they argued my right to ascension

It is a wonder, truly, that the majority of the room cannot be given to hear the click of the Hunters teeth as they are set firmly on edge by Davante's rather flourishing words, the man evidently far better at playing a homosexual then Azrael had ever truly given him credit for, his own jest having turned into something far more damaging then he had truly envisaged and yet for now (and given his current outfit) there was little left to do aside from indulge the character Davante had assigned him, pink outfit and all. It was however, the last time he ever intended to allow the warlock creative licence over his own appearance. Fucking imbecile of a magician. It was however, that same fucking imbecile he was relying on to actually win at this game, although how the warlock intended to defeat a telepath at poker was beyond him. Truly the blonde Hunter was half inclined to hope the warlock had at least constructed something akin to a plan- what he knew of the other man however inclined him to believe that had there been a large enough object that could be easily swung, Davantes plan would have merely been to start bashing everything in sight like some sort of magical Neanderthal.

It is the voice of said man that seems to permeate his thoughts at last, drawing his own attention away from counting the body guards to return the amber gold of his gaze to his unwilling companion as he prattled on about...something. Tuning Davante out had, rather quickly, become a shockingly easy thing to do. Visit the what? Those amber eyes fixated once more upon the warlock seated at the table, a glare of sorts shot towards him as a mutter of irritation sounded beneath his breath. Azrael somehow managing a smile- strained as it was, to flash towards his significant other. Had he just said eyeliner? A small frown seemed to reside upon the ever-youthful Hunters features once more, the man having failed to actually view his own reflection, the idea of eyeliner far more....deplorable then merely the ridiculous outfit alone. It is perhaps the single and only advantage of an eternally long life- an almost eternal chance for revenge. A little patience was all that was needed to assure Davante forgot about this little incident before the Hunter need merely strike, the thought seeing a momentary and fleeting smirk trace his features. He merely had to wait Davante out- something for which he had a veritable eternity to do.

"Yes, I suppose I should."

His words are laced with a with his own particular brand of Frost, half a step taken towards the room in question before a rather firm hand moved to clamp down upon his shoulder, the overly large female bodyguard proceeding to haul him backwards in a manner that scent every nerve firing once more with an innate desire to destroy the very thing that gripped him, the veins within his arm very near seeming to burn with this instinctual command to hunt. A command that takes every bit of his energy to ignore as hands clench into fists in some effort to direct his aggression elsewhere, an aggression that was abruptly halted at the sight of Davante's gaze, his normally rather unimpressive blue gaze seeming to have shifted to something more pale. Stubborn and hard-headed as he may be, Azrael is hardly a foolish or unobservant being, what knowledge he did possess of the warlock assuring him that what was about to occur was neither subtle nor controlled- his own talents engaged barely a moment before the metal spike proceeded to skewer the King, a rapid flare of light surrounding his own form, burning at the flesh of the Fae whom had attempted to hold him, the Hunter diving for cover as Davante proceeded to rip the building apart from the inside out. The near thunderous roar of the ground half given to shake the often apathetic blonde from his feet as he merely proceeded to roll behind a chair, using the wooden apparatus as a shield against the tumbling rock.

"Fuckng warlocks, fucking....earthquakes"

The words were barely free of his lips before another shaft of light was cast forward, a solar flare of sorts that saw one Fae attempting escape collide with the nearest wall in a shriek of blind terror, a tossed orb of light seeing his end moments later as rather a number of Fae began to swamp the warlock....a number of dead Fae rapidly beginning to....re-live. For a moment the golden-haired man is very near dumbstruck by this almost unbelievable charade, the collapsing building around him almost forgotten before that...thing saw fit to appear before him once more, gesturing now towards the nearest exit- as if it truly believed he was incapable of getting himself out. If anything- it was Davante the ridiculous shadow should have been worried about, the man very near given to behead himself on several occasions, a flick of the Hunters hand creating a light shield of sorts, one hurriedly transfused about the other man, deflecting rock after rock from his immediate vicinity. The damn fool deserved to get himself killed and yet, he had, begrudgingly been useful. Then again his love of showmanship might very well still kill them both, a sudden burst of speed sending Azrael back the way he had come, light sword in hand, a flick and twist ending the life of any Fae whom had managed to make it this far as he tore back throw the building and through the front doors as the shadow seemed to desire, pivoting neatly in place several feet from the rapidly collapsing building- only to see Davante catapulted from it several moments later- light shield withdrawn the moment the warlock managed to stumble back to his feet, both men evidently having managed a number of scraps, cuts and bruises in this grand escape.

For a moment at least the Hunter manages to remain silent, golden eyes resting upon the panting warlock whom was attempting to remain upright in the wake of the expanse of his power, cutting the Hunter off as if anticipation the biting words already upon his tongue, agitation marking Azrael's features all the same before he finally managed some sort of.....sigh.

"No I am not satisfied, Davante- as wonderful as your displays of power are you obliterated our target as opposed to merely assassinating it- for fucks sake you don't have to use a fucking mallet to put a nail in a fence!"

Whether the warlock would actually understand the metaphor remained to be seen, one hadn't reaching up to run through his hair, cuts and scrapes already rapidly healing upon his form to leave the Hunter no worse for wear before those golden eyes fixated upon his companion once more.

"How much of that drink did you actually drink? It's hallucinogenic- I assumed you, oh great Davante, actually knew that."

One eye merely lifted, waiting the warlock's response before Azrael merely steeped forward, one hand planted firmly against the other mans chest- shoving him suddenly backwards, forcing him to seat atop the hood of a rusted out car before stepping back to unzip his own jacket, fumbling about within the pockets a moment.

"Look- the illusions are....regrettably impressive as is your aptitude for chaos and ability to destroy everything in your sight, but using all your power like that is fucking stupid and you know it is, it isn't my job to be your teacher. Learn some control- you don't heal like I do and you're only going to slow us down all the more now. You have a few hours left with me still and the way you're going..."

The Hunter paused for a moment, pulling the lid from a vial of sorts before proceeding to study it for some moments, muttering to himself now before continuing his rather long-winded rant in regards to everything the Warlock had done- or failed to do.

"...You're only going to slow us down even more. Maybe save the giant power explosion for when you actually need it next time, if I went around doing what you do I'd obliterate half the god damn west side- and myself. What the hell is that on your arm?"

'It' was nothing more then a ploy, waiting for the exhausted warlock to lift his arm and examine it before a flash of speed brought the Hunter suddenly to his side, syringe in hand, grasping Davante's arm rather firmly in the process to bring out the vein he is looking for inside the mans arm, hardly bothering to be entirely gentle about the actual injection itself (a momentary revenge for the eyeliner), flashing away from the man in almost the same instant.

"That- was an antidote for the drink you drunk too much off, I can't give you anything to heal you but that will stop any hallucinations from starting and it will make you feel regrettably better in a few minutes. Unfortunately we don't have a few minutes. Keep up and don't bitch to me about being tired."

If he didn't want to be tired he shouldn't have thrown a power party in the middle of a Fae casino, the Hunter moving as easily as always back through the harbour, a dim glow of sorts surrounding the blonde man, providing enough light to easily see by, content to stroll at a rather brisk pass towards the very end of the west side, a good half an hour or so walk before turning suddenly into the nearest building, striding purposefully up the stairs and into what is very clearly.....a café of sorts. He sees no need, as of yet, to offer any further explanation to his warlock companion, heading instead for his usual table beside the window, a girlish squeal from nearby assuring the man they had been seen before a young violet-haired woman came dashing over. Alek! The use of his real name- or a portion of it, upon her lips momentarily brought a scowl to his features, one unnoticed by the girl as she hurried forward, throwing her arms about him in a manner he found entirely to jovial and yet had come to expect from Chloe after all these years of having known her- and her Mother before her. Oh you brought a friend! Davante, it would seem, is not immune from this hugging either, the girl throwing her arms around him in much the same manner before dashing off with a promise of the usual order, Azrael easily seating himself before briefly gesturing for Davante to follow suit.

"It's tea time."

The words had barely left his lips before Chloe returned, placing a cup of tea before each man along with a plate of scones and cream in a manner so decidedly English that is seems utterly out of place, the girl dashing off again moments later to attend to someone else, Azrael easily reaching for his tea now, leaning back within his chair- silent for several minutes.

"The manner in which you killed the King was not.....wholly disappointing."

It was- by some measure....almost a compliment, one very near forced between his lips and his tea cup with clear reluctance and yet one uttered all the same...

Azrael Evero

only fools walk where angels fear to tread