Mismatched
Bethany had a habit of going as deep into enemy territory as she could get away with, confident in her own abilities and quick thinking to keep her alive. They were one Inquisitor down, this she knew, but she was not as fragile as the rest of them, given the super strength and the super healing that came as part and parcel of her being a Slayer, the only Slayer in her world, but not in this world apparently.

She'd not really gone looking for her doppelganger, but it had sort of fallen into her lap when she'd happened across a business establishment in which women removed their clothing for money. It was a mind-boggling concept and she'd certainly caused something of a scene when she'd dragged a half-naked girl off the stage, only to be confronted by a man who called himself Ralphael and seemed to think she was her other self.

Bethany had allowed him to think of her that way, brushing off a few questions about her appearance and lack of scarring on her face, meaning she was able to gleam information about her other self's habits, which apparently included seeing on a regular basis a man of demonic nature.

How very... repulsive.

She excused himself from his presence and found her way into the other Bethany's office and took her time to rummage.

Darian came through the main entrance. He was waved past the security check by the Devil's Own staff and got to the bar without incident. It was a crowded night, the house was dark, and colorful lights flashed off the mirrors and bottles, which was disorienting while his eyes adjusted, but he could see Ralphael. He didn't like Bethany's second-in-command, but the man he thought of as the catalog model knew more of what went on in Bethany's office than her other employees. It made sense to ask him first. He interrupted a conversation with a pretty bartender.

"Is she in?"

He saw Ralphael's nod and headed off, ignoring the warning of, 'Wait, hang on a second!' because he figured it was just a warning that Bethany had a client in the office. In that case, he didn't want to wait. He wanted to watch. So he never got the warning from Ralphael that the owner was acting a little on the odd side.

At the door, Darian gave a hard knock, made sure his tie was straight, and then barged in.

As he barged in, Bethany's spine went rigid and her hand snuck to where the blade was on her, unsheathing all three inches of it before she registered what exactly what was coming through the door.

It was a demon and it was coming fast.

She had two options: The first of which was to attack whilst she still had the element of surprise, and the second was to try and play out the game, see where it went and maybe if she could get any useful information to take back to Hayden. Bethany chose the latter, and if all else failed, she always had her weapons to aid her later, if needs be.

At an attempt at appearing more like her other self, Bethany freed her hair of its restrictive plait and took up a place behind the desk. A quick glance at an opened organiser allowed her to register an encircled name over a span of two days, it looked like her other self had a planned weekend of fun with somebody called Darian.

Darian looked around and saw that she was alone. "Looks like business is booming." He shut the door behind himself. Some soundproofing kept the noise to a minimum, but the floor still vibrated with the performer's music. He made his way across the floor. "It's standing room only at the bar. You must have something damning on the fire marshall."

Because her hair was down, and the Slayer had avoided eye contact, he didn't see her smooth cheek. It wasn't any unusual thing to catch her absorbed in paperwork. Darian walked behind her chair and pulled the blonde strands off her neck. He nose touched her skin. "I love how you smell." He opened his mouth and kissed the juncture of shoulder and throat.

Her eyes tracked the demon closely, figuring that this must be Darian unless her other self was completely loose in her morals. She wouldn't put anything past anyone from this world, it was rotten at its core.

She physically tensed when he approached and this tension ran the entire length of her back when he placed his mouth on her neck. He was demon, he was kissing her neck, and she knew for a fact that there was no cleaning agent in this world or hers that would be powerful enough to remove that... touch.

This Bethany would have smelt different to Darian, given that she used different beauty items and more often than not she dulled her smell when out on a mission, less chance of a creature picking her out when she was hunting it.

Instinct alone had her turning and grappling the demon's tie, using this grip alone to slam him into the nearest wall. "You'd better hope for your sake that I can remove whatever contaminate you just left on my skin."

Up against the wall, Darian looked down at her fist crumpling his tie and shirt. "Beth?" His eyebrows rose. Given her tendency to be rough, and her affection for messing up his appearance, he wasn't surprised by the hold or the force behind it. A little roleplay wasn't out of their norms. How many times had he pressed her into a corner, kicked her legs apart, and pretended like he was looking for something, which ended up being under her skirt?

What made the difference was her mouth. It was visible between pieces of hair, set in a hard line. If she meant to keep her cover, she was about to blow it. "This is a new one." He touched her bottom lip, the tip of his middle finger pulling it down to expose her teeth. "Very convincing. Or are you just... inordinately angry that I interrupted bookkeeping?" He smiled and looked at her restrictive clothes.

Her smell was off in terms of lotions and perfumes missing, but the body chemistry was the same.

A new one?

It took Bethany a moment to process what the demon was saying before she took advantage of it, giving what she hoped passed for a playful smile (she wouldn't know, she'd never done playful before) and stepped back. "Just trying something new out."

She wet her lower lip and found herself pushing her hair behind her ear, remembering why she kept it under control now it was out of its restrictive binding.

Bethany put what she felt would be an acceptable distance between herself and the demon. "What brings you by?"

He was looking at her throat. Or rather, the place where it normally was. The high-collared outfit was no silk pantsuit, no slinky dress with heels. The only skin he had access to was one cheek and her hands. Darian walked around her and got the rear view. It all tugged on his brain, but he couldn't place why.

"What do you think? I certainly didn't come for a lap dance." He smiled and moved away from the Slayer. "I missed you." Darian picked up a paperweight. He hefted it in his palm; it had enough bulk to crack a skull, should she get angry and throw it. "We also have plans to make. Are we on for this weekend?" He took off his coat and tossed it on the couch. He sat in a leather chair before her desk.

It was as he circled her to get a good view of her backside that Bethany turned on her sensible heels, determined not to allow him his lecherous look.

"Yes," she answered confidently. "We are." Apparently her other self had cleared her schedule for her weekend with this demon.

She was completely out of her depth, unaware of what to do, what to say or even how to be. She was conditioned to be a certain way, she acted in the way a woman was supposed to act, respectful and quiet.

"I've cleared my schedule."

"Good." He unbuttoned his collar and his Adam's apple bobbed when he stretched his neck. "You may want to clear the day after as well. I don't plan on returning you in mint condition." The mild joke was quickly dismissed as he looked at the door, other thoughts interrupting. "I had something I wanted to ask. I met a woman a few weeks ago. She's the roommate of a client, a performance artist. She mentioned moving to another city to find work as a dancer. Have you considered hiring a demon?"

Her eyebrow twitched at the so blatant display of skin and she bit back on the urge she had to reach up and close her hand around her already high necked collar. He was so... out there with his intentions, it was almost enough to make her blush, but it didn't. If anything it made her want to take a very hot almost scalding shower.

"A demon?" She repeated, hoping her voice didn't pitch too highly at the thought of it. She stopped to consider what her other self might say and given that she was sleeping with a demon. "Not as of yet."

Bethany turned and considered him. "I don't suppose you've heard anything about portal jumpers?"

"Portal jumpers?" Darian gave her a strange look. "Is it some sort of fashion statement?" He let go of his shirt and leaned forward in the chair, which creaked under his weight. Why he felt so playful with her words tonight, he wasn't sure, but it might have something to do with her stance. Very... rigid. The Bethany of the moment had much in common with his former self, pre-Las Vegas.

He eased back on the throttle. "If you're referring to your employee Ms. Haines, then yes. I am aware she's come from a hell dimension. If it's something else..." He spread his palms wide. "Why don't you fill me in?" While he waited for explanation, Darian looked her over again, stopping on her hands. In particular, he fixated on her fingernails, which weren't what he expected. His eyebrows twitched.

"I was just wondering if you'd heard anything about people slipping through from another dimension," Bethany explained with a shrug. "I've heard things, about groups of people coming through. Two very different groups or so I hear."

She remained on her feet as the demon apparently made himself at home. "One group is on the run and the other is here to apprehend them."

"Is that so?" Darian reached across the desk and took hold of her wrist. Gently, he rotated her arm until Bethany's palm faced up, her curled fingers on better display. "And why should you take a vested interest?" His thumb brushed against her fingernails. Not expensively manicured, not painted a vibrant shade, not sharp enough to slit a throat. "It's a bit unlike you to care what goes on beyond your doors, don't you think?"

From his hunched position, Darian nudged a sleeve up her arm. The blankness of it -- the lack of razor-thin scars -- put a line in his forehead. He looked up at the blonde.

It felt like he was onto her, he had to be, look at that line in his forehead. To continue with the masquerade or let it all slip away, it was a tricky decision.

"What?" She asked, pulling her wrist from his grip. He was pulling her sleeve up, it was unacceptable, improper, wrong. It might have been her imagination, but it felt as if the atmosphere in the office had changed, weighted down with apprehension and uncertainty.

"Nothing. I was just wondering why you don't like it when I touch you," he lied. Breathing out, Darian put his hands on the armrests and pushed up. He took his time getting around the desk. He had all the time in the world. Once back there with her, he leaned back on it, not an aggressive posture. That smell of familiar skin tickled his nose. He reached up and eased a strand of hair behind Bethany's ear. It left her features exposed to the lamp light.

"What a face." He touched the soft cheek with his knuckle. She looked just like the woman he met five years prior, before anything happened to alter her pristine looks. "Who are you?"

She retreated from his touch, unaccustomed to it and certainly unprepared. This Bethany was in many ways a virgin that the other was not. She'd never been as close or as intimate with another person as her other self had.

He'd clearly cottoned onto the fact she was not his Bethany and she now found herself at a loss. She figured the ruse was up so why not come out with something that was in fact true.

"My name is Bethany Richards."

He pulled in air between his clamped teeth. "Ah, but you aren't." Darian gripped the desk with both hands, granting her the space she wanted. "Are you one of them? People who jumped through a portal and wound up here?" As soon as he said it, he knew why the outfit struck a chord. It was old, Victorian, as reminiscent of former times as Mr. Reilly's was in the supper club a few days before. Mr. Reilly, who talked about demons as if they were vermon, to the exclusion of himself. The bell rang again in Darian's brain.

"You hate demons." That made him smile.

"I beg to differ," Bethany argued. "I am Bethany Richards, just not your Bethany Richards and frankly I'm glad of that."

She spread her stance, allowing herself a better footing, just in case anything should happen. "I simply do what needs to be done, for the good of the cause. Demons are the problem, we're merely the solution."

Bethany tipped her head briefly, appraising the demon stood in front of her. She could see the aesthetic appeal, but the thought of letting something so... filthy so close was... it didn't even in fact bear thinking about. "As soon as I find what I'm looking for I'll gladly leave this world behind."

"Believe me. In terms of gladness that you're not mine, the feeling is mutual. My Bethany could have you for breakfast." Darian wondered if the two had run across one another yet. He would pay any price to see his girlfriend's reaction to this. Her life as a white hat. What could have been.

He smiled and crossed his arms. "Where does this leave you in the grand scheme, Bethany Richards? A Slayer? You're full of righteous indignation, but you're living in a glass house, and your pockets are full of stones." He would love to hear the philosophy behind this, hear what she thought made her so different.

"Unlike the rest of the demons in my world, I do not kill innocents or take pleasure from torturing my victims," Bethany remarked. "But, I have nothing to prove to you or anybody else in this world. I know where I stand and that is all that matters. Do you honestly think I care what you, a demon, thinks of me? Or has to say about anything?"

She lifted her eyebrow slowly and passed another appraising look over him. "I do what's right, can you say the same?" Bethany paused for thought and shook her head a moment later. "I suppose not, given the way in which your Bethany seems to make her living. I don't suppose doing what's right is that high on your list of priorities."

"I've wasted enough of my time," Bethany concluded. "I have other things to hunt."

He watched her while she talked, holding still for her appraisal, which found him so sorely lacking. Whatever depraved or emotionally damaging things happened to his Bethany in her lifetime, he supposed he ought to get on his knees and thank somebody for it immediately, if a tightly wound cardboard hero was the alternative.

"What's right depends on perspective, doesn't it? From my perspective, I do what's right every time," the demon said. "But by all means, Miss Richards, repeat the mantra." He tipped his head. "All the rest of the demons are bad. They kill innocents. All of them, except for you. Magically."

Darian loosed his arms and made to stand up. "And you would never take pleasure in torturing a victim, because you're above that." Suddenly, he dropped his casual stance and took her by the throat. His arm strained to hold onto Bethany, his fingers digging into the white flesh of her throat. "You're also above enjoying this, aren't you? What a shame."

He let go and sat in the desk chair. If she was in a hurry to get out of his presence, she could show herself out of the office. He wasn't out of place.

*****

Text to Bethany: "Angel, you've had a visitor. I found your double going through your desk. She's come with a group through a portal. To say she's not attracted to me would be an understatement. -D"