As a cultivator of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, Shen Qingqiu had a mandate to protect the common people from all manner of supernatural threats. Although he was not, ahem, a front-line fighter in the same manner of some of his martial siblings, still he ran his fair share of night hunts, and encountered all manner of demons, ghosts, and things that go bump in the night. There were even more than one entirely human occultist and serial killer in the mix, because Airplane sometimes had aspirations of being a real writer and tried to play with people's expectations now and then. So: he knows what a predator looks like, especially in a setting such as this.

"Mister Sims." His voice is soft and sweet, but his hand is like iron as it falls on Jon's shoulder. "I was hoping to see you again. I owe you an apology, you know." He steers Jon aware from the coffee shop he'd been about to enter, and instead towards a tavern further down the street; one that is nearly empty just now, waiting for the dinner hour rush when the miners get off work. A darkened booth in the back would be the perfect place for what he has in mind.

"I had a most illuminating conversation with Mister Blackwood," he continues, still in that sweet-soft voice. "You poor fellow! Why didn't you simply tell me that you were under a curse?"