Pascal is ready for them. Or at least he thinks he is.

Candlelighters are not usually creatures of combat, but there's some training involved, especially given recent public opinion. He hears the screams, the thumps of bodies being dropped unceremoniously to the floor, and he knows that their security has been breached. His windowless corner office is not at a convenient angling for a quick escape, so he's going to have to get creative. He scrambles for the cabinet under his desk, fumbling a little, but managing to come up with a gun in one hand and a small handheld flamethrower in the other.

He picks the flamethrower. By the time Deacon and Mitchell have entered the office, he's sweating and shaky, but pointing the weapon their way all the same.

"What the hell do you want?" And for good measure, he adds a vampire-specific epithet. He can barely make them out in the darkness, but the faint generator light in the corner of his office provides just enough illumination to show him where the blood is tellingly centered.

At least the boy has a little fight in him.