Out of all the careers he'd ever had, this was the most strange of all, at least, if Dervish could call chasing Demons for no money a career. He worked for an arrogant, borderline narcissist who couldn't keep his hands to himself. He spent day and night running after gateways that no one could see, that led from a world that no one else knew of, with creatures that would wreak havoc and otherwise maim everything in sight.
Yeah, Demon Hunting had to be in at least the top three strangest careers he'd worked. He didn't want to talk about the other two that came close.
Rolling out of bed, a bed that mind you, he didn't own, Dervish landed on the ground with a groan, rubbing his head and sitting up, only to have a pillow tossed at his head from the larger man who simply grunted and buried his face into a pillow, the universal sign for 'fuck off, I'm still sleeping'.
Dervish would have done so, had his first weeks of 'training' been anything but rising at the break of dawn, so instead, the punk jumped to his feet, strode to the windows and jerked the curtains open, flooding the room with sunlight. "C'mon, up sleepy head," He grinned, shoving at Shark's side. The male twitched in response before lifting his head long enough to glare at Dervish, "I'm not getting out of bed til I fucking say so," He grunted.
So, Dervish had definitely proved Shark wasn't a morning person.
Snorting, the male shifted from the room and put on the kettle, glancing up at the clock before yawning, "I'm heading back to my place today-I need some more clothes," He called back to the room, "I put the kettle on, so when you move your ass from bed you can make a coffee," He grinned, striding to the door and slipping on a pair of shoes before leaving the house, heading down the early morning streets toward his apartment.
Slipping the key into the lock of his door, Dervish headed inside, finding some new clothing and shoving it into his bag before glimpsing glass on the ground, swearing quietly and trudging over, the glass crunching under his shoes as he approached the window. "Who?" He muttered, placing a hand on the jagged edges before glancing back into the room. Nothing had been taken, so what could they have possibly been doing.
"Don't make a sound," A voice muttered, Dervish tensing as the unmistakable feel of a knife pressed tightly against his throat, "Listen to me," The voice demanded, "I don't want you to screw this up, understood? Just get the money from your wallet and give it to me," He grunted, Dervish groaning quietly. Just his luck. He fights Demons for a living, and it's a petty thief that gets him. He could just hear Shark laughing.
"Alright-Just calm down," Dervish insisted, walking forward slowly, feeling the person move behind him, as he crouched down, getting his wallet and handing it back. There was rustling behind him and with a split second thought, Dervish turned back, swinging a punch at the man's head, grinning as he crumpled to the floor.
"Jesus, I smelt Demon," Shark grunted from the door, looking at the malformed person at Dervish's feet, Dervish turning around with a laugh, "He was easy. The smell was too strong to ignore," He pointed out, watching the smile slide from Shark's expression. "Dervish…" He spoke out, stepping forward, the punk staring down to spot the knife protruding from his chest. "I didn't realize…" He spoke, reaching for it before he felt the shock disappear and the pain sink in, almost hitting the floor, had Shark not been there in time to catch him.
"Fuck," Shark cursed, Dervish staring up at the male before his vision began to cloud over, and everything went dark, the only thing to accompany him, the constant hammering sound of his heart pounding against the inside of his chest.