@kiyote / closed.
Irritation bubbles like water on a frying pan at the uncooperative answer. His lips part and before he can speak comes that noise, again, that scratching sound of talons against cheap wood -- he can’t tell the source just yet. It can be the door. It can be the table. It can be the floor about to burst from beneath their feet. Whatever it is, it is searching for a way in. Red’s senses have grown to become knife-sharp over the years, honed not by otherwordly origin but his own experience, his own need to always be aware of his surroundings in order to survive.
When he hears it the third time he knows where it comes from. Red’s reaction -- yanking Teo by the collar of his shirt, shoving him against the nearest hallway -- carries on an implicit meaning-warning-threat: wake up. Wake the fuck up, Cruz, right now. "That noise, you idiot,” he hisses as Mateo’s back hits the wall. The creature makes its existence finally certain to them both, he hopes -- a low, desperate groan like an ancient tongue as it begins to pound on the door, louder each time, like condemnation. “If you’re not gonna help, shifter, then don’t stand in my fuckin way.”
Warm livingroom lights gleam on Red’s revolver as he draws it out.