( Paimon's just kind of skittering around without any real destination or goal in mind, crawling around the streets to stalk and terrorise anyone he happens to come across that he doesn't recognise, or anyone with Vile or Warm blood within them. That same need to run, hunt, attack is driving him, and like Michael he can't seem satisfy it; it keeps pressing inwards on him, making him more and more restless.

He's currently folding himself into a pretzel when Michael spots him, and with his head poking out from under the crook of his elbow, Paimon blinks up at the other demon who calls his name, immediately freezing. Slowly, he uncurls himself, crouched on the street as he stares at those blackened eyes. Michael's.... different. Smells, looks, feels different.

Paimon's nose pokes up in the air like an animal sniffing. The odd aggression in him has no desire to lash out at Michael and all of the things that Paimon's capable of sensing about him, even if he couldn't quite put them into words. Things that feel like fellow Darkblood, fellow demon, fellow Corrupted. He opens his mouth to respond, but what comes out to begin with is an absolute mess of hisses, chirps, and whispered tongues. )

.̶̖̤͖͛.̴͙̫̋́̒̄͘.̷̨̖̻̋͛͆̑̈́͗ͅ.̵̗̙̱͓̌.̴̘͔̜̽̾̈́͠.̴̨̄͐̐́̒͝.̶͇͔̹̻̂̉̀.̸̨̱̓͛͒͒̓.̴̨̩́.̷̠̬̙̜͎̃.̴̮̱͈̣͉̄͝.̷̯̙͙͙͌̓̆͐.̷̭̔̾̔̑.̸̧̤̤̟̉ͅ.̵̛̮̯̞̓͐͝.̶̭̃̓.̴̜̜̟́͗̋̓͗̑ͅ.̶̘͖͇͈̰͘.̶̡̢̧̬̼͊̓́.̴͔̘̹̏̈̏̃.̸͉͖̙̂̍̕͠.̵̠̥̰͉̓

( ...Nonetheless, he seems just as pleased to see him, scuttling closer to meet the other demon. )