( meteion might not look like much, but fortunately makoto isn't much either, a slight slip of a demon that could scarcely weigh much more than a hundred pounds even soaking wet. she is gentle and careful enough that she doesn't cause him any undue discomfort, and this... is something he certainly notices. he's been in varying states of disarray ever since losing his head and becoming a demon, but he can't say he's ever been treated with delicacy. upon first removing his head, J had tucked it under his arm in the same breath that he had congratulated himself on a job well done. it has always been the demon's prerogative to impress upon makoto that he was essentially a possession of his, so the markedly different way that meteion helps him...

it's... strange. and not necessarily in a way that he interprets as good, though he probably should. instead he can't help but be a little mistrustful of it, like a dog which has been struck too many times to expect anything good from the movement of a person's hand.

still, he bares a grimace at her comment, deriving humor from some kind of inside joke. ) It's too bad - under different circumstances, I could have recommended you some books to help with that, if you were interested.

( his taste in literature while still human had been... macabre, to say the least.

as she continues, he has to stifle a laugh (and mostly because it hurts to laugh in a state like this). he shakes his head. ) You likely saved my life... I owe you at least some modicum of trust. ( and temperance, though he couldn't say he finds her annoying or anything? it's hard to be that petty about someone who just helped you avoid bleeding out on the floor.

they continue along, and he pauses in his steps a half-moment before nodding and indicating a door on the left a short distance ahead, ) Up there. Four doors down, on the left.