The words falling from the Hunter's mouth sounded so dry and dull, as if he had nothing else flitting through his buzzard brain but ideas of what to say that might be insulting to another individual. It had begun to become evident in a way that Azrael's speech was almost like an impediment. If he had a lisp, it might have been more becoming of him; to listen to the utterances slipping between his lips felt like small needles being less than gently prodded into my eyeballs. Like a small dog, his words sounded increasingly similar to the obnoxious yapping sounds that came out of their mouths. Whenever I saw a dog like that, I felt the impetus to utilize the steel toe of a pair of shoes and send the tiny animal on its way into a different kind of orbit. For what purpose were such dogs created? There is a point to that mention, being that for what point was Azrael created? I had never had an issue with Hunters before. The grouping of said individuals frequented the shop that I had taken up ... shop ... in, coming in for a variety of services or materials to utilize in their own execution of certain mercenary services. The only supernatural creature I had developed a bias against had been vampires, but even then, there were some that could prove me wrong. I was incredibly open to changing my opinion, regardless of what Azrael had decided about my affinity to be judgmental. And apparently, my affinity for flipping burgers was apparently right on a level of education and skill that he had judged up all by himself.

"Indeed. Dead cow is right up my alley."

I was less concerned with the Hunter in this setting than I had been with him in my home. The instruments hanging over the walls and sporadically placed in the glass containers in the shop were all under my command. With the flourish of a hand, the grace of a finger, they would arise and do my bidding. Granted, my home had more than a multitude of artifacts and whatever you want to call them that were at my fingertips. In all reality whether the Hunter wanted to acknowledge it or not, most things were at my fingertips. Anything wooden, made of dirt, sand, metal, mineral... They were almost like minions given to me by Mother Nature. I had a talent with metal like none other of my abilities, the substance bending to sheer will. It was so gratifying, seeing the consequences of power and of magic, my power and my magic. That was something I didn't expect the Hunter to understand, and I wasn't going to bring up the fact that I was more comfortable around the raw materials than the magic itself. The magic was calming, maybe, but sometimes its dull buzzing and the way it sat right above my bloodstream was distracting and hypnotic all at once. It was a hypnosis that I couldn't always afford, and sometimes it would have been nicer if there was a switch to turn that kind of thing off. No, that definitely wasn't something I expected the condescending old man to grasp, at all.

The high pitched ding of the doorbell elicited a generic eye roll from me as I hardly bothered to regard the intruder with my attention. Did they not stop coming? Maybe I should have turned off the open sign the moment Azrael entered the shop as considering our history, the meeting would be neither brief, nor energizing. His presence was draining; the snippets of irritation, patronizing words, aggravating breathing, and denigrating existence as a whole rendered him a pest , the kind you want to set traps for and watch squirm as they try and eat the bait under the metal of a trap.

The customer mistakenly stops in front of Azrael, his words flowing like vomit as he proceeds to state his needs. Did he not notice that the man in front of him was Hunter? God, the pathetic existence of all of our kinds. A disgrace to most of us, the warlock sounds uneducated and makes it further evident that he has a serious lack of the aforementioned education by requesting something "Silver but... not silver." Before I could help it, and not that I would have stopped the sound, I snorted in exasperation. Silver but not silver? What the fuck was he expecting to do with any of this. It wasn't like I kept raw materials for any customer; the presence of raw materials in the shop was for me alone, as they were what I crafted. Surprisingly, and enough so that I turn my attention from cleaning the blade in front of me to the interaction in the center of the store, Azrael hands the customer a stick before pointing out that it is actually quite what the customer ordered. And surprisingly to myself, I snort again but this time in appreciation of the Hunter's actions. He has somehow taken on the job that the shop owner had accidentally tasked me with, even though I didn't stand up behind the title of Customer Service often... Okay, ever.

"He's right. A stick is a weapon of invaluable worth," I agreed casually, rising the stick from the man's hand slowly to the point where he wouldn't notice it because he was obviously as daft as the look on Azrael's face made him out to be. Upon the Hunter's words, I proceeded to bonk the man on the head with the stick, emphasizing that the stick truly could be a weapon and he should probably just get the fuck out instead of dealing with two men who would rather be at each other's necks than deal with his sorry ass. Maybe that's a point of mutual whatever, I don't know, I don't care. Before anything could further erupt, another patron tried to sidle into the shop before scuttling out as quickly as she came. Good riddance. I flicked the "open" sign off from a button where I was standing, before turning to face him.

"The shop owner should really hire other employees if he wants to stay in business. Customer service isn't in my job description."

I would have thanked the man for the lack of customers but there were no words that I wanted to offer him that were kind or complimentary. His goads of questioning my education and my existence as a whole are aimless, simply trying for a rise out of me that he's likely to get.

"No, education connection. Surely you've seen the helpful commercials."

I thought about adding a comment that free degrees dot com didn't exist, but I already knew theHunter's sense of humor was lacking and my words would fall on deaf and ignorant ears. So instead, I lifted a shoulder in ambivalence and looked down at my hands and the knife between them, debating about how easy it would be to get it in the air and strike him in the head or the shoulder or somewhere incredibly satisfactory to watch blood come out of. Oh, the possibilities. His tinkering doesn't bother me, and I hardly find myself needing to pay attention to whatever it he's touching until my knife is cleaned, sharpened, and pristine to a standard that many other who handle weapons don't even know exist. His question, though, primes my interest as I wouldn't mind discussing weapons with him, as a Hunter would surely have an appreciation for them regardless of what he might say to me about it.

"I can't turn Tobias in to you; you're seriously mistaken if you think I have any control over the degenerate." The statement was totally true, especially as even if I wanted the leopard gone he wouldn't be if he deemed my presence necessary or if he deemed me a servant that needed to pay praise and whatever to him. The abundance of weapons on the walls seemed to agree, the shop seeming to settle down as there were no outsiders in it, and my temper had cooled some. "Making weapons is easy... and I like using them." He lifted a knife that looked blunt to him, and I felt a Cheshire grin drawing the corners of my mouth and pulling up to meet my eyes. This was my territory, and a place I was comfortable in.

"Oh yes, very blunt."

I agreed, the grin settling on my face. The knife itself wasn't actually blunt, but a mere illusion that was planted in the very metal of the blade so the unsuspecting individual would find themselves in exactly his predicament. It was almost a gag kind of knife, but fuck him if he didn't think to look closer. The sliver of blood that could rise to the surface of where his hands ran along the edges made my smile turn smug. The cut could be a lot deeper than he'd expect, especially if he'd put any pressure on it.

"Go ahead and try the point."

The suggestion was not without obvious amusement in my voice, but the amusement was far more genuine than it had been during our previous meetings. The shop had always been a fair playing ground, almost Switzerland. Almost.

"No, my subscription to the site didn't cover the specifics."