Alistair glanced down at the manila envelope in his hand as his lips pressed together in a small frown. 'Tetradore' was the only word written upon its yellow surface - the name altogether foreign to him and yet his superior had insisted that he spend his Saturday afternoon playing messenger for the Dark Hunter Council as their newest member. His emerald eyes slowly turned upwards to eye the giant cargo ship in front of him. Azrael had told him the Ark was impossible to miss. He hadn't expected for the name of the damn ship to be brazenly painted upon the side of the dilapidated boat. Alistair hadn't thought that, when his own maker had brought him to the headquarters of the Dark Hunters, he would be signing up to play courier. After all, Adrien had all but impressed upon him the importance of his transformation into such an immortal species. He'd been informed well of their duty to protect the sanctity of life from the vileness of the supernatural. Although Alistair had gotten the feeling that his own maker had abhorred the otherworldly race more than necessary, there was no changing the fact that the artist needed the man and so, for now, he agreed to go along with...well, all of this.

It was with a soft sigh that Alistair moved up the gangplank and into that smaller side door of the cargo ship - the Dark Hunter presented with the fairly empty hull of the ship. His verdant irises scanned the converted room he found himself within - a large arena or sorts was settled in one area of the room, only for several tall bar stools and tables to congregate on the opposite side. It was the sound of glasses, however, that drew his gaze to what he could only assume was supposed to be a bar of some kind - a plethora of liquors filled the wall behind it. This was, admittedly, rather unexpected. His gaze fell upon the young blonde woman behind that bar, the girl clearly occupied with some sort of task. She was pretty, even he was willing to admit that though there was something...off about her - something that just didn't sit right with him. The Artist cleared his throat as he made his way towards the counter she stood behind, though it took him several steps before he realized just what it was about her that so set him on edge. She was supernatural. Her very existence seemed to prompt those instincts of anxiety within him, the very sorts he was still struggling to adjust to. What she was, he couldn't tell, and yet Alistair could hardly help the tenseness that filled him as he paused in front of her. Adrien had warned him that he was likely to be an unwanted presence amongst the other races. She certainly didn't look like the type that might try to kill the newly turned Hunter but...he knew well he was a poor judge of character, to begin with.

"Uh....hi? I'm supposed to give this to someone named Tet...how do you even pronounce this?" He offered her the manila envelope, the man altogether baffled on how those letters could even make up a real name. Really, the first names that parents were giving children these days. Azrael certainly another one that had prompted his eyebrows to raise. That name, however, wasn't the only thing he found himself questioning as his gaze shifted back to the arena behind him. "What exactly is this place?" He inquired, hardly attentive to the simple fact that the Dark Hunter hadn't bothered with those pleasantries and how-do-you-dos'. After all, as soon as he could get those tasks for the Council done, he could spend his weekend on the things that actually interested him - particularly, those jars of paint within his loft that had gone untouched for far, far too long.