they argued my right to ascension

Rain was perhaps one of the most disagreeable facets of- life, Azrael once more finding himself in his ever present foul mood as he moved to lift the hood of his jacket up and over his head in an effort to prevent the rain from drenching the wealth of golden hair that rested in its every haphazard, tousled fashion atop his head. For a moment the young man merely pauses beneath the roof of a bus shelter, pulling his phone from his pocket long enough to double check the information that had only been sent to him some hours ago before returning it to the pocket of his black jeans and stepping out into the freezing rain once more. Why he didn't drive he hardly knows and yet preventing certain people from knowing every facet of his life, including his car, was perhaps more important in this regard then the drenching he was receiving. The Hunter species had been alive for countless years and yet still the council seemed incapable of inventing anything even remotely waterproof. Maybe he should have invested in a rain jacket- a sigh forced from his lips at the thought, rain merely one more thing to further darken his mood and irritate his already agitated persona. He didn't g paid enough for this sort of nonsense.

The last time he had been to Davante's apartment it had been significantly darker, he had also come through the window, the vague memory of that night seeing a momentary simper trace his features as his shoulders hunched against the chill, hands stuffed further into his pockets as he made his way up the stairs and towards the front door of Davante's home. Had the warlock actually been fucking useful he would have had the foresight to live somewhere that didn't require the Hunter to walk this far in a torrential downpour and yet this is merely another fault Az is content to find with his unlikely companion despite the utter ridiculousness of such a complaint. For a moment at least the irritable blonde is content to push aside any lingering feelings in regards to the warlock being blamed for a poor choice in housing location alone with the weather, his own clothing very near soaked through, the chill of the winter wind managing to bite at his skin all the same as he actually made the effort to knock on the other man's door rather then merely blast it down, head shaking briefly to allow the hood to fall back and reveal his identity less Davante's home be afflicted with some sort of unholy magical voodoo shit that Azrael finds himself entirely unwilling to deal with- the sole purpose of his visit merely to convey this new found information to the warlock along with the details of several other matters the man is not entirely convinced the sarcastic wizard is not a part of. The opening of the door saw that golden gaze flicker briefly to the individual before him, vision obscured slightly by the wet hair that lay plastered against his forehead.

"Whatever fucking stupid joke you're about to- oh."

That this was not Davante seems to render the Hunter momentarily off put, features shifting into a small frown of contemplation as he took a moment to eye the witch before him, the same woman he had met briefly within the coffee house some weeks before- the girl having mentioned her relation to the warlock all in truth Azrael was willing to consider she was significantly more appealing to look at then her sibling- even if she was one of them.

"You're that- women from the coffee place."

'That woman' has evidently become the title he is content to thrust upon her, voice holding no small manner of contempt for the girl even if it is perhaps far more venomous then it need be, Azrael merely agitated at the lack of Davante and a trip through the rain that may well have been entirely in vain- one hand lifting to run through the length of his sodden white gold hair before folding his arms back across his rather wet chest- if only to prevent himself reaching for a weapon. Some instincts are almost painful to ignore, even despite the...pleasant appearance of the woman before him. Her likeness to Davante however is an almost instantly displeasing factor that only further seems to cause the Hunter to frown.

"Is your Brother here or is he at that junkyard he calls a shop? Davante that is- not Finnigan or whatever the hell the other ones name is."

He hardly remembered the name of the other Dorian, having paid little to no attention to the names of Davante's siblings beyond what was necessary, only having noted that aside from the woman before him, just as Davante himself, his siblings were befit with equally homosexual names.

"Well?"

His voice still maintains that edge, that air of irritation though it is muted slightly now, attempting some mild form of politeness if only to achieve the answer he desires. It is simply easier this way- pushing people entirely away before they have any chance to attempt to befriend him. He had slipped up enough with Sera, he hardly needed another mark against his name, amber golden eyes lifting to rest upon the delicate witch before him now, attempting to ignore that biting chill in the air made all the more worse by his sodden state.

Azrael Evero

only fools walk where angels fear to tread