Az tipped his top hat and nodded in greeting with a raised brow and a sociable smile at the two female demons walking past him without slowing his pace. They grinned at each other, one elbowing the other, as they waved back while continuing on their way.

His smile immediately vanished when he turned a corner and found himself alone in the tall concrete hallway again. He hoped his speed would be enough of a discouragement that the women, who he'd met at a recent Feast, wouldn't turn around and call back for him. He needed to conserve his energy for the upcoming negotiation, and discerning the ins and outs of empty, flirtatious behavior was a particularly trying social exercise.

He turned through an empty door frame into a grey walled room with unlit fluorescent lights and identical, uncomfortable looking floral patterned chairs lined in three rows in front of a tall, curved counter. He headed to the plain, windowless doorway behind it and stopped, raising his walking stick and wrapping on it in four staccato beats, then six slow ones.

After exactly one minute, it creaked open by itself. He carefully pushed out a Thread to determine if anyone unexpected was present. The only Thread that bounced back was one he recognized from the man he'd come to see, so he proceeded inside.

He closed the door behind him with his walking stick without turning around. The room's ambiance was nearly the exact opposite to the previous sleek and modern one. This one seemed to be very old, with heavy, thick beams crossing the ceiling, and lumpy walls covered in a white plaster. A roaring fireplace to his left was casting the only light. Large wooden tables covered with books were on his right, but he headed directly to a incongruous metal desk right in front of him.

The one-eyed man behind it stood up, looking him over with one pinched hand in the air, openly using Threads to check for weapons. Az politely stopped walking. He felt the knotted Threads brush against him in an unpleasant, amateur manner, but did not outwardly react. The man frowned at his walking stick before deciding not to make an issue of it and sitting back down again in his low, wooden chair. He blinked slowly, peering up at him. “Asmodeus. Been a while.”

“Marcelle,” Az said agreeably, giving his social smile briefly as he arrived at the desk and looked down at the man seated there. It had been at least two years, but that wasn't unexpected in Marcelle's line of business.

Marcelle was a middle aged half-or-less demon of stodgy build with a good deal of his face melted off from telling a customer something he hadn't wanted to hear. He was dressed in layers of ragged clothing, and had only a few strands of hair remaining on his head. Tiny stubs of horns rested above his ears as the only hint to his inhumanity.

He rested his hands on his potbelly and glanced up at Az impassively with his remaining green eye. He never bothered to cover his missing one. Lesser demons whispered that the plain white glass orb was enchanted to discern truth, and Marcelle would certainly never correct such a useful rumor.

“Nice to see you in one piece. Heard there was some trouble Above,” he said in his slow accent, raising a brow and spreading his fingers without lifting his hands. “Assume it all worked out for you, yeah?”

Az gave a tight, brief smile. “How much are you willing to pay for that information?”

Marcelle grinned, closing his fingers again. “If more people were as reserved as you, I'd be outta work. So, what'll it be today?”

Az reached into his waistcoat's hidden pocket, and pulled out an item from it. He set it on the table, covering it with his hand before slowly drawing it back to reveal its signature red-gold glow.

Marcelle's eye widened in an expression he couldn't hide, although he certainly made a valiant effort. He shifted to sit up straighter, drumming his fingers on his stomach and trying to look casual as he studied it.

“That's somethin' pretty valuable you got there,” he finally said, putting it very lightly. Half of a bloodstone was still worth almost as much as a full one; and unlike a full one, it was easier to sell. Bloodstones were overflowing with power that could not be divided into multiple tasks, and due to their rarity, most sorcerers or demons held onto them without ever finding a situation that justified their use. A half stone was easier to use without guilt over wasting it. Marcelle would have no trouble finding a buyer if he had no use for it himself.

“I am aware of its value,” Az agreed, then he leaned over the desk to get directly to the point. “I will exchange it for all available knowledge on the current and most likely future locations of every Ultimate Supreme.”

There was a long silence broken only by the fire's crackling. Marcelle looked up at him with an unreadable expression for several seconds, then shook his head, leaning back with a low whistle. “Pokin' around in the business of the twelve most powerful demons what exist. That's a big ask, Asmodeus, even for me and my... discretion in all affairs.”

“I am aware,” Az repeated, his gaze on Marcelle remaining sharp. “But I am also aware that you are capable of achieving it, and without unnecessary... complications.”

Marcelle nodded slowly, his chair rocking with the movement. “I am. That I am.”

He was silent for another long moment, looking up at the ceiling. Az straightened and waited, hoping that his tension was not perceptible. It was unlikely Marcelle would truly turn down even a half bloodstone, but not impossible. He had already given information freely by revealing his request; leaving with that vulnerability exposed was not an acceptable outcome.

Marcelle finally stopped rocking to look down at the gem. He seemed to be coming to a decision. His eye flicked up to meet Az's. “This traceable?”

Az shook his head. “To the theft? No. The other half will not call to it, either, as it was used.”

Marcelle chewed his lip a moment as he thought some more. Finally he sighed and leaned back, meeting Az's gaze unflinchingly. “Alright then. I accept. I'm gonna need more information from you, though, and the price of this's enough will keep me from sellin' what you tell me now.”

“I will not elaborate on 'why,' as I am sure you are aware,” Az said, looking down at him coldly. Marcelle shook his head with a small, lopsided grin.

“That ain't my business, though you know I'm good at guessing. Can't promise I won't put the pieces together, but—“ He stopped, leaning forward, having somehow discerned that Az was extremely displeased by that possibility. “I can promise you that if I do, I won't sell it without offering you the chance to make a counter offer for my silence first.”

Az frowned, but nodded. “Disagreeable, but acceptable.”

Marcelle grinned again, leaning back. “You know what type of bloke you're dealin' with. Can't ask for more than that. I am what I am, Asmodeus, just as you are what you are.”

Az gave another curt nod.

“And what you are, Asmodeus, is one big mystery that I ain't plannin' on solving without a buyer to encourage me. An' with your reliable history, I'm more's like to sell you the fact what someone's pokin' their nose around, askin' what they shouldn't be. But that's all aside, now.” Marcelle took a deep breath and crossed his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as his grin faded. “Why's anyone want to know where a dangerous beast makes its bed, anyways? Reasonable enough to know where one outta avoid. Handled right, they won't even know anyone's askin', and if they do, they'll assume it's something like that. For all but one.”

His smile was completely gone as he sat up and looked at Az with a piercing stare. “You ain't the type to pick a fight you can't win, so you must have personal history with this 'un. And I know there's but one Ultimate what's moved in the past three decades, so I reckon that's the one you're really after.”

Az had known it was foolish to hope Marcelle wouldn't pinpoint who his real target was so easily, but the fact that he had was confirmation that Az had gone to the correct information broker.

Marcelle was looking over him with a stoic expression. “So it is Ol' Toothy. I won't bother with the others, then, as that's not what you're really after.”

Az's jaw tightened as he nodded. It was uncomfortable to have his thoughts picked apart and exposed, but he reminded himself that the smarter Marcelle was, the faster—and more accurate—the information he provided would be.