By then, Daimon had arrived, his coat hanging off his arm, a hand in his pocket. Slung over his shoulder was his leather messenger bag, which--even if they were unaware--suggested he'd just come from some prior engagement. A faculty meeting, which he really could've done without. But it was the unexpected altercation that transpired between colleagues that saved the time-wasting borefest, and perhaps kept Daimon from either walking out or wreaking havoc on them; nothing life-threatening of course, but something to create a little chaos. Demons loved that. Obviously.
And such was the case with the possession of Daisy’s...friend. Honestly, Daimon had expected a boy closer to her age; he was just a kid. Approaching the group, he nodded toward Daisy, looked at the boy, and lastly at the man he assumed owned the facility. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said to them. “I’m Daimon,” he firmly shook the owner’s hand first, and geared his hand over to the kid to shake his. “I’ll be getting rid of that demon for you.”