Hawk sat with his wings spread wide open, drying them over the small fire. The contents of his messenger bag--everything he owned--had been emptied out around him on the dirty concrete.

"I mean, if�this," he nodded pointedly, "was how things on Earth would be if the demons revealed themselves to all the humans, in't hiding much better?"

Teige peered at him with some surprise. He'd exchanged his wet clothes for the singular black-and-red windbreaker that had been stuffed in the bottom of the messenger bag, and was now hanging them on a low steel beam, next to the bag itself and a strip of clean-but-stained cotton that dripped rather pathetically in the firelight.

"I donno ennymore," Teige said after a pause, flinging his t-shirt over the beam. "Maybe, if you�can�hide. Folks like yourself, though, they're fucked."

There was a short pause during which the radio murmured gently about storms and refugees. Hawk tilted his head scornfully.

"'Folks like me,'" he repeated. "Halfbreeds, d'ya mean? 'S there somethin' wrong with being a halfbreed? I'm�curious."

A grin found its hasty way to Teige's face. "No!" he exclaimed, waving his arms, "No, no, no."