[Nero doesn't question it. Maybe his van's driven by an ethereal cloud of cigarette smoke, but the van is just the van. With all the stink of demons, and the leftover Devil Bringer parts, and a scattering of panther fur and the scent of leather and oil. It's got every bump and dent on the outside the real thing has, and all of Nico's ugly-ass stickers, and the jukebox still fucks up half the time if you don't kick it.

It's the smallest things that matter the most sometimes. The things you don't think too much about.]

You don't need to help. [Nero makes himself once the door's open, looking around and peering out the window. It's comfy enough. Overly clean if you ask him. It looks like some elderly dude lives here. Kind of smells old, too.

He crashes into a chair, propping his boot up on his knee.] I know, digging around, plenty of people poked their noses into the gods' business. The pit was being protected by someone's glamour or whatever. Means people can communicate with them. Even come face to face with them, maybe. Now I'm not planning on feedin' my arm to an altar again, but I know Solvunn's gotta know some way to make the things show up. The sooner I find one, the sooner I know for sure that they're just monsters. Same as back home.