they argued my right to ascension

He is becoming tired, he thinks, tired of his continued need to force upon himself a charade of often violent indifference to the beings around him- a final method of protection, perhaps, for the person he had once been and some distant part of him perhaps still clung to in a vehement effort to provide purpose to his ditheringly long existence. It had been necessary, once, to distance himself from those around him. After all, it was significantly more difficult to kill any creature he perceived as having a soul, indeed it was far easier to label them all as vile creatures of hell, to detach himself in both the physical and emotional sense and better perform his job. It kept a certain part of himself safe, to be that way, safe from becoming that detached, cold, frosted figure he had so loathed in so many of the Hunters he had met over the years and yet- had he really stopped himself from becoming anything other then the very thing he had loathed? He had facilitated this ploy so long it had ceased to become merely a charade and simply become...him, his personality as entirely appealing as a wet blanket on a winters day and yet he hardly had it within him to rectify such a thing. Not anymore. He wastired in far more ways than one and allowing himself the courtesy of emotion beyond indifference was...foreign, a terrifying prospect and one he hardly cared to delve into with this particular witch. She could be credited, perhaps, for managing to stir something of a response within him, something that has failed to occur in thirty or so years, her presence having managed to coax the faintest fragment of humanity from somewhere within him, perhaps having resulted in this single night of...pleasantness he had almost managed to achieve, the man curious as to whether or not his interest in the girl was born entirely from her likeness to his mentor and previous....lover or whether or not it was something entirely new and significantly more terrifying in its emergence. Her admittance that his ability to dance was at least more impressive then most seemed to earn the girl the barest of smiles.

"I should hope so, I have had enough practice."

The single kiss he had been content to steal from her, an act he both regretted and yet had no desire to take back all at once having merely been the result of several days of agitation in regards to his thoughts on the girl, determined to discover just entirely what it was he felt for this woman that so seemed to enchant him- his mind still determined to ignore what he now knows to be entirely true as he softly releases her from his grasp, form still in possession of the rigidness he cannot seem to shake in such close proximity to the witch. Golden eyes flicker briefly to the phone that had so provided the melody of choice this evening, one hand reaching down effortlessly to snatch it up and return it to the pocket of his jeans before his gaze returns to the woman before him. That dark coloured hair and startlingly blue eyes as entirely as potent as he remembered them to be and yet- her outfit was...entirely unique to Serafina alone, the man assured Evelyn had never worn anything nearly so......short- even to bed. It takes more effort then surely it should for his gaze to slip quickly across her delicate figure and return to her features, refusing to allow his eyes to linger anywhere else inappropriate as she speaks in response to the barest hint of a quip her had offered earlier, head inclined in a momentary nod, any display of humour a perilously rare thing for the man as he offers perhaps the most...personal of comments he has ever seen fit to give the woman, let alone another being in several years- willing to admit her likeness to the girl he had once loved so many years ago, though why he bothered to utter such a thing he hardly knows.

The slight frown that marks the woman's features is hardly missed by that ever vigilant gaze, although what he has said to cause such a thing he hardly knew. It has been...years since he has been around a woman for any particular length of time, the delicate intricate of the more emotional of the genders having been near forgotten by the golden-haired man. He is out of practice, when it comes to them, to dealing with them in any other manner then with the tip of a knife and for a moment he finds himself almost curious as to which of his words had displeased her before the thought is dismissed. It didn't matter, at least, it shouldn't- it was all the better if she disliked him, truly, for after tonight he held every intention of leaving her alone entirely and returning to whatever he held in excuse for a life before she had seen fit to upend it. It had taken the barest brush of her lips upon his own to assure him that while perhaps it was her appearance that had first sustained his interest it was....something far more uniquely her that had ensnared his curiosity, that single stolen moment content to stir within him an assurance that it was not merely the memory of Evelyn that so...appealed to him and that alone is an admittance he refuses to consider. He simply cannot allow it, he won't. To like a witch was one thing, a sin perhaps, by the measure of the Hunter breed. To admit with a certainty he know knew that he was attracted to her was another thing entirely. A crime by Hunter standards and one he refuses to commit any longer- as if such emotional can be commanded and controlled.

The soft words parting her lips pulls him briefly from his moment of distraction once more, a lock of blonde swept easily from his gaze as he regarded her, content to offer her...something in return for the kiss he had stolen, as if he feels obligated perhaps, to reimburse her for her time in some fashion- a single opportunity for her to make a request of him given- and quietly dismissed as his head simply nods in response, the woman stepping back and away for perhaps the first time in their tumultuous relationship as he frowns slightly once more before dismissing it. Why should it matter if he had displeased her in some fashion? It didn't. It shouldn't. It wouldn't. Azzy- that name again, surprise lingering briefly within his gaze at the sound of a moniker almost intimate in nature, so foreign to his ears and yet not displeasing from her lips- regrettable as that was. Her words however, saw one eye merely lift.

"Merry?"

It is almost as if he finds amusement with the word, the softest of simpers passing his lips as a deep, baritone chuckle vibrates within his chest before dismissing it softly. He didn't deserve Merry. The very word in relation to himself almost ironic though perhaps the Witch did not find the same amusement in it as the Hunter.

"Goodnight, Serafina."

He simply turns upon his heel to head for the door, slipping silently back out and into the night from which he'd come. Determined to remove himself from her life from this moment on- attempting to convince himself that this is entirely possible.

Azrael Evero

only fools walk where angels fear to tread