I had been sure that the Hunter didn't have a sense of humor, not with the way he'd approached me in my apartment and set wreckage to everything within. Okay, so the later of that declaration may have been my fault, but he hadn't helped at all. The electricity bill had been through the roof (ha, ha) and there had been a need for a building crew to come and inspect the foundation of the entire building. While the romp had been fun, I hadn't been planning on enjoying the dark company of the moronic blonde man who had wandered into my path yet again. His original reason had cast my thoughts of him into the realm of hypocrisy as he couldn't look farther than his nose without saying something contradictory. It had been clear to me that he didn't like my existence based on a birth right that was no fault of my own, and for the fact that the little brunette witch he clearly desired stood at the head of what was clearly becoming an awkward triangle; one that was sitting on tipping scales. His affection for Serafina hung between the two of us, and it was something I had been uncomfortably able to shove aside. My dealings with the Hunter were different than that of mine with the witch, and I planned on keeping it such. Aside from the minor deterrence to the woman who had emblazed herself in an uncomfortably vivid manner in my mind, an image I was unable to get rid of even if the same kind of image might have mirrored mine in the mind of the Hunter I wasn't thrilled to see. Y'know, until he had become useful and helped me evade needing to speak with the clientele that I never wanted to deal with, anyway.

When the warlock who had, evidently, no self-worth or self-preservation instincts, was walloped unceremoniously on the head, he scooted for the door to leave the shop vacant, only to allow another customer to pretend as if she were interested in the shop's interior. This customer clearly had some kind of self-preservation, though, that the warlock did not, and she gave me a briefly frightened stare before turning on her merry way. I remained expressionless in the face of her uncertainty, until I noted the briefest features of amusement dancing on Azrael's face. His antics had amused me, too, but I had tried to keep that amusement as out of sight as he did, now. What, was it so hard for either one of us to admit we - ... No, that's a stretch. He's not funny, nor do I find him amusing. I quickly neglected any thoughts of familiarity, or that I might have not hated the time I was currently spending with him, before choosing to answer his question with a shrug.

"Why does that matter? Because I told him to."

It was rather true, though. I had told the shopkeeper all of the things that were wrong with his establishment and he'd taken all of it into account only in the briefest of moments as I hadn't given him very long to struggle with the idea that I knew his business better than he did. It needed the help of someone who knew the sort of consequences that the weapons yielded intimately and that I did. With the employment in the shop, I could utilize skills that I couldn't without the raw materials that I didn't want to have to acquire on my own. It gave me a workplace, and a somewhat legal guise to establish myself under. My reasons had been accepted by the owner so easily and readily but that hadn't truly surprised me, no. The charisma and enigmatic way I conducted myself lent his charitable nature to me so easily. Unlike the Hunter in front of me, who callously answered my retort to his taunt with a shrewd no. Of course he hadn't seen those commercials, Azrael probably didn't know what a TV even was. With an exasperated huff, my eyes found themselves rolling and I looked back down to the hilt I had been smoothing out with a sharpened knife, etching something into it that a normal hand wouldn't have been able to accomplish as the metal in the hilt was supposedly impenetrable. The hilt wasn't something to be attended to by both of us, though, and I gently rolled it aside in a velvet piece of material that it cocooned in and nestled by the register.

"... That is the only statement you've said that I could wholeheartedly agree with."

That Tobias was not controllable was a very true statement. It wasn't like I'd tried very hard, but I wasn't really willing to try and control him. Why control something that readily gave itself to you? Granted, I understood that Tobias felt I had been given to him as a mere human ready to serve his every need such as explanations involving violent women and machinery, but I wouldn't have tried to put a figurative (okay, literal) leash on the beast and tether him to my needs. The feline, man... Whateever you wanted to call him, operated on instinctual impulses that I couldn't bother to fathom, and didn't want to. Especially if said panther was actually his boyfriend. That wasn't something I wanted to ponder. I was, instead, perfectly content to watch the hunter run his fingers down the edges of a blade I knew full well wasn't dull as he had projected. It was incrediblysatisfactory to hear the agitation grow in his voice as he noted the line of scarlet rising from an open wound. While the wound really was nothing, it pleased me that he hadn't been paying enough attention as to let himself get minorly injured. It would heal within seconds, but it's the thought that counts.

Of course I wasn't smirking about anything, no.

I watched with mild interest as he slipped the knife into his jacket, deciding whether or not I wanted to ask how he was planning on paying for said item. It was one of many, though, and the words were pleasantries I wasn't going to give him, and instead I granted him the blunt weapon with the notion he would probably fall prey to his stupidity again and run his fingers over the blade to remind himself why he wasn't my biggest fan. His curiosity seemed to wane, though, as he walked pointedly over to me and allowed me to rouse the suspicion that he might be attempting ot use the knife on me. That, there, would be an absolute mistake as I hadn't heard Tobias leave and the weaponry on the walls was simply waiting for an utterance of a command. And maybe he wasn't that much of a dickhead. As he spoke, my fingers aimlessly ran over the counter in front of me in an impatient gesture absolutely characteristic of me. He wanted to make me a deal? On what, my farce of an ability to transform a dead cow into... what do they call them... whoppers? I was skeptical abou tth equality of the meat, nevertheless the quality of the deal that was being offered to me. His gaze fell onto the depths of the blue of mine, unwavering.

"I don't have anything I need to prove to you, grandpa."

The words weren't necessarily true, and I think both of us knew that. It did, however, allow me to use a moniker I had been anxiously awaiting for a good opportunity. Thoughtfully, though, I moved my gaze to the clock he had used, obviously considering his proposition. There was an expanse of energy I needed to get rid of. There was a serious, serious expanse of energy that I was used to having reprieve of, that Azrael had taken away from me when he expanded on the fact that the Council was, indeed, looking at me. And I wanted no reason to let them look closer. It dawned on me that he might use this as a trick, but any inspection of further motives led me to the same path; if he wanted to kill me, he would have done it that first night. And now? That gave me immunity. I licked my lips, brows furrowing in an attempt to keep any enthusiasm at bay. He wanted a chance to play with my "inner psychopath"? I was more than happy to offer him that opportunity, and lace it with whatever venom I could garner from myself. I had enough of said venom and energy that I would be able to keep up with Azrael, regardless of what he thought of my abilities or his own speed. Not everything needed to be done light years ahead of everyone (see what I did there?).

Here's Johnny.

"I've never been to McDonalds."

The words were thoughtfully offered as I stepped from behind the counter. I wasn't prepared to pack a multitude of weapons, but I already had what was truly necessary on me. There were throwing knives and stars that fit simply against you, and I'd picked those even before the day had begun. It was a habit, to arm myself, especially after the "Frank" fiasco weeks prior to meeting the Hunter who had offered me a chance to do his job for him. Ha, for him? What the fuck was I going to get out of this? I debated demanding payment for said trials and tribulations, but it wasn't money I wanted, and I was beginning to get the feeling that Azrael knew I hardly needed money.

"For someone who thinks they do their research, you obviously missed a chapter or five," I muttered, relating to his comment that it would be a long night. If he had more than one mark, then sure. It could be a long night simply to meet those marks, but otherwise? I had no need to hurry, and absolutely no intent to do such a thing. While patience might be a virtue I'm not gifted with, hunting was something that was innate. True to that innate gift, I slipped on a jacket that had cross blades beneath it, hidden by a very minor illusion that took little to no energy to create and weave continuously. While Azrael was out the door after admonishing me for taking too long, I locked and melded the door shut while simultaneously slipping a lit cigarette between my lips and finding solace in the silence of what was often a busy street. Although I needed to wait for his direction, I felt my blood nearly humming.

"Are you sure you aren't arthritic? I mean, I can make you a cane if that'll help you."

I cocked a brow as if I was sincerely sympathetic. Was I going to get to beat the shit out of him afterwards like a boss fight?