Who: Derek and Dessicant
Where: Outside the Wooden Nickel
When: Evening

Derek was used to having to leave places to smoke so in habit he left the bar, which could only be classified as a ‘dive bar’ for a quick cigarette. He chuckled to himself thinking of what his stock holders would think to see him leaving such a place. It would probably some big scandal that would turn into him having a mythological drinking problem or even worse, a drug problem. Then his board of directors would insist that he check himself into a rehab center to deal with his ‘problems’, when in fact he hadn’t had a drink all night and had already tried most drugs and found them boring. Of course no one would even believe the -real- reason he was there. Gossip.

Derek leaned up against the side of the building and pulled his pack of reds from the pocket of his jeans and his lighter. He’d dressed down for his night out, not wanting to attract too much attention. However, those with a keen eye for fashion would know that even though he didn’t look like a rich business man, everything he wore was still a designer label. Pulling out a stick he set it caringly between his lips and lit it with the small flame from the lighter. Leaned his head back, letting out the stream of smoke from his first drag, watching the sky start to slowly let go of its tears again. It was almost as if it wasn’t crying, but sweating.

The rain was what had actually drawn Dessicant out of the apartment, once Ethan waved him off to watch television instead of practice his piano and he realized that it was raining. It was barely a drizzle, but it cooled the world down, softened the edges-- caused accidents and disgruntlement and annoyance. Dessicant wandered out in it, the slow fall of water plastering his long hair down and drenching his coat bit by bit, but he didn't mind. Water dried in hours. A nice night of rain lasted until the next day.

Not to mention it meant he didn't have to think about what to do about Peyton yet if he focused on the water and the small chaoses it caused. He'd spent the whole day in music so he wouldn't have to think about it, and now he was spending the night in rain.

The demon passed by one of the dirtier, baser bars in town and, distracted by noise and the distant suggestion of music walked through the scent of smoke coming from the alleyway beside it. The rain prevented a cloud of it, but it couldn't quite wash away the distinctive smell, and Dessicant, unprepared, started coughing. Glaring at the alleyway, he caught sight of the faint glow from a cigarette.

"Don't you know smoking's unhealthy?" he rasped in the smoker's direction.

“And free will’s universal.” Derek replied, glancing in the direction of the voice. Man his eye sight sucked in the dark when it rained and the lights reflecting off the droplets didn’t help clarify the dark shadow that was his health critic.

"It's unhealthy for anyone walking by, too," Dessicant pointed out before falling into another brief coughing fit. The fact that his lungs were particularly sensitive to pretty much everything didn't help matters, but he wasn't going to point that out. He didn't come closer-- not yet. Not until that cigarette got put out, which he might do himself if the man didn't.

“That’s why I left the bar and walked to the side where there were no people.” Derek had gone through this argument before with the ‘clean air’ people and ya know he was good, he never lit up in a room full of people (even if there was smoking allowed) he always lit up where he knew there weren’t any non-smokers. It wasn’t his fault if said non-smoker walked up to him.

Dessicant had never been particularly concerned with "fair" or even "realistic reaction" and, being a demon and inherently selfish, he was perfectly happy to lay the blame for his coughing solely at Derek's feet. He was also perfectly happy to send a little curse at Derek's cigarette, causing it to flare up brightly with more fire than it should have had, and then die completely. Who cared if it was pretty obvious who'd done it? Dessicant wanted to stop coughing, and this man wasn't cooperating. Besides, it would annoy him, and he was all for that.

Derek looked at his extinguished cigarette and then to the man, his eyes narrowed slightly in thought. It hadn’t been the rain that put it out… “Well I guess that’s that.” He shrugged dropping the half a stick to the ground with the other butts lying about. “Damn rain.” Can’t let the man know of his suspicions, but how else could the stick had flared like it did before going out? Derek might be on the fringes of ‘this world’ but he’d learned enough to question the strange things that happened. “Was getting a bit chilly out anyhow.” He’d left his jacket inside, leaving only a Stones t-shirt to cover his torso.

"I rather like it, actually," Dessicant said, purposefully breathing in deeply, as if to enjoy the cigarette-less air. He could still smell it, lingering even through the drizzle, but he viciously quashed the urge to cough. He refused to ruin his statement with his damn Weight. "Clean and refreshing."

He didn't care if the fellow suspected him; he would never guess he was a demon, as that was far too piddly and obvious a thing to be a curse, right? More likely a witch or an elemental, or even a psychic. A few telekinetics he knew of could put out a flame like that. So if he'd unknowingly-- recklessly, even-- targeted himself a hunter, he'd take measures quite different than ones required to capture or kill a demon.

And besides. Maybe a little chase would be fun.

“Until you’re splashed with a dirty puddle by a car driving by.” Derek responded as he pushed off the wall and started to walk out from the side of the building. He wasn’t approaching the man to approach him, but he was in the direction he needed to take to get back into the bar. Besides he might get a better look at who he was.

"I'm wet enough already, a little more water isn't going to kil me." Dessicant backed up along the sidewalk to let the cigarette-smoke-smelling man by, smiling mildly and trying to hold back more coughs. His will-power ran out, however, and he broke into a wheezing fit of them when the guy reached him. Maybe he'd take the coughing as another insult to his smoking habit-- it certainly was, in Dessicant's mind, for all it was a natural reaction.

“Y’know. Y’should get that cough looked at. I know smokers who aren’t that bad.” Maybe he was provoking? Perhaps he should stop? Derek was too curious to see what might happen to do that.

"It's chronic," Dessicant rasped when he could, his voice even quieter now, and hard to hear against the soft but steady rain. "It's not going away. --And I haven't smoked a day in my life. Can you imagine what I'd sound like if I had?" Oh, no. The demon was not rising to that bait. He'd much rather play the man than get angry with him, so far. He shifted more downwind, and in the process kept his face out of the light of the bar's windows, wondering if Mister Smoker would turn and come closer to try and get a view of it.

“Suck.” Derek said as he walked up to the door. “You’d think the cold air would aggravate it even more.” He was smart enough not to run up to the man like a loon to get a better look at him, so he worked with what he could, the size of him, his profile and the few features he -could- make out, his voice anything that could clue him into who this man was if he saw him on a later date. He opened the door of the bar wide, letting it’s light cascade over Derek and the front steps.

"You'd think," Dessicant agreed dryly. But then, a demon of chaos wasn't about to follow predictable patterns of illness, compared to other beings. His voice was distinctive, and his size and long hair-- his features were strong enough to make out the high cheekbones of his supposed native heritage, but that was about it. He turned away from Mister Smoker with a little wave, heading back down the street and tossing over his shoulder, "Good luck with your death-sticks. Hope they don't catch up to you."