Rare was it that I met someone with the capacity for moods similar to mine that could move with a flow faster and with more impetus and curves in its river bank. Moodiness is a relatively common trait often accompanied by its companions of agitation, irritability, boredom, and an enormous capacity to find other various impressive adjectives that might describe a mercurial mood. Then again I think there are differing levels of moodiness. Some are minor, as in the mood swings don't register much save for the name of the behavior. They are minor, slight annoyances that affect those in the nearest vicinity, but not a whole lot else. And then there is the next level, a level that has a handful of cliffs and canyons with high and low points that one might be able to climb and fall through. The cliffs are ascending to heaven, rife with splendors that those who don't really have a taste for such heights cannot even imagine. The lights would be brighter. The night sky would gleam with a kind of exquisiteness that would be mystifying and the blue of the sky would be deeper during the light hours. And in the canyons? Demons would lurk, darker than the shadows that would follow you around during the day. Solidified, personified emotions that would enjoy wrapping their spindle-like fingers around your arm and would take pleasure in nothing more than pulling you into a corner of the dark, deep canyon that you wouldn't dream existed until the demons had found you and all but drained your soul through wherever it was they touched you. No, that level of moodiness was relatively rare, found only in those who had traveled heights and could understand the pitfalls as well as you.

And that understanding? That was rare, all by itself.

Quite possible it was shared by the hunter. His intrinsically dark nature effused that kind of knowledge in a way that nothing else could, or would. The way he stood upright as if a pillar of strength. The way he raised his golden gaze, no matter how bright the color, with an edge that was icy and sharp. The way he retorted bitter, venomous words intended to create wounds and pry weak spaces into gaping holes. That kind of monstrous nature comes from falling from a great, fantastical height. Surely, the angel Azrael had fallen from such a place, coming to earth with a great velocity and the impact created even deeper holes in the canyons that the man must have endured. I wonder if Angels truly do feel the impact of their fall and begin to understand the nature of the folly of man, of emotions, of their hearts...

The actions of the Hunter towards our mutual, maybe only shared interest. Said interest existed in the form of a witch we both aspired to know better, and know thoroughly. I couldn't blame him for that, but I could blame myself for my own personal folly. My own emotions, my own heart... With a disgruntled flourish of my hand, the cigarette that had miraculously made its way between my lips was lit and my attention moved to the course of customers that made their way in and out of the shop as quickly as they had materialized outside of the premises. Their comings and goings may have been amusing to an extent, something that Azrael and I could potentially agree on but I was finding myself less and less amused with the attempts I had previously made to find a connection, should it exist. Resigned to listening to a bit of a novel of a monologue, I took a very long drag off of my cigarette as if to press a nonexistent mute button.

For a man who consistently made remarks about my affinity for speeches, he was doing a wonderful job with his own.

Any work I had actually intended to accomplish was abandoned as quickly as the challenging words had left the Hunter's mouth. There were numerous orders that needed attention, shipments that needed unpacking and examining... I couldn't care less. I was ready to take pleasure in the words that Azrael offered me as it was clear he believed that I didn't have a single ounce of talent in any square inch of my body. There were hundreds of words I could have reached for in an effort to explain my talents, skills or whatever it was that I possessed that allowed me to do the things I knew that I could. But words? There happened to be very little value in the syllables, in the emphasis, in the sounds. There was very little value in the meaning of the words unless there were actions applicable as complimentary to the spoken things as examples to prove that there was, in fact, a meaning behind the utterances. In acceptance of said challenge, I was quick to gather whatever it was I might need in the case of no available materials before ducking out the front door closely following him. With a breath accompanied by an exasperated exhale, I found no words to reply to Azrael's "encouragement" that I stop talking and move, as apparently my efforts to gather whatever it was I wanted weren't quick enough.

... Did he ever stop talking?

"Do you have a mute button?"

The dialogue would be clipped after that as I was inclined to listen to his targets for the evening. 37? While that was a large number of lives, I wasn't particularly worried about that aspect. There wasn't an aspect about the endeavor I was particularly worried about in all actuality but I had never had to work under the authority of someone else. It was particularly reminiscent of a time when there were many I worked under, but that was something that didn't truly relate... As there were a lot of human activities involved, and less hunting of supernatural entities that probably did something wrong. If Paul Blart over there thought his duties noble and just, I was inclined to play along even if it were just an excuse to get what I wanted. Which I was generally good at, anyway. Paul Blart mentions the cane I've supposed, and with its appearance I shake my head as if it isn't good enough. I see it swing, and take a gentle step out of the way before it could collide with me. That was unnecessary, Grandpa.

"Azrael version 2.0: complete with cane, arthritis, and subtitles."

We would have to walk. The idea of walking for a target during the day made me mildly uncomfortable, as it was much easier to have a car that I could change the appearance of on a moments notice. While he had speed on his side, I generally had gears and pounds on pounds of metal that I could utilize when necessary. As I went to take a drag off of my cigarette, it went on a spontaneous jaunt towards the ground, which granted the man beside me a stare with narrowed eyes. Intolerable shithead. Quietly pondering the idea of whether or not his mother even loved him, I was rudely interrupted by yet another drawn out explanation of why Azrael was irritated for the moment. The were might be able to smell the smoke, yes, but what did that matter? The smell didn't linger on my person as it would a human, especially since the tobacco in the cigarette was at my command. As for my lung capacity... Never was it bothered by the smoke coming from a substance out of the earth. It was a perk to the earthly condition I seemed to have, being able to put almost anything into my body if it came from the earth, and feel differentiating effects than someone who didn't have said ability. I wasn't prepared to explain how I knew this or why to the hunter, as it was surely information he would throw back in my face with the idea that he knew better than I. So silently, I allowed him to walk ahead of me and merely keep his blonde head in sight as to acquire whatever target he might have in mind.

The harbor smelled like home to me, but Azrael's increased agitation quickly told me that I was to do his bidding instead of taking my time to enjoy the scenery and do things my way. The time for the latter would come later, when it was dark and I was able to utilize the extent of whatever it was I was going to do to anyone he offered me. Bodies were bodies. Souls? Sold separately. I surveyed the harbor slowly, eyes taking in the expanse of people meandering about through the bustling place. Before he spoke, though, I followed the trail of his golden eyes to the boat that was settled in the azure waters, drifting away. The words fell on partially deaf ears, until he said bloodhound.

"-... Hold up. Bloodhound?"

There was contempt in my voice, and it would be incredibly audible to him. Azrael was sure to appreciate the disgust with which I regarded the were that we would be ... terminating. As the Hunter moved through the crowd quickly, I remained leisurely waltzing between people as if they wouldn't notice I existed. At all times, though, were my eyes trained on the individual in question. He was hard to locate at first, especialy as I wouldn't have the ability to scent the hound so to speak, but when I could find him my eyes would not move. I heard almost silence regardless of the bustle of the harbor, cut through only by the derogatory words Azrael offered me. I didn't want to reply, especially as they were insulting. If the council deemed me a threat, wouldn't he know that my ability and affinity for homicide was relatively well honed? It was pointless to try and use words to explain this as they wouldn't penetrate his ancient head. Instead, I licked my lips and curiously went to wander off, striking up a conversation with a guard on the dock itself. The conversation was unimportant, but it gave me something to do and talk to other than Azrael who would be annoyed at the fact I was taking any kind of time to do this. What he wouldn't notice necessarily was that the guard wasn't watching the boat, anymore. And as he wasn't watching it, he wouldn't see the almost unnoticeable flicker of the water by the boat. Granted, the wave was an illusion generated by me but passable as a wave from another ship in the harbor. With drunken squeals audible from the boat, they clearly enjoyed the tremor while another wave struck the boat, separating most of the individuals there. They bounced around excitedly, enjoying the moment as if it were a ride at an amusement park while the bloodhound in question gently sunk through the floor of the boat that was oh so very malleable for me. It was quick to repair, only paused by my momentary nod to something the guard said while I used the hand in my pocket to effectively keep the boat on top of his body, filling his lungs with the disgusting harbor water.

Whatever. Gross water for a ... dog.

The body was almost as natural and malleable as the boat itself. There was a replica of the dog on the boat, an illusion that was most certainly passable until the most certainly drunken exit of the boat later on. When in all reality? The body of the were was beneath the boat, and being lapped apart by waves. I let magic reach out and touch the body as I could still see it plainly in the water although no one else would have been able to, save perhaps the Hunter who was a vulture over me for the day. The body shed its visible skin, and the bones desintigrated into dust to be washed all over the harbor by the waves. As it was complete, I thanked the guard for his helpful information and wandered back to Azrael. The entire ordeal would have taken less than five minutes, only as long as the conversation had lasted with the guard. And with a plain, emotionless expression I would turn to face Azrael.

"Don't insult me with an accusation of being indiscrete again."