What it was that had lumped the two of us into a fun filled adventure packed afternoon (can you smell the disdain?) seemed like a remarkable form of a testosterone fest that was not going to end any time soon. Had the Hunter never entered my apartment some nights prior, surely we would not be gallivanting about the city with my single priority a bet on whether or not I could manage the same level of work that Azrael himself professed to do on a daily basis. If Paul Blart (...Azrael, where is your Segway? So unprofessional, you know, being unprepared) tackled to-do hit lists as large as the one he had designed for me to tackle, there would be no supernatural creatures left in the city in a very short period of time. Surely this idea has filled his head with absolute fluff, engorging his already thick skull to allow some form of an ego to flourish where it wasn't truly necessary.

"Are you aware of your uncanny ability to talk aimlessly?"

Did Azrael ever put a sock in it? The other man talked an equal amount in relation to the words I had offered him, though he distinctly seemed to believe that there was far more going on through my end of things than I had actually spoken. With a scowl it is that I find myself in the grass, spitting out a mouth full of it before the same scowl evolves into a delighted smirk, the likes of which brighten my eyes and allow me to watch the Hunter struggle with a certain kind of satisfaction that comes with seeing a villain fall prey to silly mistake. I had yet to see what use the Hunter was going to provide me, and while he seemed blatantly approving of my unmistakably haphazard choice to become a foot-stool, I was in no way primed to continue on with that career path.

"While I would love to take credit for your misfortune, it's with a heavy heart I admit I have no idea how to control the fucker. It seems to like you, though I have no idea why."

At the term of endearment, the Shadow throws it's hands in the air in a sort of "I give up" motion, embellishing this with the arousal of it's middle finger pointedly aiming itself at me. After it's display of unhappiness, the Shadow pauses as if to assess whether or not the Hunter is pleased with it's fairly successful attempts to thwart me, generally unamused that Azrael has paid it no attention. I am assured that had I chosen to expend the effort, the Shadow would have fallen back under my authority and it would surely do my bidding but as for now? It is with a brief snicker of acceptance that I let it prod Azrael's shadow, demanding some form of acknowledgement. Writhing like a wraith banished back to hell, the Shadow drew itself up as if to peek into the warehouse itself before becoming solid again, matching the picture of my figure as if it were not animated just mere seconds before. Bemused by the gesture, I stood and began to pay the Shadow no mind as I reached into my coat's inner pocket to retrieve something I had prepared for the Hunter, whether I wanted to admit to him that I had preemptively designed the thing, or not. I had more or less tricked myself into thinking the item would be for my sister, a light-wielder as well though had I really given the matter any more attention I would have known that she wouldn't use it. Violence was something she was accustomed to, yes, but it wasn't soething that she chose to participate in often. Azrael, on the other hand... By the time I had realized what I was making, I felt it... pertinent to add something extra into the item. While I believed he surely wouldn't want the item, especially after realizing it was infused with some kind of magic, still I had the mind to present him with it at his outward statement of his weakness.

With the item in my hand but veiled in a black sateen cloth, I shrugged a shoulder that radiated ambivalence to the admission that he couldn't play poker because he couldn't lie. "I assume you've accepted that you must trust me a little, or else you wouldn't have made this proposition. So... Congratulations, Azzy, get ready to play some poker. Untruth has never come so easy". The item was offered to him by outstretching my hand, the item an extension of my arm so that the man wouldn't have to come any closer to me as we were both well aware of the contagion that might be passed from Warlock to Hunter, or vice versa. When he took the material off of the item, Azrael would find the hand-crafted silver hilt that might resemble something of a lightsaber's hilt, reminiscent of Star Wars. While that would have been an insult, the idea of the item was to allow Azrael's light sword to generate a higher voltage of electricity and brightness, as with his hands wrapped around it the silver would react to his power and project the light at a much stronger rate. With his hands on the hilt, the item would cast a bubble of illusion that I would now forever need to call a Poker Face Bubble if the need to create such an illusion again ever arose. In it, Azrael would be able to offer lies of little strength, that would wear off quickly and could be seen through like an average human's "white-lie" or "poker face". This ability might offer him more of an affinity for falsehood than he previously attained, a feat that had amused me in the creation of the item. While it may not have been in my best interest to provide a pseudo-enemy with such a weapon, it could give the man impetus to offer me some kind of hall pass on my existence as an individual of a breed he clearly hated. Diplomacy aside, the item was offered to him with little explanation, save for my hand letting go of it and my lack of audible reply to his explanation that no, he did not see dirt be created.

"Then surely you met Jesus and the Apostles," I muttered, more for myself and my own particular mirth than a taunting response. As the Hunter begins his explanation of the next mark, it is clear his distaste for the fae is far less than that he had for the were population. Granted, my own displeasure with the existence of were-canines was great, but the fae were a minute irritant that often resembled pesky flies, and it would be easy enough to treat this monarchy with the same mindset. It is part of his explanation that sees a small smirk start to tug at my lips in that the fae were, in fact, a strikingly unintelligent race. That much we could agree on, and at the image of the faeries inside fighting one another and taking each other out for us encouraged the other side of my lips to turn up, too. Amused with this, I nodded to show I had followed his long, drawn out explanation of what needed to be the outcome of the event â€" the smirk drawing wider at the admittance that I was necessary, even if he had decidedly pointed out that I was less of a being and my skill was purely luck. Fuck it, if it was anything I knew, it was that the hours I had spent as a child and young adult playing cards for the seat in front of the single fan my family owned in South Africa, it was how to gamble. In order to attain the seat in front of the fan, you had to win your way through all of my eight siblings and anyone else taking up residence in our shack of a house and for that matter, the population of Casa Dorian was often relatively high.

"A game like that will be easy. If he's sitting at the top of that kind of tier, he'll be smug and smug idiots make mistakes." The words are mere thoughts spoken out loud, agreeing with Azrael without words that I should be able to attain entry to the warehouse easily, due to the other witches in the building. As for him? The had probably smelled him coming, or felt the vibration in their blood. As the Hunter begrudgingly admits that he needs my assistance, the Cheshire smile is back and with a wry raise of my eyebrow, I tilt my head. "If you wanted to play Dungeons and Dragons, all you had to do was ask." I could only imagine the discomfort rising from within his stomach, twisting his intestines into knots as he lay the future of this mark into my hands. Capable enough, the task of disguising the Hunter as a fairy would next to nothing... but just how to achieve the task? There were hundreds of ludicrous things that I found surfacing in my brain, attempting to make themselves the next Azrael Disguise as if it were a contest of competency of shielding his ugly mug. Perhapst he man deserved to be turned into a creature as mystical as his approval, complete with pink mane, tail, and golden horn! It was definite that a unicorn would be more common than good humor coming from the Hunter, but that wasn't particularly a fact that surprised me.

"Are you 100% sure you want to give me that creative license?" I asked, certainly echoing the doubts that were mirrored in his eyes. "Because I can definitely make you look like a faerie." What kind of faerie, the man had never specified and I felt a dire need to extort this omission. Azrael visibly grit his teeth, giving me hard evidence that he didn't like what he had to do, at all. " I think I can manage." Instead of responding verbally, I merely nodded that my illusions were visual and sensory, enabling me to both veil him physically but also to offer his aura some kind of shield so that the fae would not notice him, but the warlocks and witches might be able to ignore his presence, too. Before he was finished speaking, I had been able to weave a thick illusion that would penetrate his physical appearance and his aura, casting the impression that Azrael was a 5'5" young man, dressed in appropriate fae garb but with a distinctly flamboyant appeal to it. There was more pink than truly necessary, but in order to sell the man as a faerie (get it?) there were certain necessities. Eyes narrowed as if scrutinizing a job well done, I decidedly embellished the illusion with a floral scent as that was the olfactory nonsense I typically endured when associating with the ... pesky insects.

"Seeing sure is believing," I started to say, nodding amicably which would surely give the Hunter guise enough to call me out on his appearance, though I was loathe to laugh with mirth or give him time to grow annoyed as I was already stalking towards the door. The door was guarded by two faeries that were larger than most, but paid me little to no mind as they offered me admittance to the warehouse, leaving Azrael to follow. My Shadow awaited him eagrly as if it didn't trust me that I would manage to weave such an illusion. Though I had done my job to a T and effectively so, it waited behind the fae for Azrael. The faerie on the left let his eyes roam over Azrael in a way that made me shudder with internal disgust, but would leave goose bumps on the Hunter as he was quite obviously being checked out. "Make sure you find me before you leave," the Fae murmured, winking as he let Azrael into the warehouse, much to the Shadow's delight as it became dormant once more and allowed me to find an open seat at a table with another witch who knew me by name, and offered to pay for my buy in.

Before entering the game, I paused enough to offer Azrael a wry grin, the amusement still blazing in my eyes. "Lying gets easy. Practice makes perfect. Besides," I finished, my voice all but giving away that I actually had a plan for this. "Winning is just an illusion, anyway."