they argued my right to ascension

Her words are met with little more than a haphazard brush of his hand, dismissing this conversation of pets, at least for now, caring little to delve into any deeper meaning his words may have held for now- choosing instead to lead the woman from the depths of the foul ship, riddled from the inside out with those supernatural animals like a plague that forever seemed to populate. He is more content outside, even if his form continues to hold a certain tautness to it, the man forever seeming tense perhaps and yet so many years forever being ready for assault have resulted in such a stance it would seem- along with the reflexes to match. The woman's evident indignation in regards to their last shared meal seeks to tease some manner of humour from the often irritable Hunter, allowing the vaguest touch of a simper to find his lips once more even if the memory itself did not bring such pleasure to him. Her sudden displeasure at his car however sees the tall, toned man pause entirely in surprise beside the car door, eyeing her with no small measure of curiosity at such a sudden, explosive reaction- the woman turning abruptly to...shove him. For a moment the Hunter is entirely taken off guard by such a reaction, form tensing only further in an effort to brace himself automatically as he would any surprise attack, the result being an almost lack of motion entirely as she shoves against him though the surprise that lingers upon his features is surely evident enough. It has been....rather a long time since anyone had sought to engage in even a playful game of sorts with the man, the Hunter seeming momentarily at a loss for any sort of response to this playful gesture before her words seem to truly sink in and his handsome features incline into a scowl- that rapidly seems to shift into a gesture almost dismissive as he shrugs.

"I own several cars, actually, as for your paying for the pizza I believe that is what 'friends' do, is it not? Were it a date I would have held some obligation to pay for you, as it was not that is your duty entirely. I am entirely sure the woman's liberation campaigned for rather a long time to be independent from men, thusly your gender won the right to pay for its own pizza unless, as I said, it was a date on which I had invited you. Now get in the car for Christ's sake."

His traditional stance, it would seem, is entirely as intact as it has always been, one bent slightly to better assist his own cause in the situation though the words remain wholly honest in their deliverance all the same, despite the humour he seems to have taken from them and his ever present agitation that very near demands she get in the car. Pouting as she is all the same. The times may have changed, he is sure, yet women remained as entirely fickle and delicate in their temperament as ever. They were forever a mystery he is assured he cannot understand, despite all the years he may live, the Hunter failing to see in reason as to why he should have paid for anything she ate half off all the same. He is content enough in the silence that follows, allowing the woman to sulk as much as she sees fit before she offers any sort of answer to his question. One he regrets to a certain extent that he was ever given to ask. Witchcraft in any form is displeasing to him still, that manipulation of nature still holding a wrongness he cannot find a right in, the idea of the mixing of blood even further made objectionable to him by the mere thought of it. The potency of blood however, is something to which he can attest to understand, without it his own existence would have long since faltered and yet what little memories he has of that night are better forgotten, head shaking slightly to dismiss the thoughts before he leads her from car to apartment.

That he had not, in any fashion, anticipated visitors was surely clear from the state of the apartment itself, his percent for throwing clothing about evidently clear though the home itself remains neat enough- the man kicking aside a spare pair of boots to allow the woman to actually make her way to the kitchen, a spare pair of jeans tossed back into his room with the same haste. Calliel, it would seem, had not made her usual effort to clean today, the golden-eyed hunter briefly pausing to consider where his niece was this particular day before dismissing it. She was, no doubt, doing any one of the several hundred things he had forbidden her too do, another late night argument about her safety sure to follow- though for now at least he is appreciative of her absence as he leans against the kitchen bench, the witch hardly seeming thrilled at his offer of...cheese.

"I think it is fairly evident I did not."

There is some small note of agitation in his voice all the same, the man seemingly incapable of speaking without it as arms fold across his chest, his turn to be indignant it would seem, as he leans back against the bench now, one long leg folding over the over with ease. The sudden movement of the raven-haired woman towards the refrigerator however sees another moment of surprise linger upon the Hunter's features before she bends to search within it. It is not wholly empty, truly, rather an assortment of things existing within it, although what she intended to do with such assortments he had failed to recognise.

"Are you.....intending to cook?"

Beyond boiling water and the occasional use of a fry pan (if he is feeling a particularly exciting) the man has hardly touched the kitchen, the operation of the oven unknown to him, let alone anything that required more than several steps to actually prepare. Cooking, in his time, was almost exclusively a female task, one he had never truly managed to master. Were it not for his Hunter genes and the relative health that afforded the man surely would have died of starvation some years ago. Take-out was by far one of the better inventions of the world. He continues to watch the woman now with no small measure of wariness, hardly wishing to dissuade her from her apparent task and yet he remains....concerned all the same.

"You're not going to voodoo any of the food are you?"

His request that she not somehow create the food from magic is perhaps not worded as entirely as correctly as it could be, his determination to refer to her magic as 'voodoo' existing still. He is surprised to some extent that while his awareness of her exists still, sense still assuring him he is within the presence of a supernatural being he holds little to no desire to actually bring harm to her as he once had, the man seeming to have settled to an extent in her presence. It is...unusual to him and yet not wholly unwelcome. He shifts at last from his position against the bench, moving to stand closer to the woman now, arms still folded across his chest.

"I did offer you food and as such if you provide sufficient instruction I don't see why I cannot help with the cooking to some extent."

It would be improper, after all, to leave her to make her own meal entirely after he had invited her too it.

Azrael Evero

only fools walk where angels fear to tread