of guilt washed through him for having asked anything. Speaking was obviously painful, and there he'd gone and asked an idiotic question. Dylan had known that his curiosity would make him ask a question he'd regret someday. The sight of blood had him making a face and lifting a hand to brush his fingers against the cloth stained red. Dylan lifted his fingers to run them gently over the Messenger's throat, seeking to make sure that Edward's words were true; after Eddie had finished doing the same of course.

"Don't scare me like that again,you idiot!" To hide his relief, the journalist cuffed Eddie's shoulder lightly as he turned away. Dylan wanted so badly to hide someplace so he could actually show what he was feeling, but he couldn't.

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, though it was cut off by another coughing fit. It would be mended soon enough, but it would be difficult to speak for an hour, at least. Andrew stepped forward, opening his mouth to speak but focused more on the deep red of his once-white shirt collar and his hand. “What... are you okay, Mr. Browe...?”

Eddie nodded simply. “I’m just fine, Andrew. Just a cut, they tend to bleed more than you think. And trust me, it only looks worse than it is.”

“Well, what do we owe you?” Caty asked, making sure to avoid actually stepping into the room. “Surely something---”

“No, nothing. This is my job, it’s what I do. Injuries happen and they’re part of what I do. I don’t expect anything from anyone. Consider your payment the... fact that you have to clean up a little...” He looked around the floor. Blood, water, and salt stained the floor and would be rather hard to clean up. But Andrew nodded quickly, accepting the laborious job in return. Eddie looked around to Dylan. He was thankful to have the human around, more than he thought he’d be at first. Much more, in fact.

Edward's laughter only made Dylan's worry disappear even more. He turned around, tilting his head to the side as he watched the proceedings carefully. The human smiled a little, finally feeling like he could again. Shaking his head, Dylan moved to poke at Edward's shoulder. "Come on, speaking of cleaning you need to take care of those clothes of yours. You're a mess." He didn't actually reach out to pull Edward out of the house, but he did want to.

Instead, Dylan walked almost impatiently to the door of the room and waited. He watched the relieved pair for a little while, but his attention always returned to Edward.

He gathered his things and put them back in the black case, and waved a quick goodbye to Andrew and Caty as they started gathering necessities and using the upstairs bathroom to fill a couple buckets to haul in. Eddie doubted they’d be using that bedroom for a while. He met Dylan outside the room and went halfway down the stairs. “I know it’d be pretty stupid to wander around with bloody clothes. I usually keep a few changes in the trunk in case things like this happen.” He’d lost a lot of clothes to blood and staining demonic bodily fluids. Some were ruined beyond use, and others could eventually be cleaned. But Eddie, like all Messengers, wore the standard black suit, and he didn’t change that unless he was ‘off the clock’ so to say.

Dylan followed Edward with a roll of his eyes. Of course the other man was quite prepared, he always seemed to plan for everything. No wait ... Mischief in his eyes, the journalist moved to snake his hand around the Messenger's throat. His fingers splayed over the healing wound again, checking and teasing the skin lightly. He was glad they were on the stairs, he actually felt like they were the same height right then. "I hope it doesn't happen again anytime soon." He didn't know what he'd do if Edward was always getting bloody and worn before his eyes.

A strange combination of hot and cold flushed through him when Dylan’s fingers touched his neck. It was as though an instant change in temperature and humidity had gone through the narrow stairwell and constricted his throat again. “Um.. I---well, I don’t usually plan my... injuries.” He noted haltingly, stepping backward down the rest of the stairs. He had to keep his left hand clamped to the front of his shirt to avoid smearing the walls with blood. He tripped on the lining rug, gathering himself at the door and stepping outside to escape the odd sensation. There was no spirit. No demon. Whatever happened startled him, and he had to focus to settle his heartbeat.

A smile flickered across his features, making it seem like the journalist's worries had evaporated. Not true, but at least now he could bear with it. Seeing Edward's odd reaction had helped alleviate some of what had bothered Dylan so. Now he clambered down the stairs, sometimes jumping two at a time, and ended his little dash at the doorway. He waited a few moments, collecting himself, before stepping outside into the sunlight. The warm sunshine felt so good after having had to face the poltergeist. Surprisingly enough, Dylan realized he hadn't been afraid of it .. Not as much as he'd thought. Instead all of his worries and fears had centered around Edward.

That was going to take some getting used to. The copper haired journalist just wasn't used to feeling so strongly for anyone, and certainly not another man. He had nothing against others who felt like that, he'd just never expected to be one of them.

He was thankful that the street was more or less deserted. So late in the morning, everyone was most likely at work or holed up in their house to make it seem that way. Eddie unlocked the trunk and set the black cases in, pulling a white shirt identical to the one he was wearing to the front, out of a small pile of other identical pants, socks, jackets, ties, and various other clothing articles. He pulled off the bloody jacket, tie, and shirt with an annoyed growl, folding up the clean side of the shirt and dampening it with a stray bottle of water that had been left to roll freely. As he cleaned the blood away, the faint yapping of a tiny dog could be heard approaching.

Eddie froze when the woman appeared. She'd opened her mouth to speak a greeting, but fell silent at the sight of the dark stains. "Oh, my... Are you okay? Do you need a hospital...?" She kept her distance, but appeared worried.

Shaking his head, Eddie made sure the shirt blocked the scar. Most tended to decide it was some artistic motion done for several thousand dollars in a professional's shop. "No, I'm fine." He said definitely. "I'm a little anemic, when I nick myself it looks like I lost an arm or something." He chuckled a bit, having used the excuse many times in the past. The woman looked relieved, moving on down the sidewalk and pulling her toy dog along. It appeared to be a pug. Eddie sighed, tossing the shirt into the trunk and shaking out the new one, pulling it on. "Think fast when you're in these situation." He called to Dylan. "You might be alone sometime and need to get out of a situation without looking guilty of something." He didn't specifically turn to look toward the human. He knew he wasn't feeling normal, and if he'd felt this before, it was a memory long forgotten.

Dylan took a few steps forward when the woman appeared. She started asking questions, and all Dylan could do was watch as Edward diverted her attention expertly from the truth. He was a journalist, surely it would be easy for him to come up with such truthful seeming lies as well.

He nodded to himself, and moved to stand by Edward's side. "I'm a journalist, I think I can come up with a few things." Amusement saturated Dylan's voice. It was going to be fun actually, though perhaps not as fun as poking and prodding lightly at Edward.

He wondered if perhaps he hadn't gone too far, reaching out to touch Edward's wound. "Ah, did I hurt you earlier? I'm sorry if I did ..." It was the only reason he could think of for the other man's slightly odd behavior. There might have been other reasons, but he doubted any of them could very well be applied.

Eddie tilted his head slightly, trying to recall what Dylan meant. “Hurt...? Oh! Oh, no... No, of course not.” Fastening the last button, he paused to run a hand along what was left of the outer scar. It would fade completely soon enough. “An injury will hurt as much as you think it would at first, but soon enough it fades to a... light sting. It’s nice to make it go away for a while. Until it’s not there anymore, anyway.” He put his hand to the wound again, running his fingers along the track that wasn’t quite gone yet. It still burned noticeably, but eased at the touch. “Like I said, Dylan, I’ve had injuries a hell of a lot worse than this. Some put me out for a while, and others can be walked off.”

He used the rest of the water to wash his hands. “This was the only job I had today. Anything you need to take care of while we’re about?” Eddie tossed the empty bottle into the trunk, closing it. “Friends to visit, family? Anything you forgot to write down yesterday?” He went around to the driver side and leaned against the door.

Dylan relaxed visibly at the reassurance, and smiled a little at his silliness. He was acting silly, always returning to the same subject, without truly let it fall to the wayside. Shaking his head, the journalist turned his attention to what he might want to do that day. "Well, we should probably go an visit my friend... She's the type to worry if she doesn't get a face to face explanation of what's going on." Dylan was already thinking of a way to explain his sudden need to move, and Edward's presence as well.

Eddie nodded slowly, getting into the car and pausing to reach under the dashboard. He pulled a cell phone from a harness under the wheel and turned it on. He kept it in the car most of the time, and checked for messages whenever he could. It was one of the three ways haunting victims got in touch with him. "Sounds like a good friend." Eddie commented, returning the phone to its harness when he found no new texts or voicemails. "Where does she live? By now I know the city like the back of my hand, all I need is a few directions." He started the car, pulling away from the curb and to the stop sign just ahead. "Hope your journalist mind can come up with some good reasoning for what you're involved in. Without telling too much of the truth at first."

Dylan was rather surprised to see the cell phone, though really he shouldn't have been, Still, the thought of Edward having something so normal in his possession was a rather odd one. "She lives over on Crescent Street." He went on with the rest of the address, and a description of the apartment building. It was an older brick place, once a family home, which had been converted into an apartment building. That meant, of course, that there was a shared bathroom and shared washer and dryer.

"As for that, I'm just going to say I finally took her suggestion and decided to take a job in paranormal investigation, and you're the guy I'll be following around." As easy as pie, there was the excuse. And it would explain any odd behavior Edward might suddenly launch into, if Tara followed them around any.

Eddie turned left off the street, following the given address. It wasn't too far from this street, but one had to get a little into the city and onto a more residential road. the Messenger tilted his head a bit at Dylan's words. "So she's been pushing you to look into paranormal activity?" He asked. "That's interesting. Considering when I first met you, you wouldn't accept what you saw." He shrugged, coming to his own conclusion. "I guess one doesn't really get the concept of demons. Or they don't consider demons when thinking about spirits or the afterlife in any way. What you see on television can be so exaggerated sometimes. Then when you're facing a poltergeist corrupted by a demon, things can just take a turn for... insanity, I guess. The way those tortured souls are altered and twisted and darkened, to where they look like things from... Well, from Hell. It's not often you find a poltergeist corrupted so hugely like what we just found. Usually they'll be simpler hauntings. And if I see a demon, I have to take it down. So if I run off you'll know that, right?" He glanced at Dylan as they pulled onto a busy street. Suddenly they were locked in the beginnings of a traffic jam. "Damn it..." Eddie looked behind him, but they were sealed in. "This'll take a while." He huffed, leaning on a hand.

"Tara's a believer, and stubborn to boot. She'll be disappointed to hear you've made a believer of me, when she couldn't."Dylan's fingers tapped nervously against his leg as he listened with a half smile, at least for a little while, to Edward's words. The mention of the other man having to run off after demons had the journalist frowning, displeasure plain upon his features. After witnessing the events of the past few hours, Dylan was afraid of what would happen when Edward ran off, especially if he was alone. The thoughts were irrational of course, since the Messenger had been working alone just fine for years longer then Dylan had even been alive.

When he heard Edward's words, the journalist glanced about and sighed. "Well, look at the bright side, we can talk to pass the time. " In fact, Dylan had more then just a few questions. "So what happens after you're chosen to be a Messenger? Is there some kind of training process? And what about partners, you get any say in that at all?" The Council had said to inform him about things, so Dylan didn't see anything wrong with indulging his curiosity in this.