they argued my right to ascension

There was always an excuse, a reason, something that the ridiculous warlock could manage to conjure from his lips in an effort to explain exactly why he had felt the need to play demolition derby with a warehouse full of Fae that had truly required only the death of two figured within it- not the destruction of an entire Fae empire. Although, in truth, perhaps Davante's handiwork was at least beneficial in removing any further threat from this particular branch of the supernatural- until they had reformed their units and evidently decided to wage war upon the warlock and his gay Hunter companion. Why Davante could not simply admit that his efforts were overkill the blonde hardly knew, the man content to launch into a detailed explanation of his lack of control, the very sort that would see him removed from the Council were he a genuine Hunter. It is this very thought that sees the barest hint of a smile linger upon the blonde's lips, passing like a shadow across his features before attention returns to the man before him, amused momentarily at his own internal image before he is forced to return to the present and the men collapsed upon the grass before him in a manner hardly graceful. Davante was, he had decided, the very equivalent to a bouncy ball- an object that required very little energy to release its own force, one that bounced higher and more erratically the more energy you gave it and the harder you threw it away from yourself the fast and harder it came back to hit you in the face. Perhaps he would not have made an entirely terrible Hunter, an admittance Azrael refuses to acknowledge aloud and yet the more he knew of the man before him whom seemed content to prattle on about how much liquid he had drank the more the Hunter is inclined to find that for all his irritable, agitating, blabbering ways the other man was not wholly objectionable to him. After all- it had been rather a long time since he had been with anyone...so alive.

"Just fucking keep up."

It was difficult enough to limit himself to this dithering pace, let alone engage in any further conversation with the warlock whom had managed to injure himself enough to become a further hindrance. For a few moments at least Azrael is determined to refrain from further critiquing the other man's performance, wandering instead into the warm embrace of the café, one of the few places still open so late into the evening and yet he had visited this particular place for years- oblivious perhaps, to how easily he had fallen into a pattern so many Hunters possess, returning over and over to a same and single place, fighting against any form of change for as long as humanely possible, so very unaware of entirely how stereotypical of his kind he has become- loathing any form of change in any way. The waitress's almost overly enthusiastic greeting towards his warlock companion sees the golden eyed man turn ever so slightly, watching the manner in which Davante proceeded to imitate a dead body as the girl wrapped her arms around him in her overly affectionate manner, the warlock managing to detangle himself from her before announcing his pleasure in the label their relationship had been given, Azrael managing an eye roll of sorts before finding his place at the table, gesturing briefly for his bouncy-ball of a companion to do the same- Davante slumping down as if the table was a couch he had seated himself upon numerous times before.

For now, at least, Azrael is willing enough to let the man's bad posture go, attention deviated towards his own tea and the hunger that gnawed at him almost constantly, his ability, or lack thereof to cook resulting in an almost continuous hunger on his part- one momentarily satisfied by the selection of pastries in front of him. The compliment he somehow manages to find fallen from his lips is regrettable choice of words, a regret he is made to feel almost instantly as Davante seems to seize upon the offered words with all the grace of a pit-bull to steak, a sigh of sorts drawn from the Hunter's lips as he moves to take another sip of his much needed tea while Davante dances about in the joy of having been given a compliment, as if his half-hearted words of momentary approval were the equivalent to a fucking knighthood. That it 'pained' him to compliment the other man was a significant under-exaggeration, golden eyes glaring towards the man beneath his fringe of golden hair, managing to force himself to swallow the tea despite having the distinct desire to hurl it at the warlock and see how well he dodged it. Maybe he had given him a little too much of the drug, the adrenaline and endorphins he'd injected into the other man seeming to have resulted in a further exaggerated sense of his already over-inflated ego, evidently a simple 'thank you' far outside the warlocks reach.

"I'm not sure I'd call it paying homage."

The words were very near forced between gritted teeth, Azrael forced to relinquish his hold upon the fine china tea cup he held lest he risk breaking it, returning it to his place upon the saucer-several moments of silence existing thickly between the men before the Hunter seemed to manage to force further words from his throat, determined to look anywhere other than towards the man the words were directed.

"I liked seeing him get skewered alright? Happy? Now drop it. We do not discuss missions once their over."

Compliments were hardly easy for the man, much less those offered to some ridiculous wizard he was convinced he hardly cared for, Davante's gloating over such a thing very near more than Azrael was willing to take- his patience hardly capable of this extension.

"You were not my worst apprentice, hardly my best though so don't get to damn excited. You weren't a total failure though I suppose, passable- just."

Shoulders moved to roll in a shrug of sorts, finishing the last of his tea before leaning back within his chair, fingers momentarily brushing against the sword hilt-like device Davante had presented him with- the device having proven more useful then Azrael truly cared to admit- the Warlock hardly need the ego boost to add to his current state of inflation.

"You can go home now Davante, there are still a few hours left but I need to get to the other side of the city and you're only going to slow me down, so you can consider yourself officially dismissed- you lived a few hours of my life and you lived. It's more than most manage, I suppose."

The golden eyes of the blonde man moved to flicker briefly back towards his companion, the words that followed offered with considerable strain on his part.

"I did however- make you a deal and since you are unfortunately not dead I will let you show me what you do for a living. I suppose I can spare a few hours to watch you beat a piece of metal into a weapon or bubble wrap a priceless pot."

The barest hint of a grin managed to seep somewhere onto the mans features, lip quirking slightly upward in this flicker of a simper at the amusement his own comment brought- even if the thought of allowing Davante to order him about for a day was less than....appealing, let alone the thought of seeing this....Mcdonalds place.

Azrael Evero

only fools walk where angels fear to tread