There were two major things Vincent hated - the demons and people in general.

Well, to say the WHOLE demon population would be incredibly racist, as he knew a few good demons himself. One simplest example would be one of his 'toys' - an asset belonging to the USSR, an Authendaemon by the name Roax Alexeyevich Veselovsky. Now THAT'S one person Vincent likes - mainly due to the fact that he rarely retaliates and merely follow with what the 3^rd ranked Death has to offer for him. Now for the reason he hated the demons... It was due to ONE fucking goat, as he had referred to them. The Baphomet itself, that went by the name Elphias Levi. No one likes Elphias, but no one loathes him more than one certain Death.

Suffice to say no one could probably hate anyone better than Vincent. Hell - when it comes to hating, he probably has no moral boundaries.

Which is why currently he was making a face at the people down the building while he stood above them - observing a woman crying over her husband that seemed to have dropped unconscious. It wasn't his doing alright - it was just nature acting it's course, probably just a case of a heart attack, nothing big... But god, he certainly hated the fuss that was caused down there. It reminded him of how hate driven him to giving his fellow comrade a mental comma, making his ex wife cry her eyes out and cursing at him, while he merely laughed at their demise out of his own anger and hate -

That was it in a nutshell. The rest was history. 

Gripping his scythe in one hand while patting the head of one of his 'shadow hounds' - one that he fondly named Renegade, he continued observing the scene with a glistening dislike against his glowing heterochromic hues. The dog merely gave a small whine, to which Vincent merely replied with the clicking sound of his teeth. "You keep saying I shouldn't kill any spouse that I'm assigned to - this isn't a supermarket for souls, Renegade."

The dog made another small whine, causing the Reaper to sigh again. "I'll reconsider, sheesh. But if he doesn't get to the hospital in time -"

Gauche wasn't sure why he was wandering around these areas at the dead of the night - or where 'these areas' are actually even for that matter. What he do know is that it's midnight ( through the smartphone's voice function - bless technology ), and that he was lost and wandering around aimlessly. Running his hand over his hair before pulling out a cigarette stick from underneath his leather jacket, he made a small sigh as he lit up the stick and inhaling deeply. The perks of selling your soul to a demon is that you won't have petty human diseases such as lung cancer - he remembered how at one time he coughed an awful lot after finishing six cigarette sticks on one go - now he could finish a whole box and nothing happened.

The only downside was that his blindness stays. What's there to heal if your cells have already healed themselves ? Nothing - which is why his corneas can't be regenerated. Unless someone cuts it off and it regrows back, then it's a different story altogether.

Gauche was dressed to impress as well, to say the least. The black aviator shades was unnecessary in the dark, but it never occurred to him anyway that one does not wear shades in the dark. What does he care ? It was always dark for him anyway. As he navigated his way down the street, his head was held just a little bit too high from a 'normal' point of view, but that was just his reflexes, as well as an effort to be attuned to his surroundings. Years spent being in a gangster group allowed his senses to get heightened, and even more so when he tied the contract to the demon and getting into that 'blinding accident'. Though, for personal reasons, he had his walking stick close with him, stowed neatly underneath that leather jacket. Putting aside all those, his overall appearance looked like he was ripped out of the 50s.

It was after a while that he finally decided to lean against a wall to figure out where to go next - while throwing the stub onto the ground and stomping it with a boot, before finally lighting up another cigarette. Best option right now would be to ask for directions, but for some odd reason he refused to. Maybe it was arrogance and ego - his whole air was filled and reeking of it.