they argued my right to ascension

He is not entirely sure what response he anticipates to his words, attempting to offer the woman some explanation for his own perhaps less than charming personality on occasion and yet- he finds himself considering the words far more then he truly intended. After all, he was rarely given to consider his own thoughts on the matter too deeply, he never found himself content in them, tended to only leave himself feeling irritable, nostalgic or both- neither being productive or truly useful to him and as such he had long ago given up attempting to understand the facets of his life he could no longer change and perhaps never truly accept. His upbringing, to an extent, was surely one- remembering family was difficult, questioning the values of a people in a time and a place so long forgotten was another matter entirely and really, here and now- they were irrelevant. They were used, truly, only to explain why he was the way he was- to an extent. Change, after all, tended to happen far slower for those of the Hunter breed. Eventually, one day, he would truly have to begin revaluating to ideals of the past and indeed perhaps it was happening- even if he begrudged it in a manner. There was a witch in his kitchen after all and his own inbuilt desire to kill her where she stood had dulled to little more than an echoing whisper within the back of his mind. That, in itself, was surely some representation of change, no matter how long it had taken to occur, nor for the blonde man to acknowledge it.

His attention shifts briefly to the raven-haired woman herself as she seeks to offer some comparison in regards to her own life, his features continuing to display something of a frown in his effort to understand what it was she was telling him, her life, or portions of it- seeming difficult, at least to an extent. Her mention of merely attempting to do what was needed in order to live momentarily seeing his attention waver as the scowl upon his eternally youthful features only seemed to deepen.

"What do you mean by- 'what you had to do to live'? Did your family, your parents, lack....finances?"

It had been a common problem in his day, particularly around the outbreak of the second world war, families often falling on difficult times in it's wake and indeed he had seen far more then one previously comfortable family fall by the wayside and into varying states of poverty, relying on the government for handouts of meal tickets and perhaps it is simply by his own experiences that this is the conclusion he stumbles upon in regards to her vaguely worded attempts to offer some insight into her own life. Pausing suddenly to regard her once more

"If you don't want to discuss it though that's fine I am just attempting to....understand."

He had not attempted to understand anyone or anything in nearly thirty years outside of what he already knew- other beings by far the last on his list when it came to any desire for deep or meaningful conversation and yet for some ridiculous reason he was at least...trying. Until his own understanding of social correctness rapidly sees him offer her an out all the same, it was, after all, decidedly impolite to question a woman about her families monetary state and some inward part of himself berates himself for it as his attention fixates more fully on the chicken he has been handed. Had he shot and killed the bird himself, armed with a hunting knife, he would have been more then capable of preparing something of a roast over an open fire- within the kitchen, an area that demanded some measure of correctness and control the man found himself shockingly out of his league. His attempts to conceal his own ineptitude not nearly as successful as he likes to believe. The chuckle she offers in response to his question on whether or not her request for him to beat up the meat was some sort of ridiculous joke only further sees the scowl upon his features deepen, her joke earning little more then a roll of his golden eyes.

"Women's work."

The barest hint of a quirk to his lip surely indicates some measure of jest at such a response, the man entirely capable, should he try, of actually displaying a humorous side though it was so rarely ever seen. His attention returns to his attempts to actually cut up the meat as requested, leaving Sera to do...whatever it was she was doing in regards to preparation, the girl fiddling about with the stove as he moved to ask after her family once more. It had been the norm, once, to ask after the family behind a person, after all, in his time tit had been how matches were made, families of good breeding rarely ever married 'beneath' them and a woman dating a man from a higher class, or vice versa, had been quite the scandal- some part of the hunter still give to these social normalcies, even if they were long outdated. It was simply considered proper to ask. Some part of him, too, is curious of entirely how she had become a witch, he knew of mentors amongst witches in the same way Hunters were given to make apprentices out of those they turned- perhaps the single part of his existence Azrael had never experimented in nor ever would, having long ago vowed to never do to another as had been done to himself- these thoughts however, were better left alone. Her mention of her mentor's recent and apparent sudden death sees the Hunter pause in his chopping work, her words seeming hesitant.....

"I didn't kill him did I?"

Well, she seemed hardly forthcoming about it and truly it would not be the first time someone had attempted to broach the subject of someone else's death at his hands with him, golden eyes resting upon the woman now- half prepared to argue with her all over again if she was about to ask him why he had done such a thing. It is fortunate perhaps, that the matter of his apparently faulty stove seems to shift his attention- the man laying down the knife to wander over once more, peering now at the stove.

"To be honest I've never even used the damn thing."

Well- it was true (it had to be), lying not really within his abilities, the man bending down briefly to examine it once more- the water, if anything, feeling colder then normal, a sigh of sorts drawn from his lips as he moves to lean back against the bench.

"Can you not just...magic some heat? I may be opposed to your voodoo but I am also opposed to my having to take the stove apart, stare at it for an hour to learn it's mechanics before fixing it and even then I am not entirely familiar with stoves. The last thing I fixed was a cart wheel- it was nineteen forty four. Why is this water so cold?"

Azrael Evero

only fools walk where angels fear to tread