they argued my right to ascension

He had, in fact, been aware of his ability to talk for well over fifty of his eighty years of life. It had been a nervous habit, once, when he had been a far younger man and yet as time had progressed and the blonde had become entirely used to being alone he had been left- on many occasions, with precious few to talk to save for himself. 'The first sign of insanity' his Mother had always said, those familiar words, so long forgotten, seeming to bring the barest hint of a smile to his lips during this moment of nostalgia before Davante's sputtering seemed to return his thoughts to the present, a frown gracing his features at the mention of...someone else. Confusion seems to exist upon the Hunter's features for several moments still, inclined to ask the Warlock what on earth he was blabbering about now before that flicker of moment seemed to seize his attention once more, eyes resting at last upon the other mans shadow....a shadow that appeared to be moving entirely of it's own accord. The golden eyed man is merely left standing for several seconds, eyes widening slightly as the Shadow simply moves to flip Davante off (a rather endearing gesture really) before throwing it's hands up into the air in some manner of exhaustion that seemed to have rendered the man speechless.

"I....what? Why is it moving on it's own?! Stop that!"

Whether he was addressing Davante or the Shadow itself as it moved to prod at his own can hardly be said, the Hunter distinctly uncomfortable now as those first few tendrils of light energy rapidly begun to make themselves known, the Hunter beginning to glow ever so slightly in a subconscious manifestation of his own discomfort. It is merely fortunate perhaps, that the Shadow chooses this moment to return to it's owner, Azrael left staring at it for several seconds more in some effort to assure himself it had stopped moving before the gold of his gaze fixates on the Warlock with a distinct scowl once more, the glare that is offered depicting far more then words ever could as the Hunter merely mutters beneath his breath a series of words hardly designed to be pleasant. This Shadow demon, an unholy manifestation of satanic energy, is better ignored- at least for now, the Hunter hardly caring to attempt to address this issue along with the number of others his mind has already fixated upon, this entire adventure having proven far more difficult than he had truly anticipated, if not only for Davante's overzealous nature in general. His gaze flickers away from the other man, entirely determined to return to the topic it hand and the plan he has devised to actually allow their infiltration into the warehouse before the appearance of...something in the warlocks hand seems to see the Hunter tense slightly once more.

So many years spent doing as he has have resulted in a wariness of sorts towards all those not his own species, whatever fragile thread of trust that exists between the two men perhaps assuring the Hunter does not seek to immediately slice of the arm and hand that offers the object towards him, Davante's introduction reminiscent of an overly excited contestant on The Price Is Right- the warlock moving to reveal a cylinder of some description that merely leaves the Hunter staring, one eye raising slightly in silent disbelief.

"A tin can? I shall treasure it always."

The sarcasm very near drips from each word, the man reaching forward to reluctantly pluck the silver object from the other all the same, pausing momentarily to examine it with no small degree of suspicion.

"Is this a customary gift for your species?"

Azrael, perhaps, cannot fathom why the other man would offer him such a thing, believing it perhaps to be some form of cultural necessity he has no true idea how he has earned, gaze lifting briefly to Davante's once more in hope of some further explanation as to how exactly this object was supposed to facilitate any form of lying. Long fingers move to trace over the silver lines of the gift once more, a small frown marring the mans features again, noting for perhaps the first time that it looked distinctly like a sword-hilt, if not a slightly futuristic one. It was hardly difficult to focus his energy towards the device, the particles easily manipulated to surge rapidly into the hilt of his newly crafted sword before exploding upward in a light saber style of weapon- actual approval visible within the Hunter's gaze now, although how this was supposed to help him lie he failed to see- the man interrupted from his approval of his new found weapon only by Davante's comment. Any thanks he may have been willing to offer the warlock dying rapidly in the wake of the man's sarcasm.

"You're going to meet Jesus and the Apostles if you don't shut up."

The sword was rapidly shut off, the hilt easily attached to his belt within easy reach and for later use before the Hunter moved to actually tell the warlock of his plan, Davante seeming to find equal humour in his vocalisation of the lack of intelligence of fairies, along with the warlocks assurance that poker was well within his grasp, Azrael merely nodding by way of acknowledgement before Davante seems entirely to smug with himself for his liking, the Hunters request begrudging at best as the warlock speaks of something to do with dungeons and dragons.

"I am not familiar with that game and yet I can only assume you are trying to be funny again. Don't quit your day job, alright? And no I am not pleased with giving you creative licence, do I look happy to you? Just do it already."

One hand waves almost dismissively, assured that Davante is at least skilful enough to perform this task, even if his brain had hardly been intelligent enough to create the idea for himself, some part of the Hunter perhaps...intrigued to see just how talented the warlock might be with the right prompting and yet for now at least- he has no desire to further enlighten the warlock on how to better improve his own powers. It is with something of a sigh that the hunter resigns himself to his fate, arms folding across his chest now, waiting for Davante to weave the required illusion about him. It is with some reluctance that the Hunter pauses to actually examine himself, Davante's laugh before he strides away offering the Hunter little time to truly look- or react, illusion or otherwise the man given to notice the rather astounding amount of pink he seemed to be adorned in, hardly daring to find any reflective surface to better note his appearance before trailing after the Warlock, the presence of the body guards making yelling at the Wizard far too risky for this moment- the glare shot sideways towards him however is surely not unnoticed as he moves to step within the casino. The comment offered by the bouncer at the door momentarily sees Azrael pause in surprise, the wink he is offered earning little more then a muttering beneath his breath before he storms inside, leaving Davante to do as asked of him.

"Just do your fucking job and win."

The position the warlock takes at one of the tables is readily noted, Azrael moving himself away and into the crowd, moving quickly and yet hardly choosing to engage his power for the moment, merely keeping his form in motion to pass quickly by anyone given to be suspicious of what exactly he may truly be beneath the layers of pink and....was that floral? How much of a Faerie had Davante made him? The thought is perhaps fortunate short lived, the bar within the casino reached easily now, Azrael's next target given to require a certain amount of quick research before he moved to find him amongst the crowd, the bar so often the best pace to achieve such things- the man easily seating himself upon the stool at the end, keeping a watch of the casino floor all the same for any sign of the man he was searching for- at least until the man beside him took it upon himself to shift far closer then the Hunter was truly willing to tolerate, the proximity of the Fae taking every inch of his control to prevent himself from sliding away from the very thing he so despised. I love your shoes, they are just darling.

"Thank you."

It is very near hissed between clenched teeth, the more...'fairy' of the Fae men seeming to have become inexplicably drawn to the newest man within the casino, much to Azraels marked displeasure, gaze continuing to scan the room around him- one hand lifting to summon the bartender readily, an older Fae of...considerable proportions.

"You don't happen to know if River's here today do you? I reckon I've got somethin' he might wanna see."

It is easy to shift his accent and mangle his words a little into something that seemed to lack...education, others far often less suspicious of those whom seemed wholly uneducated, the bar mand nodding a moment before gesturing towards a black jack table across the room. been here about an hour, let him get another drink or two and he'll be all about the business. Say....if you're not doing anything later ton-

"Excuse me."

The words are barely free of the other Fae's lips before the Hunter moves to excuse himself, sliding easily from the stool to stroll casually back towards Davante now, one hand reaching out to snatch an appropriately pink cocktail from the tray circulating the room. It could hardly be denied that the warlock had done as asked in regards to the illusion and yet the evident...aura that seemed to emit from such an outfit was clearly a little 'addition' thanks to Davante entirely, one Azrael is hardly given to appreciate and yet one for this single moment in time he is entirely content to enjoy. He may not have a truly good sense of humour- he does however, have a rather determined sense of revenge, one hand reaching out to very femininely tease at a lock of Davante's hair before seating himself on the very table Davante is playing at, a number of players looking up in clear surprise as he places the drink before the other man.

"Here's your drink darlin' You were so right to wear that shirt, you do look good in it- although I can't wait to get you out of it. Good luck."

One eye merely lifts as he vaults easily from the table once more, the utter shock from the spell caster seated beside Davante worth the effort entirely as Azrael heads readily for the black jack table that was his target now. Make him gay would he? Well- Davante had brought it entirely upon himself and really, if Azrael was going to be a faerie, Davante was hardly getting off that lightly, the barest hint of a chuckle humming within his throat as he left the warlock to deal with the poker table that had been stunned into silence.

Azrael Evero

only fools walk where angels fear to tread