He wiped his hands off, smearing wet soil and blood onto his tight fitting black pants. He picked up a piece of paper and looked at it for a moment with vague amusement. 'Azrael', it was a name, written rather elaborately in red ink. The paper was put to the flame of the red candle that stood in front of the bowl inside a circle of white chalk. Four other candles flickered around the room, each in their own circle, placed in between two circles, two white candles, two of black.

"Azrael, I call you!" Say it with confidence, the book had said. Verkur said it overly confident. His voice and tone was lazy and relaxed.

The smoking, crumbling parchment and the writing upon it burned in between his clawed finger tips, as he said ‘I call you,” dropping the ash of the paper into the bowl.

"I call you," He repeated, getting up from the wood floor, brushing off claws, and settling into his tall-backed chair, the only furniture aside from the mattress in the corner, and swung one leg over the side, resting both hands on his bare chest. His wings were folded gently beneath him, so not to harm himself by sitting on them and he wore only black pants, his scared chest revealed, his skin a grayish white color. His long hair hung loose and messy. He wasn’t doing anything to make this a special occasion.

A pale figure flickers in the circle, his image stretched and distorted as though he were being stretched thin, smeared across great distances-- and then he snaps into focus, almost but not quite off balance, and turns to glare at whoever had summoned him--

a demon. Interesting.

Azrael brushes off his winter-white suit, his sharp, pale features still pulled into an annoyed expression. He runs his fingers over the silver skull-shapes buttons, the silver skull ring adorning his hands, the silver skull cufflinks-- silver skills jangle in his ears as he reaches up to brush back his lightly gelled white hair. Through all this, his pale eyes-- encircled with black eyeliner-- remain fixed on Verkur.

"Yes?" he asks, in the tones of one who has opened the door to find a salesperson knocking on it.

His expressions didn’t change as the god appeared in his home. He watched the stretching scene before him with curiosity. It was not that he’d expected the summoning not to work. It was that he did not know what to expect. He hadn’t had a mental idea of what death would look like, sound like, feel like. What he would be. The demon had learned not to try and predict the Gods after he’d met Sans twice. They’re never the same, never predictable, even if you think you have then figured out.

The tone in the God’s voice almost screamed ‘annoyed’, so Verkur smiled. The demon stood up, his white eyes taking in the being before him, the rings and clothing, the chosen body…the eyes.

“I didn’t thin I would ever find eyes more intense then my own.” He circled around Azrael, trying to look him over entirely with an interested gaze. “Twice I’ve been proven wrong.” Viol’s bloody gaze had been warm, dangerous, eyes that simply said ‘killer’. Now he found himself looking into eyes that made him feel cold, eyes that, in his opinion, could only belong to Death.

The god's eyes follow Verkur as he circles, though Azrael refuses to spin with the demon-- rather, he stands still, allowing the inspection.

"I assume," he says, ignoring the eye comment, "There was a point to this?"

The tone is cold, lacking in his usual amusement.

Verkur finished his inspection of Death and stepped back over to stand in front of his chair, crossed his arms over his bare chest, and folded his wings down slightly. He3 shook his head slightly.

"No. Not really." He then sat down, sitting in a regal manner. He looked regal, his royal appearing features, sitting in such a way. Not that he really noticed since a moment later he slouched down in the chair. "I thought I might have a look at one of my God's brothers." From the tattoo marking on his back between his wings, it was fairly obvious who his God was.

"You realise," Death says, his tone icy. "That there are a number of spells you could use to request my presence which are less likely to anger me?"

There are, indeed, any number of these. Azrael is going to have to have a little talk with Viol about this...

Verkur was a little more then just surprised by this comment. He’d no idea that this Summon would make Azrael angry, or why. And the only way to find out is to ask. Not that he planned on apologizing for his mistake. He was simply curious.

“Why does that spell anger you, Divinity?”

The cold in Azrael’s voice was as overwhelming as the heat that imitated off of Viol. He idly put his hand over his non-beating heart, another question already coming to mind.

His eyes flash, but he keeps his... cool.

"You have no right to so imperiously demand my presence, demon."

Ar least Verkur is showing some form of respect-- something Azrael has almost given up expecting when summoned.

Kids nowadays.

Verkur bowed deeply, a mocking bow, his clawed hands unceremoniously twisting in fancy swirls, his wings spread upward off his back.

"Forgive me, Divinity." His voice, while still somehow maintaining an amount of respect, was laced with sarcasim. A tone in which he would never have taken with Sans. The demon straightened and looked into the cold eyes of Azrael. If he had a heart that still beat and worked, it might have shuddered under that gaze.

"Why does that spell anger you? I'll release you and summon you differently...to make amends."

"You could simply release me," he suggests. "If you so desire my company... ask."

He's still not answering the 'why', though he probably is of the opinion that he already did.

Verkur crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin slightly, thoughtfully. His unnatural height makes him look as if he's peering down his nose at the God.

"As you wish." He steps forward and touches a candle with his claw, tipping it onto an edge but holding it there, so it won't fall over or go out yet. He peers up with his white eyes, wings unconciously folding. "You will stay won;t you, Azriel." It seems to him that using the God's name gives a more personal feel. Better stick with the good old safty of formality. "Divinity," he corrects himself.

Azrael inclines his head graciouly.

"Yes."

((Short, sorry.))

The demon takes his claw off of the candle and it tips over, black wax slidding out onto the wood floor.

Verkur steps back away from the circle, cautiously. He couldn't be sure if Releasing Azrael would be the same as Viol.

It seems relatively simple.

The god's white eyes follow the candle down, and once it's spilling its wax messily on the floo, he steps form the circle that had enclosed him and strecthes-- a physical representation of a much more complex metaphysical gesture.

"Much better."

The demon stepped back, not from any intimidation of a Godly presance opposed to respect to Death's space. He holds a clawed hand out towards the only chair in the barren room, offering it to the god.

"Why is it," He stopped to think if he might be pushing the issue. Nah. Besides, if he gets on the god's nerves, whats the worse that can happen, a curse? Death? "that this particular summon bothers you, almighty?"

Death gestures at the chair in turn, and it rattles across the floor to accomodate him, pausing just outside the broken circle the sits, and arches and eyebrow at the demon.

"As I said-- you have no right."

The demon's eyebrows knitted togather. "I've got no right to any of the spells." He replied. At least, with his logic he didn't. But he also didn't care. He watched his chair move to Azrael. He certinally was very different from Viol.

The god lifts his eyebrows.

"Then don't use them." An elegant solution.

"We are not always so forgiving."

He inclined his head humbly. "Yes, Divinity." Then he straightened. "Supose I have need to speak to one of you. How shall I go about that?" He knew they didn't always come when called, they probably found it beneath them. When sumoned however, they had to. Verkur knew this because he too had the same rules in his summoning.

"Ask," he says simply, mothing nothing but the appropriate parts for speech. Mouth, throat. His eyes remain on Verkur.

He lifted his chin again. "I see." Verkur folded his arms over his gray colored chest.

"So If I say 'Azriel I want to speak with you', you'll just automatically grace me with your pressance?" He found that hard to believe. He looked at the set up for the summoning circle. "What if I've summoned you here with that," his eyes still on the candles. "and someone else summons you somewhere else? What then?"

Azrael smiles.

"Interesting question," he says, and then proceeds to ignore it.

"The point is that I am not at your beck and call-- and nor are any of the other gods. You ask for our presence, and if we come, it is our decision."

Verkur nodded slowly.

"That's why that one bothers you, isn't it?" He uncrossed his arms and kicked the book he'd used closed with his toe. "Because it doesn't ask for your pressance, it demands it. 'I call you.' Am I right?"

He ignored that his previous question had been ignored, though it did get under his skin. He wanted an answer.

The deity raises its eyebrows.

"Of course, little demon." As though it should have been obvious. "And that's why you risk anger when you use the spells."

"I see." Little demon? That didn't make him happy. He bite his tongue, his sharp teeth leaving imprints. "Then, in that case," he lowered his head slightly. "I ask your forgivness, Diety." Back to being a kiss ass.

The god nods, waving its hand.

'Forgiven, then."

Pause.

"Did you have other questions to ask?"

"Thank you."

For your forgivness or for you presance?

"No."

He'd only summoned him here to see who his God's brothers were. There were more on his list later. Then he thought.

"Yes. You did not answer my question."

He refered to the question he'd asked and the god had ignored.

The god knows.

"Which question:"

Doesn't mean he'll be forthcoming.

"If I've summoned you and havn't released you," he felt uneasy saying it in those words now, since he knew the God hated being forced to come...could that be fear? "And then someone else summons you at the same time. What happens? You can be in more then one place right? How?"

Okay...two questions. And he's sure the God will come up with a way to eaither answer only one, or decide to answer neither. Look it up in a book Demon, he told himself.

The white eyes close, briefly-- or perhaps he's just looking down, allowing the lids and lashes to obscure his gaze.

"Time... is a place. I would not be in two places at once, nor would there be more than one of me. " One shoulder is lifted and allowed to drop in something of a shrug.

"It is inexplicable in English."

He cocked his head to the side. He was just going to assume that it was inexplainable in his own language as well.

"And Viol is the same? He can not be in more then one place at the same time?"

He'd always veiwed the God's as almighty powerful, thus the reason he called them all mighty.

A brief gesture from the god on the chair.

"Yes and no. We can, and we can't. We are, and we aren't."

This confused him more. He continued to gaze steadily at the GOd, a frown knited over his face.

"It doesn't make sense." He addmited, he hated that. He shook his head, wings closeing unconciously. "It's not suposed to make sense, we aren't suposed to understand. Are we?"

We being?? He didn't say, he was sure Azrael would know.

"It makes sense."

There is a pause. Perhaps the deity is considering attempting an explanation-- considering explaining that for all that gods can look and act humanoid, they're not-- that they're more like energy with a personality, and think in ways rather different from other (and, well, face it-- lesser) beings.

It's not arrogance when you're a god.

"Just not to you."

He growled. Because Azreal said 'just not you'. Because he was frustrated at not understanding. He turned his back, thinking, and then turned around again to face the God.

"Then explain it to me. I want to understand."

The god taps his fingers on the wooden arm of the chair. Frostmarks appear.

"You're not human-- you're a demon. However, when we get right down to it, you're closer to being human than you are to being a god-- a lot closer. You're a physical thing. We're not. Explaining would be like trying to explain colour to a tree."

He sighed. He didn't like this, being the one to not understand, to not get you questions answered. Maybe he should lighten up on Acid. One clawed hand covers his face.

"I don't thin you can answer any of my question then, Divinity."

What was that? Giving up?

"Don't you?"

He tilts his head, shrugs, and then stands-- the universal sign that one is about to leave.

He shakes his head. "Not this time."

The demon bows, it's not so mocking this time. A new found respect amybe.

"Thank you, Divinety." For your presance?

A nod-- maybe a slight bow-- back.

"You are welcomed. Remember--" His smile flashes. "Ask."

Perhaps he's reminding the demon to ask next time-- perhaps he's saying he'll come if the demon does.

It's not clear, and already he's gone, leaving nothing but a few frost crystals behind.