"How unfortunate, but I never offered to clean your shirt."

While under the obvious and heavy gaze of my blue eyes, the man looked as if he was about to begin squirming in a fashion relatively similar to that of one of the cockroaches I had reanimated in the Witchery what seemed like only moments before. I was content to watch the shiver of disgust wrack his features as he noted a bug that he might have found familiar scuttle across the unkempt floor of Arsenaal, in fact I was nearly elated to watch the man endure an environment clearly less than pleasing to him. It is with a lazy sort of ease that I recline in the chair I had found myself comfortably seated in, obviously continuing to scrutinize the humorously metrosexual man that it seemed fair to dub a hunter as he came by way of Azrael's word. That mother fucker had no business sending people to my ... er, business. Okay, perhaps it isn't fair to equate Azrael as 'that motherfucker' especially as he was clearly attempting to provide me with some entertainment, even if it were only harassing this poor... person. Man seemed too strong of a word.

The man's continuation of his desired service left me quiet and almost uninterested. No blood, no bodies, no inner organs? What kind of idea was it that Azrael had concocted to send this person to me? Without any of the prior aforementioned services, there was little I was truly amused with unless weaponry or destruction and general havoc were involved. From the looks of him, none of these things would be on his docket, especially after his acute specialization that he wasn't in the business of trafficking organs. Instead of procuring something of interest from his pockets, the man retrieved a handful of mobile phones with wires protruding like proverbial veins, rendering them seriously useless; almost as useless as the fingerless glove that accompanied them.

"Organic as in anything of the earth? Flesh, minerals, organic matter, and yes, metal."

My words were intended to clear up any kind of confusion the man had about what my power was, and how it might help him on his quest for some kind of titanium chip. That would be no problem, even though he added the tidbit that they weren't made in this country. So? As an expert in all things generally illegal, outlawed, and rare I would deem myself capable of procuring the metals he spoke of and tampering with them enough that they fit the description of his needs. At the mention of wiring, though, a small frown graced my previously amused features, rendering my jaw clenched for the briefest of moments. Electricity was something I typically avoided if at all possible, but that didn't mean I wasn't good with wiring. Cue memories of hot wiring countless cars and accessing virtual databases that I shouldn't have been able to see. Though I wasn't excited about the way my fingertips would burn with the touch of the raw wire as it pulsed with electricity, a spark of curiosity began to form and grow into something almost tangible as he continued to explain his necessities.

"Mm," I mused, running a hand over my face before sighing and beginning to give my full attention to the man's requests. "I'd consider myself proficient with wiring and re-wiring. Haven't had much practice on computers but security systems, cars, and strangely enough airplanes. A computer can't be too hard." With a shrug, I verbally agreed to attempting to participate in what might turn out to be a ridiculous ruse granted to this man by none other than my neme- ... Azrael.

"The Hunter's Council, and Azrael sent you to me?"

Skeptical, I felt my brows furrow. Why would the hunter do something like that, especially when he had told me to lay low? Instead he was feeding me customers and business that would evoke behavior not defined as 'laying low'. Precisely the opposite, truly. The use of magic in order to accomplish this task would be felt on a large scale, permeating the city due to the network of electricity and virtual attention it would attract. We couldn't do something like that through the shop, no. But from wherever it was this man came from? I would be willing to sacrifice his safety in order to get his job done.

"Consider me Vint Cerf," I started, mentioning the name of one of the men who created the internet. Surely the man wouldn't get the reference, but I was beyond caring as I continued to think of the parameters that surrounded his desire. "There is internet, but if you want my help I won't do something like that here. We would need a more secure location, say, whatever hole you crawled out of."

With my words finished, the man immediately returns with a quip about my workspace. The shop was a mess, yes, but through no fault of my own. Who doesn't hire a fucking cleaning service for a corporate place? Okay, okay, we're not corporate but still. There is an abundance of hisp-... The racial slur left my train of thought quickly, affording the man raised eyebrows but no reply to his insolent comment. I watched, my jaw dropping slightly, as the man began to rearrange the things nearest to him until the actions became too much and I allowed the chains that had been dangling above him to wrap around his wrists with a mere flick of my gaze in order to stop him from touching things.

"Careful, you might get some kind of germs from that," I drawled, though my attention was pulled by his words regarding something that sounded unfortunately like vomit. "Hey, there is a trash can near you if you're going to be sick. What the fuck is this you-guy-don't shit?" The curses fell from my lips with the ease of a greeting, clearly voicing my annoyance with his question as it didn't seem pertinent in the least. As more words fell from his lips, I began to see why Azrael might be irritated with my tendency to move from topic to topic, and my hand found it's way to my forehead, pinching the bridge of my nose as if his presence alone was trying.

"Fine! Just stop... touching things," I commanded, my voice curt as I took the phone from him, unable to stop the snort of laughter that fell from my lips unbidden. "If you spell serial 'cereal', then of course not! That's just preposterous!" How dare he! A bit of a malevolent smirk began to writhe it's way over my lips, insinuating that I was the very thing he was afraid I was. "I prefer to think of myself as ... merely aiding in the process of natural selection."