they argued my right to ascension

Had he been asked, for any reason, to outfit the warlock before him with any sort of motto or catchphrase he would have been entirely inclined to staple 'would if I could' to the other man's forehead, it would have been a rather good phrase for the man. Although 'would if I felt like it' he feels, by comparison- would be an even better one for Davante. Never has another being reminded him so very much of a mule as the man before him. A stubborn, egotistical, braying creature that forever seemed to attempt to find a way in which to offer his sarcastic opinion to those around him whether they desired it or not. The moving shadow however, is yet another symbol of the man's inability to actually foster any control over himself or his....appendages. It is however, hardly worth the argument, at least not in this moment- the Hunter content to at least momentarily concede a victory of sorts to the other man by simply choosing not to find some form of retaliation for his jab in regards to his cheapness- true as it may have been. Money was hardly an issue, it hadn't been for nearly seventy five years and yet Azrael never was entirely inclined to spend much of it, if any, unless he was truly called to do so.

It is Davante's explanation of his tin-can gift that so seems to actually ensnare the blonde hunters attention once more, Azrael given to consider the words of the other man in regards to his use of silver, if only for its conductive abilities, the object examined within his hands once more before the mention of some form of illusionary magic readily saw his gaze narrow, golden eyes looking upon his new 'gift' with no small measure of wariness as if truly attempting to decide whether or not he actually believes the warlock. A lying spell? Surely if such a thing existed he would have heard of it by now- although by the very nature of the spell it would be a rather easy enchantment to deny any knowledge of- a small frown marring his features at these inner contemplations before attaching the weapon to his belt all the same, rather assured he was hardly going to be asked to surrender his tin can at the door. It is his irritation at his newly adorned outfit that perhaps allows the Hunter the presence of mind to refuse to offer any further sarcasm from the warlock with the respect of an answer, little more then a frosted glare offered towards the spell caster at the ridiculous outfit he had seen fit to create through the illusions of his magic. Had it not been a necessity for the warlock to provide such an illusion Azrael would surely have been content to see if blasting the man's wayward shadow with a beam of light would result in the man himself disintegrating in a manner that so seemed to amuse him, as it was however- the opportunity to exact his own momentary revenge, unprofessional as it may be, was far to enticing to pass up in this moment- let alone checking upon the warlock to assure he was actually doing the job he had been assigned.

It may well be the first time however, he has ever been referred to as 'man candy' let alone 'poof ass', jaw setting in a thin, hard line to prevent himself from decapitating Davante's 'friend' where he sat. The illusion however, he supposed, was at least satisfactory enough to have fooled the majority at the table, the series of stunned individuals bringing the Hunter a momentary look of satisfaction within his own role playing skills. The venom with Davante's words was hardly missed and yet for now the Hunter finds himself content enough with his boyfriends displeasure. Perhaps next time he would see fit to outfit him in something a little more neutral that did not see half of the room attempt to invite him out for dinner or alone time. Really, it was only far the Davante was given a few moments to experience what Azrael has been given to suffer for the vast majority of the night already. That Davante actually moved to drink the ridiculous cocktail was perhaps the icing on the proverbial drink, Fae beverages well known for their rather unique flavours- if not hallucinogenic properties. As long as the warlock declined to drink all of it however, he was sure to remain unharmed, his look of disgust earning him little more then a passing chuckle before the blonde moved to swing from the table in the most...unmanly manner he can managed, one hand reaching up to tangle with Davante's hair once more, fingers running through it in the most suggestive manner he can truly manage without cringing at the mere thought.

"I'll be waiting for ya darlin'."

He moved to trail his fingers easily from the other mans hair before disappearing back into the crowd once more and towards the rear table that held his next target, River, as the bartender had been so inclined to inform him, the short, skinny, red-haired Fae whom was rather loudly gesturing about him in the throes of some story or another to a group of eager listeners. Had the man been anything other than Fae he would be entirely assured he had been lied to about him being an important member of the Fae courts that had become far too loud and vocal in his opinion on humans and how far better they would be being forced to be Fae. Fucking flamboyant things Fae's were. One golden eye rolled easily back towards his companion, assured Davante was still playing- and winning, before moving to linger within River's circle of friends, forcing something akin to a laugh from himself at whatever ridiculous story the red-headed man was telling that so seemed to engage his friends in riotous laughter. Getting to the man would hardly be difficult, but getting rid of him without anyone seeing would be a far more...difficult task, the number of women surrounding him rather assuring the Hunter that even his own newfound status as some form of man candy was hardly going to be useful here. Whatever thoughts he had been inclined to have in regards to his target however were painfully short lived, Davante's hissing words seeing Azrael momentarily turn with the briefest scowl of concern marring his features before a sudden chill down his neck as the man passed saw the Hunter jump forward in response, several Fae about him looking curiously now as Davante strolled away.

"Fucking bastard"
What did you say?

The words had been barely muttered between his teeth and yet evidently River had felt they were directed to himself, several of the man entourage turning towards him now. Fucking Davante. Perhaps it is merely fortunate his capacity to deal with new plans is comfortably astute, arms folding across his chest now.

"I said, you're a fucking bastard and a liar."
Who the hell are you Pretty Boy?
"The only one here with the balls to call you out."

Call him out on what Azrael hardly knew, the words designed simply to rile the man, Davante's nod towards him noticed readily within his periphery, the slightest of nods returned as the warlock disappeared somewhere behind a black curtain, Azrael own attention returned to River.

You wanna take this outside powder puff?

"I'd love too."

River easily moved to push himself from his chair, shoving through several of his entourage to head down the narrow hall that led to the back door, Azrael strolling easily enough behind him, waiting until the shadows swamped them from all sides before summoning the spear of light to one hand, the faint illumination seeing River turn in the moment the Hunter merely shoved it forward and right through the chest of the Fae, the man stumbling momentarily before slumping to the ground. Well- that had hardly been a challenge. Disintegrating the man was also equally simple, leaving little more then a pile of dust as the Hunter moved to return to the crowed, sliding easily around River's waiting entourage and back into the depths of the warehouse, every sense within himself sparking with disdain at being so close to so many Fae, his desire to murder them all a barely contained need until a rather large hand clamped down upon his shoulder, sending each sense into an overdrive that took every ounce of control he possessed to prevent himself assaulting the owner- the rather burly female Fae jerking him towards the same black curtain Davante had gone through. His highness wants a word.

It was fairly evident by the manner in which the Fae woman proceeded to very near drag him that it hardly mattered whether or not he wanted to speak to this supposed King, shaking her hand loose from his shoulder mere moments later before striding through this mythical black curtain to find a rather...elaborate room with rather a number of bodyguards stationed about it, the King himself, what appeared to be no more than a seventeen year old boy (although he was undoubtedly older) reclining within a rather ornate chair at the table in the centre of the room, Davante seated opposite him before the Kings attention fixated upon him. My, my, my, you are pretty. I wondered what all the fuss I was hearing about was- my friends were right, you are rather dreamy. I just wanted to see for myself. Davante, Azrael is entirely assured- is dead the moment this ridiculous charade is over. Come here, let me get a look at you

"Er....forgive me your highness but I already have a....life partner. Who I....love...very much because he's.....sexy"

One hand moved to gesture loosely to Davante, the other resting upon the hilt of the tin can, the warlock at least a significantly better choice than a seventeen year old boy and yet such news hardly seemed to perturb the Fae ruler.Oh I know, I know a lot of things and I think your life partner and I should make this game far more interesting. I think we should play for you- you are pretty. If I win I get to keep you, if he wins he can have you back. How does that sound? No, no don't answer I wasn't really asking. As for you...Davante is it? If you try one inch of that illusion magic you've been using all over my casino I will cut the head off your Hunter boyfriend right now- but I'll be true to my word, you can have him back if you win- fairly.

This...was not at all going to plan. Fae telepaths were rare, truly rare and yet it would seem the King was a rather powerful one, golden gaze flicking briefly towards Davante once more, managing an entirely forced smile that promised the other man he blamed him entirely for half of this mess.

"Darling? I would really appreciate it if you fucking won."

Azrael Evero

only fools walk where angels fear to tread