#vile-blooded

(I didn't really make any specific location I just glanced at the lore of your character and had an interesting idea with it so here's what most likely poor attempt at it.)

The clocktower overlooked the city; bright lights could be seen scattered throughout. The night was a time of rest or unrest depending on who you were. Camille was one of the ones in unrest, protecting the city, always watching.

The most interesting are always out at night. Camille could see many faces that seemed to lurk throughout the night.  Camille herself was no different than those she watched. Everyone had their own agenda at night, something to do or seek. As the surroundings of the clock tower began to become prosaic Camille took her opportunity to take her leave. Maybe she would run into someone of interest on the streets she thought, after all, you never know who would be out.

As Camille stepped outside she could feel the wind biting at her skin, it had been a cold winter. Given that the city was in spring it still felt like the middle of an endless winter. Glancing at everyone she passed Camille thought to herself as she walks. They were dressed in a classic sophisticated type of wealth. Why would someone like this be out at such a late hour she thought to herself? Formality in dress isn't what you would expect past daylight.

Maybe the needed help of some kind; why else would they be out at the ungodly hour. As Camille approached the women she spoke in a clear and concise tone.

Send me ₩ for my muse to sit in your muse’s lap@vile-blooded

   Careful in placing a stray lock of silvery hair behind the Old Hunter’s ear, Riley leaned back, a thumb tracing down the back of Maria’s neck as she tried to make as comfortable a surface as possible. She’d hired this cadre of hunters for their knowledge into the secret world, and had insisted to herself that she wasn’t going to go further than that. Maria, though…she was different. It felt like she cared, that she recognized Riley’s interest in the infernal as more than academic. (Not that the cambion hid, per se, that she wasn’t human…but it was just a matter of business. Stood to reason that a bunch of hunters had their own hang-ups. Better to leave some things unsaid.) And from that compassion came...familiarity. 

   “Watch it, O Hunter,” murmured the would-be seat, glad for the angle hiding her rueful smile. “You might be losing your touch.”

How dare? He not share?

Watched “the ritual” yet?