Propriety had nothing to do with it? Weren't manners, morals, etiquette and the distribution of your values ... everything? Propriety had more to do with everything than Azrael was allowing himself to acknowledge, which made me shake my head minutely. If it weren't for his next words, I may have begun a different kind of onslaught because as it were, the strings of guilt and weakness were as readily available as my own were to him. While the Hunter never said a word about adoring the young witch, it was blatantly obvious that he harbored such feelings. At the masquerade, Azrael had sought me out during my conversation with her. He had placed himself in front of her, almost, in a display of dominance that had me laughing afterwards. Why would a Hunter attempt to protect one of the individuals he wanted to destroy? If it were merely in his nature to do so, wouldn't he have done it, unless... I had come to the conclusion incredibly quickly, understanding that Azrael did have feelings for the witch whether he realized it or not. He didn't have to say anything about how he felt about Serafina. Admitting that would mean confessing his hypocrisy, and what... A hypocrite as a hunter? There were far more things that were surprising. From where I was, I ran a hand over my face to keep the sweat off my brow and to give my eyes a moment to rest from the light of the room before returning my heavy gaze to his face, eyes unwavering.

"You never had to say anything about her."

I offered the words flatly. They weren't malicious or holding the contempt that my voice had swelled with earlier; the words were a simple fact. If anything, they were a fact that I could understand and the Hunter in front of me would more likely than not willingly admit that this was something we had in common. Women so often brought men together or apart, drawing a rift between them or patching some kind of valley with a bridge that was unsteady, but existed. The half-truth to the Hunter's words brought a mirror-like smirk to my own lips, accompanied by a snort of almost agreement. I wouldn't have openly admitted my attraction to the witch either had I been in his position, but I wasn't, and as it were my intentions towards her were fairly obvious thanks be to the masquerade. As if a scene from an action movie, the spears that hailed from my prior indignation sailed into their target, allowing my satisfaction to draw my lips into a Cheshire smile.

The idea of a scene from a movie fades quickly. Instead, the scene is replaced with the climax of a play where two dueling characters are faced with monologues to attempt to figure out their plight by racking their brains, imploring their own feelings, and attempting to reach their short arms for a conclusion that hovers in sight but out of their reach. My questions had been to tempt Azrael's temper from where ever it was hiding, luring it out so that he would make a mistake again. His first mistake had been to allow me to see that his ability to lie was incredibly shallow at best. And now? The second mistake was the emotion behind his words, fueling a short dialogue that I could only imagine was written in the pages of a 12 year old's journal when they didn't get what they wanted for their birthdays. I sighed, feeling a ripple of electricity wash over the remnants of my bedroom before the lights reacted to it, first shining brighter before falling dim.

"Neither do I believe in fate," I spoke slowly, content with the steadiness of my voice. "Nor do I believe that your life circumstances allow you to pass judgment on another." I truly didn't. While I may not be the most open minded of individuals, I would never believe you could truly judge another considering you didn't know their lives. You didn't know how their shoes felt when they were worn thin. You didn't know what they had endured. My job as a mercenary provided me a hand of God in choosing whose life I was going to take... but I did no more than take lives. The judgment of the soul was not up to me. I was paid money, and allowed to end a life. That was all, for me. As I mulled over my own terms of judgment, I noted the tone of Azrael's voice falling, his anger and desire for retribution of a crime I had yet to commit seeming to be washed away in a tide of regret. I looked up to him now, running a hand through my own hair as if contemplating just what kind of wretched end he may have met. Perhaps it was a story the Hunter was willing to tell, even if only to sate my morbid curiosity. I had begun feeling an almost sympathy for him, although rather dull, until the light began to grow in his hand.

"Fate didn't give me the right to do any of the things I do. Don't call upon something like that as blame for your own desires."

Defensively, I moved to watch it. Offensively, I had little to no energy to bother. He wasn't going to kill me, no. This was merely a warning visit. If he had meant to kill me, he would have done so with the help of the element of surprise and my sleepy lack of preparations. Patiently though, I waited for the light to disband after it's barrage towards me â€" an display, but not an attack. At the sickening sound of its dispersal, I shut my eyes to relish the darkness. It felt familiar and strengthening, enough so that I could halt the ash in the air.

"I know," I said softly, admitting that the Hunter truly could have killed me. It wasn't a mistake I made often, but the soft utterance would give him satisfaction. Of that I was sure. I was more than sure, now, that I needed better locks though. "If I had intended for you, the results would be the same."

I felt an almost desire to apologize for using the nickname I had heard Sera call him. The man did deserve a dignity that I wasn't sure the moniker dispersed. His secondary monologue was clearly pointed; he had a meaning for this little meeting. The Council? I ran my hand over my lips, debating whether or not I wanted to believe him. I was sure that I was on someone's radar, somewhere. How could I not be? There were far too many things that I had my hands dirty with, far too many alleys that I knew too well. While there was no black market here, if there was I could assure you I would have been its keeper. With that in mind, I slid a cigarette out of a pack that had been lying on the floor next to the bed before bringing it to my lips, only hesitating to light it. Half of me wanted to ask him for one, amused to see if he could do such a thing. To comment on how inconsolable women were one of my fortes, but it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't need to give him any more fuel to incinerate me. And the other part of me? It won, for once.

"Thank you."

I had nothing more to say than that, ducking a fairly burnt hand into my pocket to retrieve a lighter. The smoke of the cigarette was almost nauseating, but it sated the need I had to be doing something with my hands and my breath. The first exhale was a sigh of relief, feeling the electricity start to slowly dissipate, although not entirely. As I surveyed the room and watched the Hunter shrug, I returned the gesture with a wave of my hand.

"... Y'know... The light saber thing is pretty cool, even if you have no sense of humor."

Upon trying to stand, I winced greatly. I often didn't mind physical pain; hell, occasionally I enjoyed it. But the electricity was more than enough to have me dizzy, and in need of a chair very quickly. The adrenaline had worn off, and as it was evident I wasn't going to have to fight with him any longer, I let myself lean my forehead on my hand, elbow on my knee. The headache was pulsing almost like a heartbeat, but instead it felt like an electrical current that wouldn't release.

"Is the council something I need to be worried about?"

The question was intoned softly, as if I was submitting myself to the whims of the hunter. I knew he would at least appreciate this, even though it wasn't my concession. He would understand that I believed him and intended to keep my magic in tow, at least for the moment.

Because you know... I do like trouble.