they argued my right to ascension

One golden eye arched smoothly upward at the Witches word, her tone berating him for his appearance and the apparent business he'd cost her as both the fae man and the woman moved to exit the shop in the wake of his arrival- an effect he tended to have everywhere he went. Her irritable tone however, is met with little true intrigue, Azrael merely content to allow her to blunder onwards until she had her fill of blustering at him. Why so many of them seemed to be so difficult he hardly knew. The occasional creature attacked him on sight, a scattering more of them inclined to merely nervously nod and shakily answer his questions- this perhaps his preferred type, the last two seeming to lie somewhere in between trying to flee from him- an impossible task unless they possessed teleportation or acting much as this woman did. Else acting determinedly defiant as if her snarky attitude might somehow convince him of his grievous error of arriving here at all before offering her an apology and leaving. He supposed, truly, he shouldn't be surprised. At least half the supernatural population possessed the intelligence of a house brick. Arguing with him would get them nowhere. She is perhaps merely fortunate she is a Witch and no other species, the man decidedly more tolerant for what he deems the least offensive of the supernatural world. Had she been a fae, a vampire, even a Were- perhaps the most offensive, he would have taken a certain amount of pleasure in simply disintegrating her.

She slams the cash register shut a moment later, offering an eye roll before moving to declare her rather obvious sale of potions, Azrael attempting rather valiantly prevent himself from rolling his ow eyes at the woman and her jabs at the council. She was hardly incorrect he supposed. Even he saw the antiquity in at least some parts of the councils operations and yet he could us his power to sway only so many of them, the highest of beings still out of his reach and truly the man intended to keep it that way. He hardly desired the Council turn its attention upon him any more then it had of late. After all, how long would it take them to find out he'd changed records and deleted data? Why he even bothered to keep Davante safe he hardly knew and yet for some reason the thought of the man he'd spent so much time with being slaughtered was....disagreeable to him. Let alone the lengths he'd gone too in an effort to keep Sera's existence unknown. So many years in this life and some part of him was still so....weak. Some part of him still cared. Humanity, he supposed it was and yet how much he wants it to exist he hardly knows. It was easier, so much easier to simply pretend he didn't care. This sort of life destroyed the ones who did. So why couldn't he turn it off? Why didn't that single, last thread of care simply vanish?

"If you prefer to delve into antiquity I can find a stake to tie you too and set it alight. Would that appeal to you more? Or do you prefer to continue to give me foolish answers?"

It is a distinctly low blow and yet Azrael hardly finds he cares, the mention of the Witch Hunts of the past seeming to outright anger most witches. They were, after all, a race that forgot little.

"Yes I found your sign a distinct challenge to get past."

Her policies held next to no authority over him. Perhaps she could ban the Were community, whatever prejudice she held against them hardly his concern, attempting to actually stop a Hunter would only make them far more inclined to visit her. She was fortunate perhaps, that it was only a warning he carried for her today- though she seemed fucking determined not to listen. A sigh of sorts passes his lips, one hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose in an effort not to let his temper get the better of him again- before a simple rush of power sees him appear directly before the woman once more and within her back room. The magic in here he can....feel. God it crawled across his skin. Whatever she had in the front of the store holding none of the power of anything here, gaze falling upon the selection of spell books tucked neatly into the corner before roving across the myriad of potions.

"This is you first and only warning. The Council knows you are here. If you want to sell water and herbs to humans then go ahead, call it whatever you want- but sell even one potion augmented with true magic to a human and I will not warn you again."

Humans with a taste for magic were how more witches were made after all, something the Council desperately sought to avoid no matter how fucking stupid most humans tended to be, to moronic to save themselves. Yet surely that is why Hunters came to be in the first place.

"Get rid of this, all of it- I'm giving you a chance the others won't. I will not pretend I don't see it a second time. Take it home and if I ever see those again I will destroy them."

He gestures loosely to the potions around him before nodding towards the spell books, the source of most witches powers and not anything he will allow her to keep within the shop, within reach of humans or other supernatural's whom might feel inclined to use them to increase their own power. He should hardly be giving her the chance to take them home and yet that is the single and only kindness he will afford her today. Whether she was intelligent enough to take it remains to be seen, the very feel of the magic in this room was...abhorrent to him. Even despite the fact he had allowed Sera to use her own, in a sense, when she had worked to help him heal the vampire bite upon his neck- the twin puncture marks faded now, nearly gone, thanks to cream imbedded with her blood. Yet to Sera's magic, to her presence he had become almost....unconcerned. This however, was not the raven-haired witch he had come to hold some...affection for. The hypocrisy of his words and actions is not lost upon him and yet he hardly chooses to dwell on it now.

"Do you understand, or do I need to make it clearer?"

One hand lifts before she can afford any true answer, the soft, glowing ball of light within it becoming apparent now. The light almost blindingly white as he affords her some knowledge of it before rather abruptly tossing it at a nearby stool, the light ball colliding with the wood in a seemingly harmless manner- before the entire thing erupts in smoke with a single, audible crack, pieces of ash tumbling to the floor- all that remains of the utterly disintegrated stool. This the tiniest fraction of his own power. His lip quirking slightly upward.

"Any more questions, Broom-Hilda?"

Azrael Evero

only fools walk where angels fear to tread