Blackwater Islands A martini. Shaken, not stirred.

The demon had considered his options regarding the disrespectful acolyte. Anger was the first thing he felt; it told him to kick the man out on his ass. But when he had calmed enough to think more clearly, he remembered how torn up his brother had been. Honing that skill for the use of the druids was intriguing. Almost as intriguing as the image of the arrogant man on his ass in the water on the other side of the bridge. Decisions. 

It was in the man's favor that he sought the speaker out and not the other way around; it showed some willingness to respect the hierarchy and suggested that he could enlightened. 

He strode out from the shadows to stand before the other man. Acolyte, was all he said, his cold stare on the face of the uninitiated.