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He appreciates her directness, she appreciates his. He could very well play the smoke-and-mirrors game of etiquette but wasting time on paperwork or handshakes was so unpleasant to him that he often wondered why words were invented at all when they were born with a face and a body. Her name is Erzulie, not Rusalka.

I fight, he says, and on second thought adds, I fight well. Enough to make a living out of it.  The Gray Brothers didn't suffer fools. Miranda was perfectly content to slip into the clandestine machine that existed just outside of bureaucracy and law, so they were business partners made in heaven. He allows himself a small portion of nostalgia before disposing of it somewhere in a stainless steel chute. I know a bit of healing. I'm what you might call a combat medic.

Your home is lovely, by the way. This wasn't small talk; he meant it. He lays a hand over the shag carpet. Autumn rears over them and the dirt under his feet is loose as if it hasn't seen the sun in a long time. There is a quaint and anemic charm to this place and every breath traces a new contour in his mind where a memory of Rusalka is already developing.