#helllc

She was not in the mood. Not in the mood at all. In Elsa's defense, it was too damn cold for anyone to be in the mood for anything. London got cold. The countryside where she grew up got even colder. In general, the motherland had a generally gray vibe that was off putting to many. For Elsa, it was home. She could take a chill. The current temperature in New York, however, far exceeded that. It felt like a deep-in-the-bones kind of frost that threatened to freeze you through. It was the kind of night that called for closed shutters and steaming mugs of tea. Instead, Elsa was subjected to something far different.

Monster hunting was brutal work. Sometimes sexualized in the media, sure, but brutal work all the same. It wasn't all sexy corsets and looking hot with a gun. It was work — bloody, violent, gruesome. Add in a winter parka and it was downright annoying. Suddenly, you were fighting not only the ghoul of the night but also your own heavy coat as you tried to find the weapon buried underneath all the layers. A crossbow on your back? Good luck wrestling off if you're wearing a scarf.

As a result, Elsa was freezing. She had sacrificed warmth for mobility. It was easier to stalk the streets if you weren't being weighed down. Being cold, ultimately, was also a great motivator. Find the rogue demon that was crossing the line, dispatch it back to hell, return home to her biscuits. The search so far had lead her to Exchange Alley in the Financial District, which was one of five functioning alleys on Manhattan. A bit cliched, but at least it was private. She didn't need to deal with gawker's as she wiped guts off herself.

Feeling eyes on her, Elsa quickened her pace for a few steps so she could wrap a hand around the gun tucked into her waistband. One quick glance backwards, however, slowed her momentum to a halt as she recognized the face.