#« patrick.

" What are you doing out here? I thought I told you to wait by the door. "

He followed Ingvar's gaze for a moment, gaze dropping to the pale skin dotting his forearms. Jacket lying over Chess as he snored nearby, the loss took off nearly an inch of Patrick's frame, and he knew it. Usually worn like a second skin; discarding it had been a deliberate choice. And, for all it was worth, it had worked; Chess had fallen asleep in minutes. But it left the hunter open: vulnerable, in a way he wouldn't usually let himself be.

Giving Ingvar a shrug, he rubbed his arm absently. "Plenty o' things," he replied quietly. "Vampires, demons, innumerable ghosts and spirits...even angels. It hasn't been any one thing." His fingers found a scar more raised than the others, nails gently scraping over the skin. "It's just...how hunting is. You get hurt, take damage—physical and otherwise. Some times are worse than others," he finished softly, gaze drifting to Chess again.

Never had Patrick thought he'd see the day when a pack of werewolves turned tail and fled. Perhaps it truly did pay off to have friends in high places. Whether the whimpering dogs were running from Ingvar's height, or because they knew him, or something else entirely—Patrick found he truly didn't give a shit. "C'mon, go," he murmured to Dani, nudging her forward. The girl stumbled a step, quickly picking up the pace as she followed the wolves out the house.

Sure enough, Patrick's recognition of the familiar rumble had been correct. Ingvar stood outside, and Patrick let himself bend over his knees, gasping for air. "Thank god for you, Ingvar," he managed, craning his neck up to make sure Dani was safe. She leaned against the house nearby, one arm bent across her chest in pain, but otherwise alright. The werewolves could be heard in the distance, growling and yelping, but they were already a significant ways away, and getting further by the minute. They wouldn't be back any time soon.

ooooh, love this!! gonna use the five love languages here, which are quality time, acts of service, words of affirmation, physical touch, and gift giving.

rami's is definitely quality time. he's not a big hugger, not big on physical touch in general; so his follow-ups are probably acts of service and gift giving. he tends to be pretty awkward, and does better when he's reacting to patrick's affection, rather than initiating it himself.

Pat hesitates, eyes flicking up to the giant's face for a moment as he slides the barn door shut with a quiet, woody thunk. His footsteps echo in the silence of the night for a few moments as he pulls his typical stool over, closer to Ingvar rather than not. Tonight, he isn't keeping watch.

He lets out a breath he hasn't even realized he's been holding. "...look, I've gotten some information that I wasn't expecting t'get tonight," he starts slowly, shifting his weight on the stool. "N' I really need you to not tell Chess and Dani, alright?" The pang of guilt stabs him in the stomach again, the same way it did when he first heard the news, but he shoves it down, ignoring it. There'll be time for guilt later.

"Apparently, while back, Mubiru made a deal. With a demon. Like an idiot." The last bit is mumbled under his breath as he scrubs a hand down the side of his face, stalling out in his beard. "Point being, he...doesn't have long left. Right?"

"I've...Rami 'n I've been lookin' for way around it, but we're just...not findin' much." He shakes his head, eyes unfocused as he stares at the slats of the boards beneath his feet. "There isn't much about gettin' away from hellhounds. I'm not sure...not sure it's possible."

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head in response. "Aye, I haven't been entirely honest." Was a hunter ever honest? "I'm not an insurance man, unfortunately. They probably make more money." He shrugs off the suit jacket, rolls the sleeves of the shirt up. Secret's out, no reason to remain undercover. "I'm a hunter. Looking into a series of kills in the area; one every four years. Y'know anything about it?"