Long before our strides fell in step had I thought that the day was going to drag on as if it were the anticipation before pulling off a band-aid, or duct tape on a particularly nasty area. The stickiness drags at the hair, intending to keep it closed off but eventually, the rip happens and you're good as ... the sticky remnants. Was Azrael going to leave me sticky and ... The idea left as quickly as it came considering I wasn't willing to dwell on becoming sticky at the hands of another man. Part of me is inclined to wonder what his skin would feel like, as in if it would truly feel as treacherous as a small piece of duct tape would, and if it would make me feel like his presence would never cease. Instead of slimy, sticky, alien-hunter hands, Azrael merely plucks the artifact from the palm of my outstretched hand. His approval is dispersed in a grunt that sounds as if he is in some form of minute pain, the grunt enough to tug gently at the metaphorical marionette strings which pull my lips into some form of a smile. Clearly, he is pleased that the artifact was retrieved though whatever it is that prevents any sort of joy or glee in this man's life prevents him from forming some kind of truly human sound in order to thank me for the artifact.

Though I had been content to walk in silence, allowing Azrael to lead me to the next target in some fashion that was quicker than I had allowed as we had walked to the harbor, the hunter's acknowledgement of my admission that I hadn't thought to break bones with magic before stole whatever quiet had existed during the mid-day bustle of the western side of the city. When he turns to scrutinize me as the words fell from my lips, it's obvious that he is curious even though he attempts, without avail, to hide the interest beneath a judgmental scowl. It was true that I hadn't thought to use magic to break bones before, though I'm sure I'd done the deed inordinately and accidentally before without the help of testosterone fueled anger-fests. The ability to break bones should have occurred to me in a conscious way before, especially as I knew full well that bones were a mineral, built of calcium and the like. Wouldn't that have meant they would be under my control, anyway? Wood, metals, minerals, plants... Anything born strictly of the earth was at my beck and call like a mistress trying for the high of her master, begging for his attention. Perhaps I had merely needed a gentle reminder of the make up of bones, and Azrael's words were just that. Allowing him a moment of gratitude by containing whatever tainted, brusque remarks I might have come up with, I returned his words with a shrug equally as ambivalent as his, mirroring the same undertone of curiosity in my voice as he had.

"Showy? Everyone likes a matinee," I started to say, exhaling out whatever remaining sass that was contemplating following those words. "It's ... exhausting to do things remotely, like breaking bones. It's almost easier to make a heinous display than to focus on tiny details." The explanation served to answer Azrael's questions both of why I was an exhibitionist with my magic, but also as to why I probably hadn't thought of breaking bones before. With the gates of disgust lowered on both of our parts, it is still surprising when I find myself snickering at the thought of Azrael attempting to disintegrate me. Dead flesh and the rotting were two of my areas of expertise; perhaps he would like to see the results firsthand!

"They do say that experience is the best teacher."

My short quip is enough to suggest to Azrael I may be ready to listen to any kind of knowledge he might have in that old brain of his. It struck me that brains could decompose over time, and I might be able to have some shot at toying with the dead matter floating around in his blonde head. What I could do with it, I have not the slightest idea but the very notion of possessing some kind of control over the Hunter brought another subtle smirk to my lips. The smirk is removed relatively quickly, though, as I find a breath knocked from my lungs as if lung cancer had struck suddenly though in reality, the lack of breath is merely from the way the Hunter chose to try and keep me out of harm's way. While the sequence of events runs very quickly, the reel pauses at a moment when the audience would be in hysterics at the way Azrael peers down at his own hand, afraid of whatever affliction may be transmitted by merely touching me. Without a laugh do I acknowledge this as the fae is nearby, taunting both of us with it's pathetic, nasal-toned laughter. Why had they been created, again? The reel quickly turns on again, it's pace quick as the audience would find the fae plastered against the ground, much to Azrael's liking. With an absence of the wretched screams emanating from the fae, the silence is mutilated by it's heavy breathing and muted screams.

"Silence is the one common ground, yeah?"

The colloquial use of 'yeah' would remind the hunter of my accent, the sound often drawn out after some expelling of magic. I had been right, using magic to break bones at a short distance had used more energy than I wished to portray, but with a sigh of gentle relief I would pause in my own mutilation of the fae to allow Azrael to do his actual job instead of allowing me to take the dirty work and throw some more soil over it. With enough space put between the hunter, fae, and I, I was able to light a cigarette. There was something about the taste of smoke that often helped magic regenerate itself and perhaps that was the reason I was accepting of the idea of lung cancer later in life. It is without a flinch do I watch Azrael extinguish the fae, though I feel a pang of jealousy that he is allowed the disintegration while I must stand by and watch him have all the fun. Perhaps that's where the dingbat lost his sense of humor; the emotionless way he discharged the soul in the body was not only boring, but without taste. An unfortunate, unbidden exhale of exasperated air slips from my lips after he has passed me, though it is remarkably easy to identify the emotion laced within the air. It is without another word that I follow Azrael's steps down the next dock, his target clearly the one window on the building that is our destination.

I have been told, at least once, that my personality is remarkably similar to that of a feline. And what is the saying? Curiosity killed the cat. Surely, this phrase may contribute to my death someday as upon hearing Azrael's words, I turned to look at the ... thing, rising up barely out of the grass. With a very minute gentle flourish of my hand, the thing turns over but not before something has tapped me on the back of the neck in order to suggest I look downward. The Shadow, leaning against the wall with the window, has somehow decided to help Azrael in his conquest to degrade me, the self serving piece of darkness using its hand on my neck to allow Azrael leverage.

"It's a fucking rock," I muttered, the indignance all but dripping from my words. "I'm sure you have a collection at home."

Though my words are clearly oozing with irritation, the darkness against the wall draws itself up, gaining some kind of strength from whatever emotions both Azrael and I are emitting before it moves in a way that necessitates my body to fall over due to an unfortunate gravitational pull. This would leave the hunter dangling from the window with a chorus of snickers falling from my lips as I lay on my back in the grass. While the Shadow had meant for it's kick to be a problem for me, it clearly sees it's mistake and moves the rock for Azrael to step down on to. Scowling, I stood in order to watch my Shadow pat the head of Azrael's shadow as if complimenting him for his use of my expertise as a human ladder, as if proud that Azrael had thought this up and it wasn't an idea borne of the Shadow himself. Without acknowledging the Shadow, my gaze flicked back to the blonde hunter.

"You mean to tell me there is something you aren't self-proclaimed expert at?" My eyebrows skyrocketed. "I'll have you know, much of my time has been wasted winning money over said deceitful game." At the mention of a plan, my Shadow claps it's hands together gleefully, desperately trying to kick the rock at me for fun. With a slight sidestep, I move out if it's way before pointedly looking to my master for the evening. "Perhaps you should tell me what the outcome is supposed to be, and I can make some semblance of a plan. I do know my own kind, though that might surprise you." Would much surprise him? With another wry smirk beginning to tug my lips, I nodded to him. "Okay, I'll bite. Your plan must be good and use some of your experience as you've existed for so long. Tell me, what was it like when dirt was invented?"