they argued my right to ascension

It is perhaps the first time, in a long time, that the blonde Hunter had left his home without his near infamous sleeveless hooded jacket- the man given to feel almost naked without it, that single object of clothing having become as familiar to him as half the weaponry that decorated his form at any given time and yet where it had gotten to he hardly knew. That he may have misplaced it is a ludicrous suggestion, the jacket forever hung upon the back of his bedroom door and yet for the past few weeks he has been utterly unable to locate it. It is merely another irritant in his day, a day he had put off for as long as humanely possible before his own ridiculous sense of moral fibre- or what remained of it, had forced him to make good upon the deal he had made with the warlock some weeks ago. He had little desire to spend any extended period of time with the other man, much less engage in whatever ridiculous activity the warlock called 'work' for a day and yet he was, to a certain extent, good to his word. It was with co small amount of reluctance that the blonde moved to climb the steps to Davante's home, dressed in merely a t-shirt today and distinctly uncomfortable because of it, slamming the car door shut in his wake- having had the foresight to bring it today given Davante's inability to move at a pace that was anything faster then glacial.

One hand moved to briefly pull his phone from the pocket of his jeans, momentarily brushing against the Tin Can the warlock had given him on their last meeting, the blonde having become rather fond of it- though he hardly choose to admit it, the weapon a regular fixture upon his belt as the gold of his eyes moved to the screen of his phone to check the time- one hand lifting to knock against the wood of the door before abruptly halting. The last time he had knocked upon this particular door he had been forced to engage in a ridiculous conversation with Davante's sister for far longer then he deemed acceptable to spend in the presence of the witch, the woman's.....not wholly unpleasant appearance only further assuring the man he hardly needed such a distraction as he moved to wander back towards the car, leaning against the Vanquish now before sending the warlock a simple text to let him know he had arrived. One distracting witch was entirely enough, he hardly needed another to deal with, the memory of Lore...crying seeing him shift with discomfort all the same- rapidly forcing the thought from his mind, already assured he would spend the next hour waiting for the warlock to get himself out of bed and- oh.

That the other man was on time was...mildly surprising, one eye lifting slightly in response to the mans timely appearance, a soft grunt by way of greeting offered to his companion before gesturing loosely to the passenger seat. That same familiar static had already begun to prickly at his skin, an uncomfortable, agitating feeling that always occurred in the presence of anything....unholy and yet with Davante it had become distinctly...less so, almost in the same manner as such a sensation had become very near tolerable in the company of Sera, as if he had steadily become...accustomed to these two individuals. How he felt about such a thing however, remained to be seen, Azrael returning effortlessly to the drivers seat a moment later before pulling away from the kerb, the sudden change in radio stations seeing those golden eyes slice sideways. Thirteen seconds Davante had been within the car and thirteen seconds was all it had taken to irritate the Hunter.

"If you fucking touch my radio stations again you can walk- let's just get this over with. Now where is this Mcdonalds place?"

Eighty one years he had existed and for eighty one years he had managed to avoid this particular fast food chain that Davante claimed to work at, or had worked at, so much of the warlocks babble tuned out that Azrael hardly cared to recall the details of his pointless conversation- having agreed to merely visit the establishment in return for having dragged the other man throughout the city for the better part of the night. What he had expected from Mcdonalds however was not entirely what he arrived at, parking the Aston Martin easily within the lot, waiting for Davante to climb out before locking the doors- hardly trusting this particular neighbourhood with his favoured vehicle as he moved to wander inside- only to be greeted with a shrieking child being dragged by a Mother.

"Oh this is delightful."

The barest hint of a simper moved to grace his lips, sarcasm laced thickly within his words as he turned the gold of his gaze to the man beside him once more, arms folding easily across his chest before returning to the task at hand. He was hungry, he supposed, the scent of food alluring enough and yet how one ordered in this ridiculous establishment he hardly knew. For a moment the Hunter merely resigned himself to watching, blonde hair flicked easily from his gaze as one person after another- the vast majority human and thus...satisfying to him, moved towards the counter to order...something or other before finding a seat- table service evidently a level higher then this place was content to offer. That Davante may well have been equally willing to bypass this adventure had not occurred to him, eyes narrowed now upon the menu on the wall beside him.

"A Happy Meal? Is that a suggestion of how I will feel after eating it or are only happy people permitted to buy it?"

That- is a highly presumptuous meal title. Attention moved to rest upon the warlock once more, his disdain evidently clear in every line of his form, question directed to seemingly no one in particular as his frown only deepened, speaking at last to Davante once more.

"Please tell me you actually know how to order in this place- if I get food poisoning I blame you entirely. Also-"

His tone retained the same indifferent edge that was so common within his voice, words snapped towards the other man before pausing briefly, tone....slightly more amicable now.

"What do you think of this shirt? Don't give me some jackass answer."

He is so rarely without his jacket that he is entirely...unused to a shirt alone, the man distinctly uncomfortable in the light, loose fabric that warranted far too many stares from the Mothers with young children that lined the room, assuring the Hunter that t-shirts may well be unacceptable in some manner he remains unaware of.

Azrael Evero

only fools walk where angels fear to tread