Demons don't fuck around when it comes to the neutral zones. Most of them are demon owed for that very reason. They hold up their side of the bargain. It didn't hurt that they are fluent in most languages and dialects. It was one of the stranger things to come about after the Neutral Laws, and a real point of contention. They've got a rightfully earned bad reputation and the no-nonsense way they disposed of rule breakers didn't help it but regardless, they kept the peace and thus keep the profit. Mostly, it beat being in hell.
He, himself, didn't make a habit of being a good samaritan— it was a rather human thing to do— but he would intervene if necessary. It was not a dutiful action, Ciaran was simply out of his mind with boredom and ready to make that somebody else's problem. He hadn't gotten his hands dirty in quite some time. Thus, he watched, lazily, from a dark corner of the room for any disturbances that might require a swift solution.
He swirled the glass of scotch in hand while surveilling only to stop abruptly as he spotted a little, blonde thing boxed in by a bloodsucker. It was not his establishment but it didn't matter: a human being drunk-drained on the premises would set a bad president. He hadn't yet moved before she'd shoved the leech back and stuck— if all things, a wooden olive pin through his hand. Now that was interesting. That wouldn't kill him, Ciaran wouldn't have cared if it did, but it sure as fuck would hurt like hell while it healed. He loved a feisty one. Souls were all the sweeter for it.
There was a clause in the neutral laws that prohibited violence which dictated justifiable self defense, particularly on the part of a human against a non-human, was permitted. The sticky bit was the clause also stated it was specific to physical altercation. He knew there were at least a dozen camera angles that would show she drew first blood. Ciaran loved a loophole. He emptied his glass and followed her to the secondary bar across the room.
He's a demon, not a creep, so he left plenty of space for her to catch her breath before he stepped in her path. When she stumbled his hands lifted to hover beneath her elbows in case she needed help balancing. He was careful not to touch her directly. It wouldn't hurt him nearly as much as it had her previous company but he certainly didn't want to be on the wrong side of her olive pin.
His smile cut sharp and charming across his face, the perfect picture of a Grimm fable. "So sorry, miss. I saw the predicament back there," Ciaran played the part of concern well, eyes scanning her for injury. "I know the owner of the club and they would be remiss if I didn't check up on you. Are you okay?" His head tilted back toward the vampire hissing profanity across the room as someone pulled the pin from his hand. He gestures, gentlemanly, toward the less crowded area away from the dance floor. "He won't risk my wrath, if you'd like an escort into the lounge area."
