It was understandable that a man who had lived a longer life might feel that he had the right to judge another man's life. What kind of events gave you that right? Was it merely that your life had a longevitude that others could not attest to? Having experience simply existing could not be the only qualifications to allow someone that right. Especially not the Hunter standing in my disheveled bedroom, declaring that he had lived a life that was so rife with misery that he was allowed the right to judge someone else's life based on their behavior or morals or whatever it was that gave the Hunter his God complex. As for my own version of said complex, maybe it was my experience that made me think I had the right to judge others. I don't even know what I judged, specifically. I constantly made superficial judgements that went no farther than skin deep or through their intelligence level. Contrary to Azrael's ideas of me, I knew better. I was not ignorant, nor of questionable intelligence. It was entirely possible (ha, likely) that I didn't display it on every veritable occasion, but it was increasingly obvious that he didn't, either. Why else would he have shown up in my bedroom on the whim that I was a danger to a woman that he should have loathed merely due to her supernatural affiliation?

I think I was more curious about why a man with power, quite literal physical power, hated others who also had powers. That is seriously the definition of hypocritical, which allowed me the opportunity to raise my eyebrows at his statement regarding my affinity for judgmental behavior. I gently shrugged a shoulder, finding a spark of pain emanating from the gesture.

"I'm fairly fickle about those things. My judgments often don't last."

His latter statement of my ability to talk hardly registered. Words were weapons that most often didn't recognize... all the more power to me. Silence was power, too, and one I wielded differently but here? Now? Our immediate differences had been solved in a rather obviously testosterone filled duel of sorts that had rendered my apartment utterly uninhabitable... Though I would be lying if I didn't admit I wasn't impressed with both of our capabilities for destruction. It was a funny thing, destruction. God, it felt so good to desecrate things and leave them in ruins at your fingertips. The way it could make your blood flow so strongly, your heart beat so quickly, and your mind focus so clearly. There was solace and direction found in violence.

While the thoughts of violence swirled an intoxication concoction in my mind, I did acknowledge the threat in his words. I wondered, very vaguely, if it were tiring to be as tightly wound as he was; the recognition that I, too, was often as tightly wound didn't hit as hardly as the anvil dropping on the roadrunners head. Instead, it was a gentle shove like a warm breeze when you're not expecting it, and it allowed me to keep quiet instead of feeding into his temper. The familial nature of such an action reminded me too, that he wasn't as different from myself than he would have liked. I wasn't about to mention my own past, as he clearly wanted to morph it into some kind of ridiculous weapon to use against me as I might try and use his honest weakness as the same kind of weapon. If I were being honest, though, I just didn't want to be reminded of the woman he had mentioned. Or the child, or the mother of said child. It caused me to take a very long, thick drag of the cigarette that vanished from my lips as quickly as I had exhaled the cherished smoke. Azrael's admonishment of my name, evidently associated with the cigarette that had been loosely hanging from my lips, surprised me nearly as much as the actual extraction of the cigarette. I wanted to snap a petulant curse, and melt the leaves inside of the paper in the cigarette now located in his lips. And in fact, I did. The paper would crumple to the already wrecked floor, sprinkling among the other ashes.

"You have got to work on this hypocrisy thing. First I can't judge anyone, and now I can't smoke a cigarette? You have terrible guest manners."

The words were tired, as if they weren't even a taunt but part of a conversation that regular individuals might carry on. Were they? Our immediate truce seemed strange, as if something were lying in wait for the opportune moment to rear it's ugly head and...

"I'm not sure they're harmful, really," I mused, referring to the cigarettes but also to my elemental affinity. "The tobacco is from a plant, and if it's of the natural earth it can't hurt me." The words were true, and slow, proving that I wasn't actually trying to challenge his statements but to enlighten him. See? I am generous.

As for the cigarettes, I reached instead for a cigar that had been lying under a floorboard beside my bed. The taste was smoother, and something I enjoyed far more than a mere cigarette.

"Now, if you ask nicely, I'll share."

There was a smirk blossoming on my face, albeit a tired one. I offered insight into my powers briefly, but it seemed like the Hunter had taken the bait and he offered insight of his own. I really had to hand it to him- the light sabers were ingenious. There were all sorts of heinous things that could be done with the weapons, of course including decapitating flying corpses and - ... Unintentionally, I found myself sort of smiling at the thought. I'm sure the dickhead wouldn't think it humorous, and I found it in my immediate power to keep quiet about it. The smile, though, faded as quickly as it had risen. Instead of waiting for the Hunter to get closer, I stood slowly and not without a harsh grit of my jaw. Pain rolled through me, waves of it making me dizzy enough to want to sit right back down but like that could happen. Not with him standing closely, taking pleasure in every stiff movement I made. Instead, I licked my lips hesitantly, as if I shouldn't believe what he'd said about the Council.

... but then again, that would prove him right that I was in fact the arrogant prick who wouldn't listen to warnings. And maybe I was at points, but there was someone else to think about... Several. The faces of the familiar came to mind, swimming into my mind so quickly that I shut my eyes, hoping their faces would fade. Elenore's sweet expression, to Finley's idiotic one, and to the young witch I hadn't intended on thinking of, as I was still indignant that said attraction had brought Azrael here in the first place.

"... did it take you a long time to come up with that description?" I said slowly, a soft snicker falling from under my breath. "It's rather un-insightful, and relatively unoriginal." I did find the description humorous, as it was truly far from the truth, and while the Hunter would admit it or not â€" he felt a similar sense of familiarity towards who I was as I did.

"I would love to extent my hospitality to you, but it would seem I have a lot of cleaning to do. And Azrael?" I said, finding my bright gaze locking to his. "I appreciate the warning, even if the execution was heinously planned." I took a quick look around the room, skeptically exhaling smoke. "This was fun. We should do it again sometime."


Obvious sarcasm, but uh... Did I accidentally just suggest a playdate?