Wanda caught the towel and followed him, dampened the cloth, and wiped blood from her skin before trying fruitlessly to dab at the stains on her clothes. "I'm from Eastern Europe. Very superstitious. We like our ghouls and goblins traditional. Lurking in forests stealing souls and children," she smirked, and waggled a finger at him. "You could try a little harder to be a cliché," she teased him, but her smile became apologetic. That sarcasm wasn't entirely lost on her and she was a guest in his home, even under these weird circumstances.
"I'm sorry if it was rude to laugh. It's been a trying afternoon, hasn't it? You'll have to forgive me, you're my first honest-to-god demon. I don't know what to expect, but you're nothing like the devils in the stories my Tetka told us when we were children." Well, not like the devils that would spirit a child away in the night if they didn't follow the superstitions or were particularly difficult to their parents. He seemed more like the kind you heard about in church, the smirking seducer who could draw you in and offer whatever your heart desired. For a price. Wanda stopped going to church years ago, and she'd already paid a heavy price to get what she most wanted. There was nothing to fear from a demon.