Melted Face of the Soul - The Wayward

“Egg! Wasn’t expecting to see you. Meet Mr. Sigmund, a hunter from the Order. Seems they are expanding their services. I was just offering to show him around, see the sights,” Alec said. Monika nodded at the bearded Hunter. He'd become a bit of a mainstay as of late, much like Monika herself, and though he was frequently unsociable, his tongue loosened when his mood was good, and over the years they'd grown accustomed to each other enough to speak unfettered and enjoy each other's silent companionship equally. He'd also shown himself a capable student in body disposal, if she explained it as a mixture of recipe and DIY instruction rather than attempt to explain the molecular minutiae of how hydrochloric acid and nitric acid break down proteins and fats.

Alec called over the bartender and gave Monika a carte blanche from the menu. Her stomach growled appreciatively and she clapped him on the shoulder. "My heart mourns your wallet," she said with a chuckle, "but much obliged, Alec. Gimme a double scramble on rye, double cheese, hold the bacon."

The newcomer, meanwhile, had greeted her in German, a language switch that caught her somewhat off-guard, as it always did. She should have seen it coming; he was from the Order, after all. But there was forever a sting to her mother's tongue considering the people she'd lost. For a moment, she feared he might insist on speaking German with her exclusively. It would not be the first time that had happened. As such, it was a relief to her when he continued in English, possibly for Alec's sake. "I take it the kind of 'cleaning' you engage in is a tad more visceral than cleaning countertops and dusting old mantles hmm?" he asked with a wry smile.

"About as visceral as melted werewolf heads get," she shrugged.

"In truth I try to avoid making a mess," he noted with uncharacteristic reticence before continuing. "Old habits, you know? But should anything arise, I'll be sure to pay you a visit. Forgive me if this seems a prying question, Monika," the old Hunter went on. "But I can't help but notice a distinct Saxon tinge to your accent... Did you happen to reside in North Germany during your youth?"

Monika nodded, a small smile playing around her lips, not without a measure of admiration. "You have a sharp ear, Mr. Sigmund. Born and bred Hamburger. Now, I was never much for accents myself," she admitted, "let alone gleaning them from a different language. But you don't strike me as a Northerner, you're not round enough. A mountain man, maybe?"

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