they argued my right to ascension

Impatient- is perhaps a rather dramatic understatement when it comes to the bedraggled blonde man whom lingers with evident disdain in her doorway, her overly pleasant smile and clear....delightfulness seeming only to earn her another scowl- as if the Hunter remains entirely content to refuse to be emotionally moved in any regards, even by the overzealous puppy he was now faced with. The manner in which the woman moves to cross her arms over her chest in a mimic of his own very near sees the man threaten an eye roll- one held back simply out of habit in the presence of a women, even a creature of hell as she was, little more than a soft snort of derision managing to pass his lips in response to her shameless mimicry of him as a wealth of soft curls tumbled down to her shoulders in a manner he found mildly...distracting. His own amber gaze returns in due course to her face as she speaks once more, his name upon her lips seeming to spark some moment of attention from the often apathetic man. Davante had spoken about him to her? For a moment the Hunter finds himself mildly ill at ease with this information, assured whatever Davante had told her was surely hardly complimentary and yet, perhaps, that hardly mattered. Why should she think anything over him other then his indifferent attitude and cold exterior? Let her see what everyone else saw- a rather bitter, tired, snarky individual that had no desire to engage them in anything other then a fight to the death for merely being what they were.

"I suppose I am."

It was little more then a mutter offered in her direction, incapable of denying otherwise even if he had desired to do so. To learn that her 'bothers' were not home however saw the blonde's interest rapidly begins to dissipate. Typical, truly, of Davante to decide to go out. Who the fuck went out anymore? His irritation returned anew, Azrael was half inclined merely to turn and head off once more- having no further business with the woman before him, even if he is assured she is a significantly more appeasing specimen then her brother and yet truly this notion that he may find her not wholly unattractive- even despite her evident shared appearance with Davante is- highly displeasing to him, Azrael assured he has never found Davante in the slightest bit satisfactory in any way other then as fodder for fairy fire. His decision to leave is very near complete, the man moving to lean away from the door, rolling onto the balls of his feet in preparation for the dash he has already decided to make home despite the knowledge such speed will only result in significantly more drenching- when the girl's invitation seems to halt him, surprise momentarily seeing a small frown mark his features. Come in? There are truly few things in this world that would incline the man towards having any desire to be inside Davante's house, those golden eyes narrowed instantly as if he truly suspects some sort of trickery despite the....pleasing warmth that emanates from within.

"Just for a minute- I'm late."

For sitting at home and brooding about everything that has already gone wrong today. This however, he sees no real need to voice, moving to step within the apartment- the subsequent shutting and locking of the door seeing him tense once more as he shifts with noticeable discomfort, one hand reaching to run back through his wet hair again- a nervous habit he remains incapable of hiding as he waits for the woman to offer some direction. Davante's home is...not entirely what he has expected, if anything it was both neat and tidy, lacking boxes of stolen car parts or whatever else it was Azrael had been assured the man dealt in, the house....far more appealing than his own although Az sees no need to admit such a thing as a flicker of light at the woman's fingertips instantly seizes his attention. To a certain extent he has become used to Davante and Serafina's presence, the uncomfortable sensation of supernatural continues to irk and tease at him every moment he is with either one of them and yet he has become begrudgingly tolerable of it. An open use of magic however is hardly something he is willing to tolerate- a sudden explosion of speed seeing the Hunter propel rapidly backwards in an effort to get away from the woman. The collision of his feet into something solid behind him sees the man suddenly stumble backwards, tumbling over it and entirely before crashing onto the ground in a rather unceremonious heap- legs still hooked over the.....unattractive foot stool as Azrael momentarily attempted to understand how exactly he had ended up in such a predicament- managing to sit somewhat upright before very near glaring at the woman.

"Keep your fucking voodoo magic or whatever the hell that was away from me and what the fuck is this thing supposed to be? Who has a bloody foot stool in the middle of the room?!"

It takes barely another moment for the man to detangle himself from the wooden and fabric abomination that had dared to assault him, the man's frame suddenly engulfed entirely in light, a direct response to the anger that courses rapidly through his frame, the glowing orb within his hand lobbed straight at the offending piece of furniture that explodes rapidly into.....ash. This near senseless destruction seeming to bring a smirk of sorts to his lips- evidently content with himself now before wandering away from the smouldering pile and towards the chair that had actually been directed toward him.

"No- I have not had lunch."

It was little more then a mutter once more, the aggravated Hunter moving to seat himself in front of the fire now, the light about him assuring the man continued to glow like a rather irate angel as one leg folded over the other, arms folding across his chest as that wet hair continued to lay plastered against his head, golden eyes watching the woman as she busied herself in the kitchen now.

"No milk."

The words are abrupt, sudden, the ma shifting closer to the fire now, seeming to have resigned himself to the fact that he does indeed need the warmth, attempting to focus upon it as the light around him begins to fade the calmer he becomes.

"In the tea- no milk."

One hand moves to catch at the hem of his hoody, grasping it now before pulling the wet garment up and over his head, leaving only the singlet underneath, hair spiked out in every direction in a thoroughly ruffled manner now as his gaze returns to the fire.

"Please do not do anything magical to that tea- I am not comfortable with your kind or your use of magic like that. I......apologise for yelling at you, I find attempting to restrain myself from attacking you- difficult. I do not apologise for that fucking ugly foot stool though."

It would be...a shame to kill this woman, truly, her...appearance at least helping to further restrain that in-born desire to slaughter everything magical within his wake.

Azrael Evero

only fools walk where angels fear to tread